Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) Page 8

  "Simon," I said, "why don't you come over here and have a seat?"

  I pulled him over to the picnic table, and we sat down on the bench. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he rested his head against mine.

  We sat that way until the warning bell rang. Then we went inside.

  I went to homeroom and had to be nudged when my name was called. When the bell rang to signal the start of classes, I was startled. It was hard for me to stop thinking about Simon and his brother. I had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  As I filed out into the hallway with everyone else, I suddenly felt strangely alert. I felt like someone's eyes were on me. Moments later, I heard a now-familiar voice.

  "Katie."

  I turned. William was standing against the wall next to a bank of lockers.

  I felt my spirits lift as soon as I saw him. I drew apart from the crowd to stand beside him.

  "Katie, I have to talk to you."

  I took in the anxious look that was on his face. "William, what's wrong?"

  "There's been another disappearance," he said. "Now two student from this school are missing."

  "Two students?" I asked. "I just heard about James Krstic. Who's the other one?"

  "A girl named Irina Neverov."

  "Irina?" I said, incredulous. "I know she missed school yesterday, but I had no idea she'd disappeared."

  "It was just like the others," William said grimly. "They've all gone the same way – the door battered down, the victim taken. Mr. Del Gatto was taken Monday night. Irina was taken from her father's home Tuesday night. James was taken from his parents' house Wednesday night."

  "What's going on?" I demanded. "How do you know all this?"

  He ignored my question and pulled a box out of his coat pocket. "I want you to keep this with you. At all times."

  He handed the box to me, and I opened it. Inside was a metal cross on a leather cord. "A cross?" I looked up at him, and a series of strange thoughts flashed through my mind. There was someone out there who was dead…yet was still walking around…and now people where disappearing. "Are you saying that the missing people were taken by a vampire?" I went on in a rush. "Is it Gleb Mstislav? Is he a vampire?"

  William's face settled into harsh lines. "No, he isn't. It isn't the shape that's important – it's the material. The cross is made from iron – iron from a very old source."

  "But it was Gleb, wasn't it?" I persisted. "He is the one who took them, isn't he?"

  "Katie, I want you involved in this as little as possible. Promise me you'll keep this charm with you at all times."

  "But—" I began.

  "Promise me," William said sternly.

  "I promise," I said.

  William seemed appeased.

  "You should get to class," he said more gently.

  "What about you?" I asked. "Do you have to get to class? You never did tell me if you were a student here."

  William gave me his little half smile. "No, I'm not a student here."

  "William," I said. "Who are you exactly?"

  His expression grew bleak. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you who – or rather what – I am. You really should get to class."

  I took few steps forward and then turned back to look at him. William was gone.

  I hurried to class. By the end of first period, my nerves were frayed. The whispers around me confirmed what William had told me. Irina had disappeared from her father's house on Tuesday night. The house had been broken into, and no one had any idea who had taken her. Mr. Del Gatto's disappearance on Monday night had been confirmed, and James was the latest victim. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights someone in our town had disappeared. Everyone was wondering who would be next.

  I had to wonder again about William. I still didn't have any idea who he was, yet at the same time, I knew that I trusted him. I wished I knew how he knew all about everything that was going on. And even though he hadn't actually admitted that Gleb Mstislav was behind the disappearances, it seemed to me pretty clear that he was. I shivered as I thought his name. What was he that he could be dead and yet still alive? And how had I wandered into a nightmare?

  Of course, it wasn't just my nightmare. I thought suddenly of Simon. I wanted to talk to him, explain to him what was going on, even if he thought I was crazy. He deserved to know everything that I knew. William wasn't telling me much, and though he didn't want me involved, maybe Simon and I could think of a way to help.

  As I made my way to second-period English, I had a sudden strange feeling that someone was watching me. I looked up and saw – or thought I saw – a pair of eyes floating in the air, looking at me. I blinked and the eyes disappeared. I shook my head. The last thing I needed was to start hallucinating again.

  I hurried on to class, and I noticed Bryony and Annamaria huddled together, looking miserable. I knew they were worried about Irina. I glanced toward the seats that were assigned to Charisse and Branden. Their seats were empty. I wondered with a pang in my heart if they'd skipped school today to elope.

  Mr. Hightower got up from his desk at the bell to close the door. As he did so, Branden and Charisse hurried into the room. I was relieved to see them.

  Mr. Hightower smiled at the two of them as they took their seats and walked to the front of the room.

  "Folks, may I have your attention, please."

  After having two free periods with Mr. Hightower, the class had grown accustomed to doing what they wanted, and most people were talking and not listening to him.

  Mr. Hightower's voice rang out, unexpectedly loud and stern. "Ladies, gentlemen. Eyes up here. Now."

  The chattering stopped, and all eyes turned to him, startled.

  Mr. Hightower flashed his now-famous grin. I had heard more than one girl in the class swooning over his pearly smile.

  "From what I've heard in the halls," Mr. Hightower said, his tone genial again, "most of you already know that there is a police investigation surrounding Mr. Del Gatto."

  A ripple of surprise ran through the class. They were unused to having a teacher acknowledge the rumors that swirled around in the halls.

  Mr. Hightower held up his hands for silence. "Since Mr. Del Gatto will be gone for an indefinite period, the vacation is over. I'm afraid we will have to get to work."

  The class groaned.

  "I know, I know," Mr. Hightower said, his voice full of amused sympathy. "It won't be too painful, I promise. Now, let's get out the tools of our trade."

  The class rustled as everyone pulled out textbooks, notebooks, pencils, and pens.

  Mr. Hightower sat on the edge of his desk. "So, folks, where were we? I believe you're on a unit devoted to local storytellers, and you just finished Lydia Grace's play, The Maid and the Moon about the life of Elspeth Quick."

  The class reluctantly grumbled that he was correct.

  Mr. Hightower began to twist his ostentatious ring around his finger. "I thought we'd start with something fun and easy. Since we're talking about local storytellers, let's talk about some of the stories in our own lives. What are some of the stories that you have in your own families?"

  Bryony raised her hand.

  Mr. Hightower pointed to her. "Yes, the lovely lady there. Remind me what your name is, please."

  I was not surprised to discover that Mr. Hightower didn't know Bryony's name, and I was reminded unpleasantly of the fact that he did know mine.

  "I'm Bryony Carson, Mr. Hightower."

  "Well, you're on, Bryony," Mr. Hightower said amiably.

  Bryony did not speak in class often, and her voice was high and thin. "My grandmother says there's a ghost in her house."

  Mr. Hightower beamed. "Intriguing."

  He pushed himself off his desk and walked to the blackboard. With a stubby piece of chalk, he wrote 'BRYONY, GHOST' in neat capitals on the board.

  He turned back to Bryony. "So, Miss Bryony, did I spell your name correctly?"

  "Yes," Bryony replied in her small voice.

&nb
sp; "Marvelous. And what is the significance of your particular family ghost?"

  "Well, my grandmother lives in an old farmhouse near the woods where Elspeth Quick's original fruit grove was – the Old Grove," Bryony said shyly. "The ghost lives in the house with her. She says the ghost was a friend of Elspeth's, and she watches over the woods."

  "This is good stuff, kiddo," Mr. Hightower said enthusiastically. "Your family has a personal tie to area history."

  "I guess so," Bryony replied.

  Next to 'BRYONY, GHOST,' Mr. Hightower wrote 'LOCAL HISTORY.'"

  "The ghost even told my grandmother about a fire in the Old Grove on Sunday night. She called the police and the fire department."

  Mr. Hightower laughed. "A useful friend to have."

  He turned to the class again. "All right. Who's next?"

  A boy named Grant Settle raised his hand.

  The class giggled in anticipation. Grant was well known as a class clown.

  Mr. Hightower pointed. "Yes, Mr…"

  "Settle. Grant Settle. At your service, sir." Grant stood up and sketched a bow. He sat down again.

  The class snickered.

  "What have you got for us, Mr. Settle?"

  "I saw something strange one night," Grant began in a theatrically dramatic voice.

  Mr. Hightower wrote 'GRANT' on the board and glanced over his shoulder. "Please go on."

  "It was during a full moon," Grant intoned. "In fact it was a full moon. It was hanging out the back window of a car full of my brother's friends." Grant gave an exaggerated shiver. "Scariest thing I ever saw."

  The class laughed.

  Mr. Hightower paused with his chalk poised over the board. He threw Grant a friendly, exasperated look. "Very funny, Mr. Wiseacre."

  He surveyed the class again. "Let's try somebody serious next. Katie, how about you?"

  I was surprised to hear Mr. Hightower call my name. It had been a little while since he'd asked me any questions that made me uncomfortable. I had a feeling that was about to change.

  Mr. Hightower gestured with his chalk. "I know you said your grandmother was from Russia. Do you have any family tales from the old country?"

  As far as I could recall, I had never volunteered the information that my grandmother was from Russia. Mr. Hightower had discovered that somehow and had brought it up himself on Tuesday.

  "My grandmother is from Russia," I said slowly. "But she's never told me any stories."

  Mr. Hightower gave me his most winning smile. "Aw, come on, K. Don't leave me hanging here."

  Mr. Hightower continued to stare at me, as if willing me to talk, and a long silence stretched between us. I glanced around. The class was staring at me, too, and I felt a blush rising to my cheeks.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Hightower, I don't have anything to tell you. My grandmother doesn't talk about the past much."

  Mr. Hightower did not give up. "Your grandmother is from the town of Krov, right?"

  I felt even more uncomfortable. I knew for a fact that I had never told him that. "Yes."

  Mr. Hightower tilted his head to the side and gave me a look of friendly skepticism. "You mean your grandmother never told you the story of the Little Sun? That's a local legend from the town of Krov."

  I wished fervently that the conversation with Mr. Hightower would end. "No. She never told me the story of the Little Sun. But she does call me that."

  "What?" Mr. Hightower asked. He looked startled.

  "She calls me 'Solnyshko.' It means 'little sun' in Russian."

  Mr. Hightower's brows rose. "Does she really?" He seemed very interested and stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing. Another uncomfortable silence ensued.

  My face was blazing now. "It's a common Russian endearment. It's not important."

  A voice interrupted. "Mr. Hightower, I've got a story."

  I glanced around at the voice. It was Branden.

  Mr. Hightower looked over at Branden and flashed his big smile. "Well, let's hear it. But first, tell me your name again."

  "It's Branden. I have a family story from World War II."

  Mr. Hightower turned to write on the blackboard, and I silently thanked Branden. Hope rose in my heart that maybe Charisse and Branden were no longer mad at me.

  The rest of the class dragged on horribly for me – I couldn't help worrying that Mr. Hightower would return to me to continue his questioning. Luckily, he went through the rest of the class, asking them for stories from their families, and he didn't speak to me again.

  When the bell rang signaling the end of second period, I swept my things into my backpack and leapt to my feet. I turned expectantly toward Branden and Charisse, but Charisse grabbed Branden by the hand and dragged him out of the room. Charisse didn't even glance in my direction. I felt a terrible, bitter twisting in my stomach.

  I dragged through the next two periods and went to lunch, half-hoping and half-fearing to see Charisse.

  In the cafeteria, I picked up a tray and went through the line, coming out on the other end with a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup.

  I found Simon at a round table and slid into the plastic seat next to him.

  Simon's face was pale and drawn, but he smiled at me when he saw me. "Hey."

  My heart went out to him. I knew how he must be worrying about his brother. "How are you?"

  Simon nodded and looked down at his sandwich. "Good."

  "Any news about James yet?"

  "No. Not a word."

  I placed a hand on his arm. "Don't give up."

  Simon smiled. "I know you're here for me. Thanks."

  The two of us began to eat in silence.

  I had wanted to talk to Simon about the strange things that were happening in the town and to me, but I couldn't bear at the moment to trouble Simon with anything else. He really looked worn out. I figured I would call him later that night, and then maybe the two of us could work out something to do. There had to be a way we could help – especially since I knew things about the disappearances that nobody else knew.

  Simon looked up suddenly, and I followed his gaze.

  Branden and Charisse were leaving the line and walking out amongst the tables. Branden caught sight of Simon and me. He smiled and began to walk toward us.

  "Branden!" Charisse called out sharply. "Over here."

  Branden turned, surprised, but didn't protest.

  I watched as Branden followed Charisse to a table on the other side of the cafeteria.

  I set my grilled cheese sandwich down on my tray and pushed it away. Suddenly, I wasn't very hungry anymore.

  Chapter 7.

  That night, I climbed into bed and called Simon. The dejection in his voice when he answered tore at my heart.

  "Hey, Katie."

  "Hey, Simon. Is there any news yet?"

  Simon sighed heavily. "No. Not a word. It's like James just vanished completely."

  Simon paused. The silence was heavy.

  "Katie, what if he – what if James is really gone?"

  "Simon, don't think it," I said. "You don't know what's happened. Don't imagine things."

  "Hoping is hard, Katie. Every hour feels endless now. I can't help staring at the clock, wondering if the next minute will bring bad news."

  I felt a strong surge of sympathy for Simon, and I wanted very badly to help him. But I could tell that that would have to wait. Simon was too tired and too hurt to do any planning tonight. I would talk to him tomorrow. Then we could figure out what to do.

  "Simon, try not to worry," I said. "I know that sounds crazy, but worrying won't help. You don't know how things will work out. You don't have to expect the worst."

  Simon sighed again. "I suppose you're right. I guess I should try to get some sleep now."

  "Call me any time if you need to talk," I said. "Even if it's three in the morning."

  Simon chuckled a little. "Thanks. Don't be too grouchy if I take you up on that. Goodnight, Katie."

  "Goodnight, Simon."


  I sat for a long moment, holding the phone to my heart. I had a feeling Simon was going to stay awake all night worrying about James no matter what advice anyone gave him. I wished again that I could help him.

  I thought briefly of going to GM and telling her about the disappearances to see if there was anything else she might be able to tell me about Gleb Mstislav. But I hesitated. I knew it would be hard for her. I decided that I would stick to my original idea and discuss everything with Simon. I figured we would have to investigate the disappearances ourselves. He could look into his brother's disappearance, and I could work on the others. If we didn't come up with anything, then I would go to GM. But I wouldn't bother her if I didn't have to. I knew GM didn't mean to be secretive – she just wanted me to be safe.

  Safe. I thought suddenly of William and the look on his face as he had insisted that I keep his charm with me at all times. He had certainly seemed concerned about my safety, too.

  I set my phone down on the table next to my bed and threw back my covers. I got out of bed and went to my backpack. I unzipped the pocket in the back and ran my hand through it until my fingers brushed the little charm. I drew it out and examined it.

  As I remembered, the charm was gray and uneven – a roughly hewn cross with a loop at the top for the cord. The charm was cool to the touch, and its craggy surface had a bit of a sheen to it. I remembered that William had said it was iron. Following an instinct I didn't entirely understand, I sniffed gingerly at it and caught a faint scent like rust or blood.

  On impulse, I brought the charm back with me to bed and climbed in again. I lay under the covers for several minutes, turning the cross over and over in my fingers. It was, in its own way, a beautiful thing, and I found holding it to be comforting. I wondered where the charm had come from.

  And if the charm was mysterious, William was even more so. He seemed to appear and disappear at will. He knew things about the man who had supposedly killed my mother. And he definitely knew more about the disappearances in town than he would admit to. All the facts pointed to his being a dangerous person, and yet every time I thought of him, I only wanted to know more about him. I wondered when I would see him again.