Chapter Eighteen
Between Rock and a Hard Place
“WE ARE SO DEAD,” Jai moans. “I mean, I’m an adventurous soul, don’t get me wrong. But messing with these guys? We are so, so, so dead.”
“Oh, you’re about to be dead, all right,” Darby mutters, “if you don’t shut up already.”
“I’m just saying, if your plan to find Dead Gir—” He coughs, glancing at Darby. “I mean, if your plan to find Other Amelia involves us dying and meeting up with her in the afterlife, then this is a super-duper, A-plus, stellar plan. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Whatever happened to confidence?” I ask, voice wobbling as I stare into the darkness ahead of us, as if I’m one to talk. I’m still rattled by Darby’s words, and can barely even look at her without feeling the urge to cry. “Seriously, Jai. Because I could use some right now.”
“There’s a difference between confident and stupid, Amelia Cranberry Jones.”
“Cranberry? Seriously?”
“I’m a little stressed right now, okay?”
“Shut up,” Darby growls.
The basement of the Shell feels like a dungeon. The walls are thick concrete, moldy and damp, and the ceiling is so low it feels like we’re in a tunnel. No windows or lights brighten the space. There’s just a long dark hallway, and occasional rooms stuffed with dusty furniture. Darby holds a little flashlight, which she bounces off the junk piled there.
The light passes across a skeleton, and I yelp.
“They’re just drama club props,” Darby says, rolling her eyes.
“Why are we down here, again?” I whisper. “Can’t we find this person in the dorms or the cafeteria or something?”
“And have half the student body see us? Do you want people to know we’re hunting a black spell?”
“Well, this place gives me the creeps.”
“You think the place is bad,” Jai mutters, “wait till you meet the people. These are the kids who put a charm on Collin Brunnings last week just because he sat at their lunch table. They made him think he was a hippo. The Maestros found him hours later, sitting in the lake trying to eat a raw fish.” He moans. “We are so gonna get hippo’d.”
“Quiet!” hisses Darby.
At the end of the hallway is a door, and on the door is a black pirate flag with the words TURN BACK OR BE DISEMBOWELED.
“So dead,” Jai whispers.
“I know what I’m doing,” Darby growls, raising a hand to knock.
But before she can, the door flings open with a blast of rock music. Every hair on my body stands on end, as the sound hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I clap my hands over my ears.
A jumble of noise erupts from the room—screeching electric guitar, clashing drums, wailing voices, all amplified by the small space so it smacks into us like a tidal wave. The tempo is furious, while the bass is so low and loud it makes my teeth vibrate. It’s like each instrument is competing to drown out the others. Mixed into all the chaos is a voice yelling words I can’t even understand.
We yell and stumble backwards, running into each other, and I bolt for the exit.
Then a light appears in the hallway ahead, blocking the way. It pulses orange in time with the chaotic noise behind us, then stretches and forms into a giant glowing tiger. Yellow eyes glint at us, and fangs flash white as it snarls. I grab hold of both Darby and Jai, wincing as the rock music grows even louder and angrier. The electric guitar sounds like someone’s cutting it in half with a chainsaw.
Ahead of us, the tiger crouches low, eyes fixed on us.
“Oh, no,” Jai whispers. “No, no, no—”
All at once the tiger charges.
Even though I know it’s just an illusion, I still turn and run—
Straight into the room where the band is playing their earsplitting spell.
Darby and Jai are right on my heels, screaming. Together we spill into the room and crash to the floor, as the tiger pounces over our heads and skids on its claws.
Not real, not real! I think, but I still shriek when its jaws clamp on my head—only to feel nothing.
Instead, the tiger bursts into a glittering cloud of sparks. The band finishes their spell with a crashing drum solo, and I slap my hands over my ears until they’re done.
Motes of blue light fade around us, as the last echo of sound seeps into silence.
Then I look up at the band members, who are all staring at us with expressions of disgust.
“Gross,” says the lead guitarist, who must have been the one yelling into the mic. “Guppies.” He’s the kid we followed in here. The others—two girls with guitars and a guy on drums—watch us with slitted eyes.
“How did you get in?” says one of the girls, sneering through her purple lipstick. “Man, you guys are so dead.”
Jai moans.
The room is decked out in posters of rock bands, and there’s a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. In the center is the band, standing in a mess of cords and amps, and all around them are beanbag chairs, a threadbare couch, piles of spells, and half-finished bags of snack food. Broken equipment is stacked in haphazard piles, from old amps to kick-drum pedals to snapped drumsticks. It’s like the room hasn’t been cleaned in decades. The whole place smells like ranch chips and that smoky, used-fireworks smell that means illusion magic has been recently played here.
All I can think of to say is, “I didn’t even know we had a band.”
“It’s high schoolers only,” says the kid. “Rock spells are way too dangerous for kids.”
“Man, you guys get all the fun.” Apparently over his fear now, Jai walks to the drum set like he’s going to touch it, and the drummer smacks his hand with a stick.
“No touching, zit face!” the drummer hisses.
“You have more zits than me,” Jai points out, and even though it’s true, the drummer jabs him in the stomach with his stick.
“We’re here to see Rosa,” Darby says, lifting her chin.
The kid puts down his guitar. “Nobody sees Rosa unless she calls for them. You guys aren’t even supposed to be down here. This place is band members only!”
He grabs Darby’s sleeve, but she chops down on his arm so fast I almost miss it. With a screech, he backs away, holding his elbow and staring at her like she bit him.
Darby shrugs. “Self-defense classes. My dad said they’d build grip strength and improve my oboe skills.” She stares thoughtfully at her clenched fist. “He wasn’t wrong.”
The guitarist’s face turns red as the other seniors laugh.
“Ohhh, watch it, Jason, or the little girl might break your kneecaps,” snickers Purple Lipstick.
“Just let them see Rosa,” says the drummer. “They’ll regret it soon enough.”
The guitarist turns back to Darby. “Whatever. Look, you can try to talk to her, but if she tells me to kick you out, I’m kicking you out.”
Darby holds up a finger and gives him a smile. “You can try to kick me out.”
He scowls. “This way. Hey! No touching!”
Jai yanks his hand away from the electric guitar he was about to poke, looking sheepish.
The others sneer at us as the kid leads us to a doorway covered with a curtain of colored beads. They form a picture of a grinning skull, ready to swallow up anyone stupid enough to enter.
“Don’t come running to me when she kicks your butts,” the kid growls, as we push through the beads. They clatter behind us like bones.
The small room within is dimly lit by an ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, draped with strings of crystals. A girl reclines on a red leather couch against the back wall, her black combat boots propped up, metallic pink headphones clamped over her ears and her foot bobbing to the music she’s listening to. She’s idly polishing a saxophone, but glances up when we enter and narrows her eyes, then removes the headphones.
Rosa Guerrera, Darby told me this morning, is the daughter of Fernando Guerrera, the mogul who owns Spellstones—the la
rgest chain of spell stores in the world. Making Rosa one of the richest girls at school, if not the richest. With that in mind, I’d expected a prissy heiress, but the girl in front of us is more rebel than princess.
Rosa’s hair is dyed pink at the ends. Over her Mystwick uniform she wears a black leather vest, and instead of the usual white socks the rest of us girls wear, she has on dark tights with tiny silver stars all over them. Her lipstick is apple red, and when she looks up at us, I see little music-note tattoos curling up her neck.
Slowly, Rosa sets down her saxophone and lowers her boots, then leans forward on the sofa.
“What,” she says in a low voice, “are three rats doing in my sanctum?”
Jai starts backing away, but Darby grabs his shirt and holds him in place.
I decide I better explain, since this did all start with me. And Darby’s likely to say the wrong thing and get us all charmed into thinking we’re hippos. Looking at Rosa now, I can fully believe the story about Collin.
“We need a spell,” I say.
Rosa studies me for a long minute, then leans back, clicking her dark nails together.
“Try the library. Any library. Preferably one far away from here, before I settle on how to punish you for breaking into band territory.”
Though a huge part of me wants to do just that, I shake my head. “The spell we need isn’t in the library.”
Rosa tilts her head, revealing more of the music-note tattoos. “Oh? Well, well. That is interesting. You’ve bought yourself two minutes of my time, guppy. Use them wisely.”
I look at Darby. Darby looks at me.
The she bursts out, “We need to trap a ghost.”
Now Rosa really looks surprised.
She stands up, crossing her arms. Her nails are long enough to double as guitar picks. Then I realize they probably do. “This keeps getting better. Still. You’re practically in diapers. I couldn’t give you such a powerful spell. You’ll only get yourselves killed.”
“Killed?” Jai whispers.
Rosa grins. “Black spells aren’t outlawed for no reason, peabrain. People die trying to play them. And catching ghosts isn’t like rounding up humfrogs. Look, I’m only trying to save your lives.”
She shrugs and sits back down, picking up her saxophone. “Leave now, and I won’t have the band rewire your nervous systems.” Grinning, she adds, “You’ll feel like you have spiders crawling under your skin for a week. It’s a spell the ancient Mayans used to drive their enemies insane. I have the only copy in the world.”
Darby steps forward, her eyes on fire. “I’m not leaving here empty-handed. If you can’t give me what I need, I’ll tell the Maestros you’re peddling black spells, and they’ll expel all of you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Rosa smirks and rises to her feet. Even though she’s a senior, she’s pretty short, while Darby is tall for her age. They’re almost eye to eye. “My dad gives an awful lot of money to this place. They practically paper the walls with it. And if you think I’m dumb enough to leave my merchandise where the Maestros can find it, then you don’t know me at all. And trust me, I’m just waiting for an excuse to show you what I’m really like.”
Hastily, I slip between them and put on my best smile. “Maybe we could make a deal?”
Rosa looks down at me like I’m a fly she could squash with her thumb. “What?”
“There must be something we could offer you in exchange.”
Rosa rolls her eyes. “What could you possibly have that I need? I’ve got enough money to buy this school if I wanted. No . . .” She regards us thoughtfully, one black nail digging into her lower lip. “But there is something you might fetch for me.”
We all three nod eagerly.
“Anything!” Darby throws in. “What do you want?”
Rosa smiles sweetly and says, “I want a cat.”
The three of us blink at each other, then her.
Then I echo, “A . . . cat.”
“Not just any cat,” Rosa replies. “I want Euphonia Le Roux’s musicat.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I hold up my hands. “That isn’t an option. We’re not stealing the headmaestro’s cat.”
“I’m not going to hurt it,” Rosa says. “I just need it for five minutes.”
“Deal,” Darby says.
“No deal!” I glare at them both. “I want to know why Rosa wants the musicat.”
“Because it’s cute.” She grins. “I want to cuddle it.”
“Baloney.”
Rosa laughs. “Fine, then. If you must know, that cat knows a spell—a spell that’s never been written down. In fact, it’s the strongest spell you’ll ever see in your boring little lives. If the cat hums it for me, I can copy it, then let it go. It’ll run back to Mrs. Le Roux, who’ll never even know it was gone. As long as you don’t mess this up, anyway. And if you do, and you even look in my direction, I will make dead sure you’re all ghosts by the end of the week. Got it?”
“Deal,” Darby says again. This time, she grabs Jai and me and drags us toward the door, through the curtain of beads.
“Wait!” I shout. “How do we even know you have a spell that will help us? How can we get the musicat? We’re just seventh graders!”
Rosa only smiles. “And therefore expendable. Adios!”
She lets the curtain of beads sweep shut.
The other band members push us out into the hallway, then slam the door. We hear it lock from the inside, and one shouts, “Scram! Or you get the spiders!”
We stare at each other in the dim hallway.
“Darby, you had no right to make that deal! We should have discussed it first.”
She scowls. “We both want to talk to Amelia. This is the only way that happens.”
“But kidnapping a cat?”
“I think you mean catnapping,” Jai points out.
Darby looks me squarely in the eye. “We do this my way, remember? Or else—”
“Fine!” I clench my hands into fists as she gives me a smirk and then walks away, leaving the threat of blackmail hanging over me. I have no choice but to give in, and she knows it, or she’ll tell the whole school how I really got into Mystwick.
“You’re okay with this?” Jai asks me, his eyes wide.
“If we don’t help her, she’ll just do it alone. At least this way we can keep her under control.”
“Is that a joke? Your roommate’s almost as scary as those seniors back there! She nearly made that guy cry when she chopped his arm!”
“Just . . . come on.”
Grinding my teeth, I run to catch up to Darby.
Behind me, Jai groans, “Definitely, absolutely, so, so, so dead.”
Chapter Nineteen
Croak, Croak, Croak Your Boat
IT’S NOT A VERY GOOD PLAN.
But it’s the only plan we’ve got, and Darby insists we try it as soon as possible.
And that’s how I find myself hiding in a bush with Jai on the edge of Orpheus Lake two days later. We’d have launched the plan earlier, but we had to wait for the rain to let up. It’s been storming and raining nonstop for three days now, and the lake is so full the dock is almost completely underwater, but finally we get the clear sky we need.
And not a moment too soon. Yesterday, the ghost of Amelia Jones visited me in the middle of lunch—when I was surrounded by hundreds of other students. One minute, everything was normal, and the next, I looked down to see someone had formed my mashed potatoes into a tiny snowman.
Darby was the only person who noticed, and her eyes went wide. I just shook my head at her; there was no way I could tell her Amelia was reminding me of my little snow incident in the Echo Wood. Is that her game? To alert the Maestros to my Composing? It’s probably the fastest route to my getting expelled, so I don’t doubt it for a second. Putting up with my terrible performances in class is one thing; if they find out I broke such a big rule, they’ll probably skip the zeppelin ride and teleport me straight back into Gran’s kitchen.<
br />
Our plan to kidnap Wynk, the musicat, takes place during the transition period when everyone’s going from late classes to the cafeteria for dinner. In the confusion of people running around, no one will miss us. And hopefully, they won’t be able to hear us either.
“Anything?” Jai asks, clutching his violin.
I push aside some leaves to peek at Darby, who sits on the front steps of Harmony Hall, like she’s waiting for a friend. Totally casual. Nothing suspicious here, no sir.
The idea is to get Mrs. Le Roux out of her office so Darby can run in and grab Wynk. Which means we have to create a big enough distraction outside that the headmaestro is forced to deal with it herself.
I shake my head and zip up my jacket. It’s been getting colder every day, and the dropping temperatures are just a reminder that my test is getting closer. Only a month until my fate is decided once and for all.
“What’s she waiting for?” Jai growls. “We’ve been sitting here for hours!”
“More like ten minutes,” I point out. But my nerves are on edge, about to snap. The longer we wait, the closer I get to chickening out altogether.
Settling back on my heels, I polish a spot on my flute with the hem of my skirt. The bush we’re in is big enough that we could be standing upright if we wanted, but we’re trying to keep the rustling branches to a minimum. Being discovered in a bush with Jai Kapoor isn’t exactly the sort of distraction I want to cause—and there’s no good way to explain ourselves if we were caught. I think we’d both just die of humiliation on the spot.
Sighing, I watch Jai methodically rub rosin over his bow.
“You know,” I say, “one day we’ll be high schoolers too. And Rebel Clef will need new members.”
Jai glances at me sidelong. “Really having trouble picturing you shredding a guitar, Jones.”
“I’m not talking about me, dummy. You.”
He presses his lips together and plucks the E string on his violin. “I told you, my dad would never—”
“Oh, come on! I saw you checking out Rebel Clef’s guitars. I know that’s what you listen to when you pretend it’s just Bach and Beethoven in your ears. Are you really going to let your dad stop you?”
The Mystwick School of Musicraft Page 16