Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) (14 page)

           
Simon sighed in exasperation.
 
"I don't know.
 
Maybe."

           
I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw.
 
He'd made up his mind.
 
I decided to switch topics – talking about James's disappearance wasn't helping him at the moment.
 
I cast about for something to say, but I couldn't come up with anything.
 
At last, I decided words wouldn't really help anyway.

           
"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.

           
"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."