“That depends,” she says, in a normal voice. “I can go on for hours if needed.”
“I’m sure you can. What is it, exactly, that you want again?”
“To help.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Matt says. “You can’t possibly be seriously considering this, Maureen.”
He’s right about the danger, and that’s where I’m hooked. If anybody finds out what this child knows, then her life is at risk. The best way to keep her quiet, and safe, is underfoot.
Val seals the deal by walking over and resting a hand on G’s shoulder. Even if I say no, the kid will be hanging out with Val anyway and learning who knows what.
“All right,” I tell her. “Not a word to anybody, you understand? You spent the evening cowering in terror in a corner of the library.”
“Behind the curtains,” the girl says, eagerly, “in case anybody else who was there wonders where I disappeared to.”
“Lord have mercy,” Jake intones, his eyes rolled heavenward. “Listen, Guinevere—”
“Don’t call me that! And don’t try Gwen or Vera either.”
She bristles with fierceness. Val pats her shoulder.
“I don’t care what your name is as long as you can follow directions and keep your mouth shut,” I tell her. “You’ll come every day after school and help Val. If you have homework, you can do it in her room.”
I raise my hand to head her off when I see her mouth open. “There will be long stretches where that is the most exciting thing you will do. That’s how it is here. Everybody has a regular job.”
“All right,” she says, digging an object out of her pocket and holding it out to me. “I found this.”
We all stare blankly at what she’s offering. Just a phone.
“It belongs to that weird girl. The one with the green eyes.”
The premonition that hits me then is colder than any spirit storm the ghosts have been able to stir up.
Nobody moves.
“Where is Sophie anyway?” Jake asks.
Matt crosses to the window and looks out at the parking lot. “Her van is gone.”
“Last I saw her, she was at the center of the spirit storm. The lights went out. When they came back on, she was nowhere to be seen.”
“And?” Jake asks.
Matt, who has been making the blood on my cushions spread into a hopeless pink wash by scrubbing with a wet washcloth, pauses and looks up at both of us.
“Last seen, she was engaged in a tug-of-war with Jillian over Phil’s ashes.” I want to stop there, but take a breath and add, “Her eyes were glowing. In the dark.”
“Damn,” Matt says, sinking down onto the bloodstained couch. “This can’t be good.”
“There’s a text message,” G says, helpfully. She flushes under our collective stare. “Okay, I was snooping, but it might be helpful.”
A teenage girl Sophie’s age, you’d think her phone would be full of text messages, but there are only a few. From me. From Matt. And one from this afternoon.
Come to me. I have answers. Ravenna
Chapter Fifteen
“Who the hell is Ravenna? Anybody?”
Nobody responds.
Jake takes the phone and dials the number connected to Ravenna’s text message, but there’s no answer. A helpful robot voice tells us no voicemail has been set up.
“Whoever Ravenna is, she expects Sophie to know where to find her,” Matt says, after a long silence.
“Maybe she went home. She was already upset, earlier. And the spirits were very—intense. She has a right to come and go as she pleases.”
“Do you believe that?” Jake asks me.
“I want to believe it.” Which isn’t the same thing, at all. Sophie vanishing at this point is completely out of character.
“You’re both forgetting one thing.” Matt’s voice is dismal.
“What’s that?”
“Mrs. Schrader.”
He’s right. I have forgotten Mrs. Schrader. And despite the presence of G, I’ve also forgotten the kids.
My own cell phone rings, and I look at it with great misgiving.
Cathy. She is not amused.
“You wouldn’t answer your walkie.”
“It was malfunctioning.”
“Well, you could have checked in! I have a bunch of pizzas, the kids are freaked out, and Mrs. Schrader—”
A voice cuts her off. “Let me talk to that woman at once.”
I hang up. When the phone rings again, I don’t answer.
“Strategy?” Matt asks.
“It was a haunted house. Everything on purpose, nothing to worry about. Spread out, keep it light. Let’s go. The kids will be fine if we feed them.”
Everything in the Manor seems pretty much under control. In the library, both kids and seniors are still sitting underneath the table. G scoffs at the boys and they come out under their own steam, full of bravado and far-fetched stories about what really happened. I enlist them to help the seniors, who are less flexible and a little worse for wear from sitting on the hard floor. Same story in the games room.
The lights are still out in the kitchen, but Matt has lit the area with flashlights standing on end. Pizza boxes are stacked on the counter, and the warm, savory smell of tomato, cheese, and pepperoni sets my mouth to watering.
“Can I have a piece?” I ask.
“After the kids. Help me load up. Let’s get them fed and out of here.” Matt rolls a food cart over to the counter, and I lift a pizza.
A cutting voice in the hall stops me, cold.
“What I want to know is how this Keslyn woman can feel sufficiently entitled to arrange something like this without any notice to me or the school at all. First, she leaves me a message—a message, can you believe it? Canceling. And now this? Irate parents will be coming out of the woodwork. There could be lawsuits!”
“I understand your concern,” Jake’s calm voice answers, “but I’m not clear what you think I should do about it. I don’t think a surprise haunted house event is illegal.”
“It was terrifying! Lights flickering on and off, objects floating around. I can’t imagine how it was done, and I’m certain these poor children will be scarred for life. If there is no law against that, then there certainly should be.”
“Wonderful things can be done with mirrors and lights,” Jake says. “Nobody was hurt and surely they are old enough—”
“They are children. Trust me on that. I want them rounded up and out of here, now, and I can tell you that this is the last time they will be coming up to the Manor. I hope that Keslyn woman feels good about ending a long tradition.”
The Keslyn woman feels great about that, but a warning glance from Matt reminds me I’ll need to guard my tongue.
“I’ve already called the mothers who are transporting,” Mrs. Schrader says, “and they will be here in fifteen minutes. This is outrageous, and I will press charges.”
“It would be a shame to deprive the kids of their dinner, especially since the residents do so enjoy having some time with the young people. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
By now she’s in the doorway and I get my first glimpse of her. Boring sweater, drab skirt, flat shoes, wire-rimmed glasses. Her nose wrinkles. “It smells like pizza. What kind of Thanksgiving dinner smells like pizza?”
Matt turns his most charming smile on her. “Ms. Keslyn figured kids always love pizza, and it’s a treat for the residents. Besides, it’s difficult to prepare a full Thanksgiving dinner when the electricity is flickering on and off inside a haunted house.”
“You must be Mrs. Schrader.” I shake her hand without waiting for any participation on her end. “Lovely to meet you. Let’s just go straight to the dining room, shall we? It’s right this way. Matt will bring the pizza along behind us, and we’ll get everybody fed.”
I get on the other side of her so she’s sandwiched between me and Jake, and take her arm as if I’m in need of assistance.
&n
bsp; “Ms. Keslyn. Really. I’ve called the parents who are transporting. We are leaving—”
“Of course you are. Right after dinner. My goodness, it’s been a long day. Kids do wear one out so, don’t you think? My poor feet are aching like the dickens. I don’t know how you manage to deal with them all day, every day, but then you’re young yet.”
Between Jake on one side and me on the other, we get her moving in the right direction.
A questioning tap comes over the loudspeakers, a new installation I’d thought wise and am suddenly rethinking, but it’s followed by Matt’s voice, sounding calm and appropriately professional. “Dinner is being served in the dining room. Pizza and pumpkin pie!”
“What is that thing?” Mrs. Schrader gestures at the salt sprayer I’m lugging along in my free hand.
“It’s just a prop. For the haunted house, you know. Kids love things that are weird and improbable, I find. Don’t you?”
Her glare classifies under the gimlet category. “Kids love strict boundaries and guidelines,” she begins, but fortunately we’ve reached the dining room. Kids and seniors are settling into chairs. The kids are all chattering animatedly, faces glowing, looking none the worse for a little excitement, with the exception of one boy, the biggest and toughest looking of the lot, who keeps wiping away tears with the back of his hand and sniffling—nothing that a little pie won’t cure.
As for my residents, some of them are a little dusty and disheveled, but they look younger and remarkably energized. Even Julia is laughing about something, her face surprisingly attractive, and Ginny uses a napkin to wipe a smudge of dirt off the face of a little blonde waif sitting next to her. G sits at the table beside Val, keeping her promise at least for the moment. There’s a glitter of salt in her hair and her face is smudged with dirt, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.
While I’m counting heads to make sure everybody else is present and accounted for, I make a little speech thanking Sophie and Matt for helping to put on such a fabulous surprise haunted house.
“Special thanks to Mrs. Schrader for bringing the kids, and for the parents who were willing to drive,” I say, as I see two flustered looking ladies trot up to the door, panting, wild eyes seeking out their young. “I’m sure Matt has a couple of extra plates, and we’d love to share with you.”
A couple of kids wave from across the room. One of the mothers, well trained to know her place in public, stays right at the door. The other swoops across the room and catches her son in an embrace. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? We are leaving right this minute.”
The other boys at the table snicker. Dan, one of the intelligent residents in the Manor, reaches out and puts his hand on hers.
“Ma’am, I think you’ll see the boy is unscathed. Let him eat. Get some food. Life is short.”
The woman is young enough that I can practically see the thought stream rolling through her head that life is apparently plenty long for some people. But the boy seizes the proffered salvation, wriggling out of her grasp and smoothing his hair.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
At this opportune moment, I hear the rumble of wheels in the hallway. Matt appears, pushing a food cart loaded high with pizza boxes, Cathy right behind him. Jake and I step in to help set up a buffet line.
A handful of other parents arrive. Jake hunts down chairs for them, and they crowd into the overfull tables with good humor, once their fears are at rest. I see a lot of glances aimed at Mrs. Schrader, though, and suspect that she might catch some undeserved flak.
Matt brings me a plate and finds me a chair and a space at one of the tables. Jake doesn’t sit, moving around from table to table, chatting with parents, looking safe and reliable and removing doubts.
I love pizza, but my appetite is compromised by worry. Maybe Jill is only suffering from a concussion, but my gut tells me it’s something much worse. She’s fully grown up and not my responsibility. At all. And yet I can’t shake a niggling sense that I owe it to Phil to look out for her. Sophronia, once we find her, has some explaining to do.
It seems to take forever, but finally everybody runs out of room for pizza and nothing is left of Matt’s delectable pie but a few crumbs. The oldsters are tired and headed for their rooms. The parents are anxious to collect the kids and get home.
Mrs. Schrader seeks me out before she sails away like a bulky ship on an unsteady sea. “Don’t think for a minute I’m going to let this go. I’ll be consulting my attorney first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Now, Joanna,” Jake says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Of course you can do whatever you want, but I hope you’ll change your mind. Come now, let’s get you headed home and you can think about this all some more after a little sleep.”
Her mouth opens in protest, but Jake is already propelling her out the door and down the hall.
• • •
The three of us reconvene up in my suite.
Morpheus is overjoyed to see us, but I’m not so happy to see him. The fact that Sophie left him here when she vanished worries me; it’s completely out of character. Before I can deal with this oddity, I call to check on Jill. The ER nurse isn’t eager to talk to me, HIPAA and all that, so I make my voice as creaky as possible and toss in a few sobs for good measure.
“Listen, she’s my niece and I’m her only living relative. Her poor sainted father passed a few weeks ago—you may have heard of him. Phil Evers? Murdered in his own bed. Who would have thought such things would happen in Shadow Valley? So you can see that—”
“Ma’am—”
“Poor Jill has nobody, unless it’s me, and here I am stuck up at this godforsaken Manor miles away from civilization. Maybe I can find someone to give me a ride, bless their hearts, but with the wheelchair and the catheter bag and—”
“Ma’am—”
“I just don’t know. How late is it okay to visit? Can I bring friends? Maybe we could get the medical transport bus to bring us down in a group, I know she’d love to see—”
“How about I just give you a report over the phone, ma’am. I’d hate to put you out.”
“Well, dearie, if you could do that, then that would just be a lovely thing, bless you so much.”
“I’m afraid she hasn’t recovered consciousness, but the good news is that we did a CT scan and there’s no evidence of brain damage or bleeding. The doctor is hopeful that she’ll regain consciousness soon, and we’re sending her upstairs to ICU within the hour. So when you’re able to make it in, you can visit her there.”
“Thank you so much, dearie. God bless you. It makes me feel so much better knowing you are taking care of her.”
Jake’s face is a mixture of laughter at my performance and worry about everything else. “You think Sophie—” Jake shakes his head. “I can’t imagine her crossing that line.”
“You’ve never seen her as she was tonight.”
“Who would have ever thought she’d go off like that?” he says.
Matt looks pale and strained. I’d blamed his expression on the episode of Kids Meet the Supernatural we’ve been engaged in, but now I see it’s more. “Why wouldn’t she?” he says. “All that power, and no training. No mentor. No guidance at home, no close friends.”
“She’s got us…” I start, and then trail away. More guilt. I could have done more to help her. She came to me, and what did I tell her? Oh, the truth, for sure, but the truth doesn’t always set you free. Sometimes the truth is what kills you.
“We let her down,” Matt says.
Jake sinks into a chair. He looks stricken: shoulders slumped, the lines in his face deeper than I remember them. “We need to find her. And fast.”
“I agree. Any idea who this Ravenna is?”
He shakes his head. “There’s something—seems like I’ve heard her name before, but can’t put a finger on it. Maybe Lysander knows.”
“Maybe Sophie just went home,” Matt says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
Jake looks up at m
e, his gray eyes weary. I want to smooth away the lines of tension in his face, and I’m startled by a strong desire to kiss him.
“Either way, we’ll need to go pay a visit.”
“If she’s running away, she’ll need food, clothing. And maybe Matt’s right. Let’s go see.”
I push back the chair, appalled at how stiff I am and how much pain and effort it takes to get upright and mobile.
“Shouldn’t somebody wait for her here? In case she comes back?” Matt asks, beginning to pace.
I think about this, then shake my head. “She won’t hurt the old people. Jill, on the other hand…”
Jake’s head snaps up, his face goes still. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he says. “Maybe where I need to be is up at the hospital.”
“Are we so very sure,” Matt asks, drawing out his words, “that this isn’t a case of somebody trying to hurt Sophie?”
No, we don’t know that. The truth is, I feel that I don’t know anything. Of all the emotions in the world, this is the one I hate the most and I’m not inclined to wallow in it. Time to solve a few mysteries.
Chapter Sixteen
I’m relieved to see Sophronia’s van parked outside the funeral parlor, but not for long. Nobody answers the chiming of the bell when we walk through the front door. We find Lysander in the showroom, dusting caskets with one of those Swiffer things. His face is set in a scowl even before he sees us and he downright growls when we walk into the room.
“What now? Another dead body to store in my basement? Maybe I should buy a freezer.”
“Mr—Lysander. We’re here about your daughter.” Matt’s tone is polite, deferential. His smile charming.
The effect on the undertaker is alarming. His already florid face turns a mottled, congested color, almost worthy of a hanging victim. He holds the plastic handle of the Swiffer in one hand and taps it across the other, raising a small cloud of dust up into the air.
“What about her?” he demands. “What’s she done?”
“She hasn’t done anything,” I say, hoping it’s true. Not yet.
Another tap. Another cloud of dust. It settles down on the shoulders of Lysander’s suit, like dandruff from on high.
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