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  “Perhaps they thought it would help you.”

  “Well, I don’t need this kind of help.” For a moment her mouth trembled and she looked upset, but then she pulled herself together and said, “Okay, what else have you got to show me? Cold showers? Dungeons?”

  “Come outside and you’ll see.” I led the way to the grounds. Most of the girls were up in the dorms, unpacking, but a few had escaped outside to the gardens. It was a beautiful April afternoon, and everything looked green and fresh. Little groups of students were sitting under the trees or strolling about on the lawns that swept down from the main buildings to a wide, glassy lake. Mirrored in its depths were the famous ruins of the Abbey’s ancient chapel. Beyond the lake and the wooded grounds, the moors rose up to the distant horizon. It was an impressive sight. Even Velvet couldn’t play bored about this.

  “Actually, this is kind of cool,” she said, heading for the chapel. “It looks like Sleeping Beauty’s castle or something. What goes on in the ruins?”

  “Nothing much, generally. But we have the Memorial Procession there every year on the anniversary of Lady Agnes’s death.”

  “So this Lady Agnes really is a big deal round here? I like that. I’m into ghosts.”

  “She’s not a ghost,” I said shortly, but Velvet wasn’t listening. She had gone ahead to explore the ruins. The walls of the Abbey’s chapel were only half-standing, and the remains of the great east window hung like a tattered cobweb against the sky. Broken pillars indicated where a row of arched columns had once marked the chapel’s aisles. Now grass grew in between the weathered stones, and the roof was open to the sky. Velvet stood on the green mound where the chapel’s altar had been and flung her arms up to the sky in a dramatic pose. “This would be a great place for some fun. You know, a voodoo ritual, or some black magic stuff. My dad’s into all that.”

  I vaguely remembered that there had been a scandal a few years back about her father’s stage shows and his so-called occult performances, with some parents trying to ban them and get warnings put on his records. Velvet threw her head back and began to sway from side to side, dancing rhythmically with no hint of self-consciousness. Then she began to chant, in a low, wailing voice, as though appealing to unseen forces.

  “Stop it!”

  She broke off and stared at me. “Hey, I was only kidding around. What’s up, Sarah, are you scared of the dark side? I’m not. I’m not scared of anything. In fact, I quite fancy all that pagan stuff. I can see myself as a priestess, can’t you?”

  I tried to speak lightly, to let the moment pass. “I can see you getting a demerit if you don’t get changed into your uniform before the bell goes for supper. Let’s go up to the dorm.”

  “But I haven’t seen everything yet,” she complained. “What other cool stuff is there? Miss Scratton said you had to show me everything.”

  “I’m afraid the ruins are the highlight of the tour. There’s an open-air swimming pool behind the trees over there that we use in the summer term,” I said, pointing it out.

  “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “I wouldn’t get overexcited, the water’s usually pretty cold. And the sports fields are down the path next to that big oak tree, you know, hockey and lacrosse. The stables are up near the main house.”

  “Jesus, I loathe team games. Stables, please. But I haven’t finished with those ruins. They might come in useful one of these nights.”

  “Useful for what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, some kind of pagan party,” Velvet replied carelessly. “That would be cool. Midnight magic—what do you think? It would liven the place up.”

  I led the way to the stables, feeling uncomfortable. It was so bizarre to hear Velvet joke around about rituals and magic when such things were real for me and my friends, and not only real but threatening and deadly. There were two Wyldcliffes. One was the world of the exclusive school with its exams and traditions, where people were concerned with academic success and preparing for college, getting onto the sports teams, and being invited to society parties during the holidays. But the other Wyldcliffe was a battleground between the dark and the light, where ancient forces and deeper powers were at work.

  On that bright spring afternoon it was hard to believe that only a few weeks earlier we had released Sebastian’s soul into eternity, and seen Mrs. Hartle—the previous High Mistress and Helen’s mother—cross over into the shadows as a vengeful spirit. She had chosen to dedicate her warped existence to serving the corrupt king of the Unconquered lords, the terrible powers who had cheated death and found unholy immortality in the shadow world. And now who knew whether she would leave us alone, or whether she was planning some fresh attack? And what had happened to the remains of Mrs. Hartle’s coven of Dark Sisters? Had they abandoned their pursuit of elemental power, or were they waiting to group together again, even stronger and more dangerous than before? As I walked with Velvet in the bright spring gardens, my heart sounded in my chest like a war drum, and I sensed eyes hidden in the hills, watching me like carrion crows. Drumming—there was drumming in my head and I felt afraid.

  My Wyldcliffe, my real Wyldcliffe, was not just about the day-to-day dramas of being at boarding school, so Velvet’s self-indulgent nonsense was not what I needed to hear right then. I needed to see Helen and Evie and plan our next move. I decided I would show Velvet the stables, take her to the dorm, and then leave her to unpack so that I would be ready as soon as my friends arrived. I didn’t think that Velvet Romaine really needed me to babysit her.

  Arriving at the stables calmed me down. I have always loved horses; they are in my family’s blood. My father trains racehorses, sometimes for himself, sometimes for other wealthy owners. Now the earthy smell of the stables—a mix of straw and feed and the sharp, sweet tang of the horses’ coats—soothed me. It spoke to me of a time when the earth was greener and we lived in harmony with both horses and the land. I walked over to the loose box where my horse Starlight was waiting and kissed his soft muzzle. A groom from home had driven him up to Wyldcliffe in the trailer the day before, together with my other pony—funny, fat, cheerful little Bonny. I was getting a bit too tall for Bonny really, but I had brought her for Evie, who had learned to ride on Bonny’s broad back and was not comfortable with any of the other horses.

  “Is he yours?” asked Velvet, patting Starlight’s arched neck. “Nice.”

  “Yes. Do you ride?”

  “You could say that. We lived in Argentina for a while and I hung out with the polo crowd. That was fun. Wow, who owns this beauty?” She walked over to the other side of the stable yard to admire a magnificent white mare that was tethered in a wide stall. Velvet whistled through her teeth and expertly made a fuss of the beautiful creature. I could see that she was used to being around horses. “Now you would be worth riding, sweetheart,” Velvet crooned. She turned to me inquiringly. “Who does she belong to?”

  “Seraph is Miss Scratton’s horse, and she doesn’t let anyone else ride her.”

  “So what? I can always find a way round that.”

  “Seriously, Velvet, you mustn’t do anything silly.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “What can they do to me? Expel me? That’s exactly what I want. Anyway, I’m a pretty good rider. I wouldn’t come to any harm.”

  “I was thinking of the horse,” I replied coolly.

  Velvet stared at me for a moment, then laughed. “I like you, Sarah. You’re different. You seem really—I don’t know—really good, but I’m not so sure that you’re as angelic as you make out.”

  I blushed. Evie had always called me “good.” Sweet and good and wholesome, like the fruit of the harvest, she said. But sometimes, being good was an effort. Being good meant putting others first, standing aside. Letting go of things you wanted for yourself. I shook my head and moved away, not wanting Velvet to see that her words had had an effect on me. I pushed open the door of the little tack room in the corner of the yard, talking about the first thing that came into my h
ead. “If you want to sign up for riding lessons with Mrs. Parker, you write your name in the book in here—oh—”

  My voice faltered. Two people in the shadows of the tack room broke away from each other with a guilty start. One of them was a tall boy with hair the color of ripe corn—Josh Parker. And the other one was Evie.

  Chapter Three

  Oh—Sarah! I was just going to look for you.”

  Evie stepped forward and threw her arms around me, but for an instant I felt a cold sluice of disappointment that Evie had arrived at school and sought out Josh before she had found me. And what had they been doing, huddled together in this hidden corner? Had she forgotten Sebastian already? The next moment I blamed myself for being so unkind. I was being totally oversensitive. I had no right to judge Evie. Nothing mattered except our friendship. I hugged her back.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Evie. Where’s Helen? Miss Scratton told me you were arriving together.”

  “We did, about ten minutes ago. Helen said she was feeling suffocated after being stuck for hours in the train and then the taxi. She’s gone for a walk down to the village to get some fresh air before unpacking.”

  “Should she really have gone on her own?”

  “Of course, why not? Our year is allowed to leave the school grounds on a Sunday.”

  That wasn’t quite what I had meant. I was thinking of the hidden dangers that could be lurking all around Wyldcliffe.

  “Evie, I’d better go,” Josh said. “I’ve got tons to do to get all the horses settled in for the night. See you later, Sarah,” he added casually, pushing past me on his way out. I experienced the familiar ache as his body brushed against mine. He paused at the door and nodded to Velvet, who was staring at him appreciatively, then spoke to Evie again. “So, tomorrow after school?” Josh’s voice was warm and eager, as though full of secret happiness. I had never seen anyone so clearly and hopelessly in love—but not with me. Of course not. “Say, five o’clock, Evie?”

  Evie looked slightly self-conscious, but she smiled back at him. “Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.”

  He left, and there was an awkward silence. My Wyldcliffe training in perfect social manners came to the rescue. “Evie, this is a new girl, Velvet Romaine. I’ve been showing her around. She’s going to be in our class. Velvet, this is my best friend Evie Johnson.”

  “Hi there,” Velvet drawled. “Where did you find him? I thought this place was strictly all-female.”

  “Josh isn’t a student here,” Evie explained. “He works in the stables sometimes, and helps his mother give the riding lessons.”

  Josh wasn’t just Evie’s riding instructor. He was crazy about her, just as I had been crazy about him for so long. He had lived in Wyldcliffe all his life and knew some of its secrets, and had learned about Evie’s connection with Sebastian and the coven. But Josh hadn’t been frightened off by what seemed like an impossible situation. He had stayed loyal to Evie through everything and was here for her now, reassuringly devoted and grounded and sane. Not only that, he was pretty good-looking, which Velvet couldn’t fail to notice.

  “He can give me a lesson anytime.” Velvet glanced provocatively from under her glossy fringe. “Or maybe I could teach him a thing or two.”

  Evie’s smile faded, and she looked annoyed. “So are you the Velvet Romaine? The one in all the magazines?”

  “The one with the famous parents and the dysfunctional childhood and drug problems and the unsuitable boyfriends? Yeah, that one.” Velvet’s dark eyes flashed with resentment.

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—,” Evie began.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it. Like they say, I don’t give a damn.”

  I stepped in hastily. “I’d better take you to the dorm, Velvet, so you can change into your uniform. And then can we talk before supper, Evie? We could walk down to meet Helen coming back from the village. Have you heard that Miss Scratton is the new High Mistress? Did you know?”

  “Mmm . . . yes, some of the other girls were talking about it. . . .” Evie tore her gaze away from Velvet and turned to me. “See you at the front door in a few minutes? I’ll wait for you there.”

  “Okay, great. Come on, Velvet, we’ll have to be quick.”

  We left the stable yard and entered the main school by one of the many side doors. I hurried down an echoing corridor, and soon we arrived back at the black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. The grand marble staircase swept up to the higher floors, and I led the way.

  “The second floor is where the mistresses live and have their common room,” I told Velvet. “If you need to see the housekeeper, or go to the infirmary, that’s on the second floor too. The dorms are all up on the third floor.”

  “I hate dorms. I hate having to share a room.”

  As we climbed the winding steps, I wondered how on earth Velvet would settle at Wyldcliffe. So many people had been hurt by the place: Agnes, Laura, Helen, Evie—even poor little Harriet, who had been controlled and made use of by Mrs. Hartle the term before. They were like birds flying through a storm, unable to escape the spell of this strange valley. And now a thought cut through me: It would be my turn soon.

  “So your mom came to school here?” Velvet asked. “And your gran?”

  “Both my grandmothers, actually,” I replied with a rueful smile. “And my great-grandmother before that. I’m afraid I’m Wyldcliffe through and through.”

  “So your family must be kind of posh, what with your grandmother being Lady Thingamajig and all that.”

  “People will be much more impressed that your dad’s a rock star and your mother’s a famous model than they are by anyone in my family. Everyone says that Amber Romaine is one of the most beautiful people on the planet, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, they do, especially Amber,” Velvet replied sourly. “She’s her own biggest fan.”

  I was a bit surprised to hear Velvet talk like that about her mother. I didn’t want to pry, but for an instant, Velvet had dropped the mask of her cynical pose and I had caught a glimpse of her unhappiness. “So, don’t you two get on or something?” I asked.

  Velvet shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret that we clash. Why do you think she’s packed me off to so many boarding schools? She got on better with my sister, Jasmine. But she’s dead.” Velvet glared at me, challenging me to respond. But there was nothing much I could say, beyond the old clichés.

  “I heard about it—I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, Amber and I are probably too alike. And having a teenage daughter around isn’t really on her agenda. Makes her look old, I guess. We’re always fighting. Every time we have a fight, Dad tries to make up for it by buying both of us masses of stuff. Funny, though, all his money can’t actually stop her from hating me.”

  I was kind of shocked. I love my mother dearly, and even though there are some things I can’t share with her—secret hopes and dreams—she is always there in the background, always loving and supportive. When I am with my friends at school I don’t talk about her much, as I am acutely conscious that Evie’s mother is dead and Helen’s mother, Mrs. Hartle, has brought her nothing but misery. And here was Velvet now, angry with her mother, talking of hatred.

  “She can’t hate you, she’s your mother—”

  “Whatever.” Velvet switched back to her earlier flippant manner. “So tell me about these snobby grandmothers of yours.”

  “They aren’t snobby,” I said, thrown back on the defensive. “My dad’s mother just happens to be Lady Fitzalan, but she’s totally down-to-earth. She’s a typical Englishwoman, mad about horses and dogs and her garden, that’s all.” Then I laughed reluctantly. “Okay, my other grandmother, on the Talbot-Travers side of our family, was pretty stuck-up. But her own mother, my great-grandmother, wasn’t born into privilege. She was called Maria, and she was an orphaned Gypsy child who was adopted by wealthy people.”

  “Really? A Gypsy? That’s really cool.” At least this was one thing that Velvet and I
could agree on. “So you’ve got Gypsy blood?” She scrutinized my features as though sizing them up for some kind of modeling assignment. “Yeah, I can see that now—you’ve got the dark, curly hair and that kind of natural, outdoor look—”

  “Mmm . . . maybe,” I murmured in reply. But the connection I felt with Maria went deeper than any superficial chance of hair color or looks.

  I had often thought about my great-grandmother and felt her presence in my life. I was drawn to any scrap of information I could find out about Maria and her Romany family. Perhaps it seems odd, but I felt some kind of spiritual bond with them. Maria had been sent by her adoptive parents to Wyldcliffe long ago, and sometimes I felt as though she was watching over me at school, as though we actually knew each other and had some secret understanding. Sounds impossible, I know. But when I had met Cal, a young Traveler, the term before, it seemed that the Romany world was opening up to me at last. For a short time I had begun to believe that the secret loneliness that had always brooded under my oh-so-calm exterior might be healed. Of course, I knew that I was lucky, really. I had a great family and home. I had my horses and friends. I loved the land around me and the earth under my feet, and I would be faithful to my gifts of the Mystic Way. But I secretly wanted more. I wanted to have someone special, who really understood everything about me. Was I being greedy?

  As Velvet followed me up the steps to the third floor, I thought of my dream, of those eyes looking into mine, full of warmth. I remembered the way Cal had talked to me, as if I really mattered. I remembered his watchful eyes and his quick, rare laugh. I remembered the feeling of connection between us. But Cal’s family had moved on, away from Wyldcliffe, and I had been left behind. Cal had told me that he would see me again and had promised to write, but I hadn’t heard anything. He didn’t even have a cell phone, so there was no way I could get in touch with him. He would be far away by now.