MOON FALL (24 page)

Now that they were safely in Witch Forest, Mark and Corey
felt no need to hurry. In fact, they had begun purpo
s
ely to
dawdle so that Pete would be stuck explaining to hi
s
parents
and Caspar why his friends had left him alone to work on the
Haunt. He deserved to suffer that much, at least. Mark doubted
anyone would find out that Pete was with them at St.
G
rue
s
ome's
-
he had no intention of ratting on either of his
friends -
and
maybe, just maybe, Kelly would be able to ret
ri
eve his
jacket and wallet and save his butt, too.

"We're almost there," Corey said, as they approached
the
boundaries of the small park. ''You want to go to the Mezzan
in
e
or the bridge?'' .

“
The Mezzanine," Mark told him, almost yelling to be heard
over the Falls. Corey nodded and the pair walked another hundred
feet coming to a steep fifty-foot incline.

The
ground
was soft and covered with pine needles, so Mark
took the lead, turning parallel to the slope and
digging
the sides
of his feet into the earth with each step. Beh
in
d him, Corey
did the same.

Mark, chilled without his jacket, relished the
first
splashes
of bright sunlight that hit his face as the trees thinned at the
bottom of the hill. The meadow lay just beyond the
last
stand
of trees and as he approached it, a chill ran down his back

“Why’dj
a
stop?" Corey asked, bumping into him from
behind.

''I was just thinking about my dad's little brother.
The thing
was, he hadn't been back to the Falls since Minerva had
told
him about his uncle's deat
h, and suddenly he was both exci
ted
and scared about being here.

"Yeah, that's creepy
-
"

A raucous screech exploded so close that Mark clapped
his
hands over his ears. He glanced at his friend and saw
him
standing paralyzed, his face drained of blood. Mark put
his
finger to his lips, indicating silence, when Corey opened his
mouth to speak.

The cry hadn't come from above, but from somewhere ahead
of them. Mark tried to peer between the trees, but they were
still too far from the clearing to see more than a
few
patches
of dry yellow grass. Lo
oking down, he saw that the pine n
eedles
were thinner.

He gave Corey another quiet sign, then crooked
his finger
,
gesturing for the other boy to follow him. Mark took one
silent
step, then another. On the third, a twig
snapped
under his
sneaker and they stood still a long moment. Nothing happened.

Ten more steps brought them close to the meadow's edge.
Mark stopped behind the thick trunk of a sycamore, Corey
breathing down his neck. He was about to peek around the tree
when another screech tore the air, shrill and ragged and horrible,
far louder than the crash of the waterfall. Mark put his hands
against the tree trunk to stop their trembling and nearly jumped
out of his skin when Corey tapped his shoulder. "What?" he
whispered, the sound utterly lost in the thunder of the Falls.
"What?" he said again, this time bending toward Corey's ear.

''What is it?" Corey hissed back.

"I don't know." He swallowed hard. "But I think it's in the
meadow. I'm gonna look."

To his surprise, Corey nodded. ''Me, too."

Slowly, slowly, Mark, with Corey behind him, edged around
the broad sycamore. He realized he was squinching his eyes
s
hut and told himself to stop.
One. Two. Three.
He opened
them just as a breeze came up, carrying a gentle spray of water
droplets with it. Instead of refreshing, it
·
shocked him.

At first he saw only the edge of the meadow, the dry fall
grass, the tree s
tu
m
ps and boulders, and peripherally, the white
water falling. Then he let his gaze crawl across the meadow
until it stopped on the back of a huge black bird. Its lowered
head moved back and forth, jerked slightly.

It was feeding, and briefly he looked away.

Nightflyers .
.. that's what Minerva called them. She claimed
s
he didn't know what they were, just some sort of hawk. But
s
he also said they were evil and not to be spoken of, and Mark
believed that meant she knew exactly what they were. Maybe
not exactly, he amended; maybe she didn't know they flew in
daylight as well.

He forced himself to look again. He could see the top of the
head now and then as the creature ripped flesh from its prey.
Suddenly he glimpsed a flash of black, then a dirty white
sneaker, as the hawk yanked and tugged.

Corey screamed.

Instantly, Mark jumped back, but the other boy was blocking
his way and he landed on his ass, knocking Corey down behind
him. He scrambled to his feet, but before he could do anything
else, the creature's head swiveled toward them.

Briefly, he saw the glint of predatory eyes set forward like
an owl's, but with a deep reddish glow. He caught his breath
at the sight of a piece of stringy red flesh held delicately in a
long, hooked beak. It tilted its thick neck back and swallowed
the meat, then glared at Mark. He could feel its eyes boring
into his, knowing him, making sure it would recognize him.

The head swiveled again and the creature spread its wings,
shiny charcoal. The feathers looked more like scales this far
away, and there was a bat
-
like arch to the wings.

Its screech was deafening, the flap of its wings loud and
leathery. Barely off the ground, the thing turned gracefully and
flew toward them. Without thinking, Mark turned and threw
himself across Corey, flattening him.

In slow motion, he felt the wind of the wings, heard the cry,
and felt white-hot pain on the back of his neck.

Then it was over.

"Mark! Is it gone?" Corey's voice was muffled against the
pine needles and golden sycamore leaves.

"God," Mark rolled off Corey, put his hand to the back of
his neck. ''Ouch, shit." There was a half-inch crater missing
at the nape of his neck. He brought his hand down and felt
himself go numb at the amount of blood covering it, dripping
from his fingertips. "You got a kerchief or something?" he
asked, clamping his hand back over the wound

Corey felt in his pockets, shook his head no, then pulled his
jacket off, yanked his yellow t-shirt over his head and tossed
it to Mark. ''Will that help?" he asked, slipping the jacket back
on.

''Yeah." Mark folded the soft shirt and clamped it over his
neck. He looked at Corey, saw tears streaming down the boy's
face, and perversely was glad, because it made him feel a trace
of courage, and he needed that very badly right now.
Very
badly.
He glanced at the meadow, at the blue material visible in the
long grass. He forced a grin. ''Think I should put a tourniquet
around my neck?"

Corey gave him a
sick
smile, then his eyes moved to the
meadow. "It's Pete, isn't it?"

Mark followed his gaze. ''Probably." Suddenly, the nun having
his ID seemed almost funny. ''I guess we'd better go look."

"Yeah," Corey said, but he didn't move.

His emotions were gone, numb, dead, and Mark was grateful
as he walked slowly into the clearing. With each step he saw
more, the blood-spattered jeans, the dirty shoes, finally the
glistening wet black jacket and bright red shirt. Only it wasn't
red; it was really blue, and the long cord wasn't a piece of
clothing, it was intestine, shiny in the sunlight. He forced himself
to take the final steps, and then he saw the face. Pete's
face.
But you knew that already, didn't you? So why are you
doing this?
He couldn't stop staring at the open mouth, at the
hollow black eye sockets.

''Mark."

He barely heard the voice, didn't respond.

"Mark Lawson."

Minerva's voice. Minerva's hands on his shoulders, turning
him away from the body, turning him against her, holding him
to her breast for a long minute, until he finally felt the hot tears
running down his face, realized that his arms were around her
and it was
her
hand holding the sodden T-shirt to his neck now.

''Come away, now," she said softly, and began leading him
out of the meadow.

''Corey?" he asked, as they walked into the woods toward
her house.

"I sent him for your father and the doctor."

Mark stopped in his tracks. ''My father?" he asked, barely
comprehending. "The doctor? But Pete, he
'
s ... "

"Yes, I know, Mark. The doctor's for you. I wasn't sure how
badly you were hurt .... Everything will be all right, Mark,
but we have to take care of the bite."

"Bite?" he repeated, then looked up into the old woman's
eyes. ''I saw it, Minerva. I saw the nightflyer."

"And it saw you," she said, and hurried him toward her
cottage.

Kelly Reed had successfully returned to St. Gertrude's after
leaving Mark and his friend in the woods, but the screeching
of the nightflyers had frightened her so much that she went
straight to her room instead of checking to see if she could get
into Mother Lucy's office to retrieve Mark's jacket and wallet.
After twenty minutes of rest, she felt better, and taking her
notebook and math book, she entered the main building.

As she expected, the halls were nearly empty
-
almost everyone
would still be in the cafeteria at this hour
.
Quietly, she
slipped into the library and settled in an alcove, then opened
her book and stared at the meaningless numbers as she built
up her nerve. After a moment, she glanced at the ornate old
wall clock and saw that very soon, the girls and, more
i
mportant
ly
,
the nuns, would be roaming the campus in far greater numbers.
She had to act
now.

Her chair rattled as she stood and the nun in charge of the
library, Sister Jerome, glanced up, a scowl on her face. Kelly
smiled apologetically across the deserted room, then walked to
the water fountain near the door and took a drink. As she
straightened, she saw that the nun was still watching her. Swallowing
her fear, she walked up to her desk and whispered, ''I
have to go back to my room for another book. May I leave my
notebook here for a minute?"

The sister nodded curtly. Kelly, smiling politely, backed away
and went out the door. The corridor was quiet as she turned
the corn
er and approached Lucy
'
s office door. She knocked
and was relieved that there was no answer. Trying the knob,
she found it unlocked, so she entered, walked through the
waiting room, and rapped smartly on the door to Mother Lucy's
private office. She hadn't even let herself think about what
she'd say if the headmistress actually answered-
she was better
at instant improvisation than rehearsed speeches-
but she still
felt butterflies swarming in her stomach as she waited. She could
feel the eyes of the tortured saints in the paintings watching her
.

No one bade her enter. Gently she tried the knob and found
it locked, as she'd expected. Taking her student ID card out of
her pocket, she slipped it under the lock and worked it and the
knob for a few seconds. It clicked open.
Sneaking away to
see Minerva was one thing, but
breaking
into the headmistress's inner sanc
tu
m
was another altogether,
and as she stood there staring at the portraits, at the massive
desk, smelling the chill, paper-dry air redolent of Lucy's stale
cinnamon scent, the butterflies turned to nausea.
Get this over
with!

Her entire body trembled as she approached the desk
.
The
portrait of St. Lucille seemed to watch her every move. She
glanced at it, thinking that Mark's wallet might be in the desk,
but the coat certainly wouldn't be. She was determined to get
both items.

Turning, she saw an almost invisible closet between two tall
oak file cabinets. Quickly she put her hand on the brass inset
in the door and pushed. The door slid smoothly into the wall.

For a moment, she forgot her fear as she stared at the closet's
contents. Front and center, there was a long black cloak, several
habits, a black umbrella, and two pairs
of – quelle surprise – black
shoes. What shocked her was that one pair had six-inch
stiletto heels. Kelly stared at them an instant longer, fascinated,
tempted to try them on. Instead, she reminded herself of her
mission and rifl
ed through the
clothes,
checked the dark comers
of the floor. Then, on tiptoe, she checked the top shelf and hit
pay dirt: one sleeve of Mark's blue jacket was hanging out of
a hatbox.

She lifted the round box down, surprised at its weight.
Turning
she placed it on the edge of the desk, then gingerly lifted
the lid. She pulled out the jacket and found the wallet still in
the pocket Smiling to herself over the thought of presenting
Mark Lawson his belongings, she was about to replace the lid
when she noticed the items below.

The box was half-filled with inexpensive beads and charm
bracelets, rings, ribbons and barrettes, years' and years' worth
of confiscated property. And in the middle of it all, right on
top, her locket. With trembling fingers, she lifted it out and
opened it, saw that the photo of her mother still rested inside
.
Snapping it shut, she opened the clasp and put it around her
neck, slipping it beneath her shirt so no one would see it.

Kelly put the lid back on the box and replaced
i
t in the closet,
slid the door shut. Looking at Mark's windbreaker, she wished
she'd brought a book bag to hide it in while she took
it back
to her room. Probably, she reassured herself, no one would
notice it since the blue material was almost as dark as her
uniform. She began folding it up.

"Well, well
,
well. What have we here?"

Kelly whirled to see Mother Lucy, arms crossed, beady eyes
glaring, standing in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed and
she sounded slightly breathless.

"I ... I ... " She silenced. There was no way she could talk
herself out of this one
.

The Mother Superior whisked past her, snagging the jacket
as she moved to her desk chair
.
She sat down and examined
the coat, drew the wallet out, and opened it.

Kelly stood watching, stunned and afraid. Suddenly, it
occurred to her that she might be able to run away. Minerva
would help her, if she could make it to her cottage.

While Lucy was scrutinizing the ID card, Kelly bolted into
the waiting room, running blindly for the door. She slammed
into a body, felt strong hands dig into her shoulders. She looked
up into the leering face of Basil-Bob Boullan.

"You going somewhere, missy?"

Without thinking, she brought her knee up into his groin.

Grunting in pain, he loosened his grasp, and as he doubled
over, she tried to push past him to get to the door, but he threw
himself against it and glared at her, eyes watering from her
attack. "You're going to have to do better than that," he
growled.

"Bring her back in here, Basil," Lucy's ice-cold voice
ordered from the inner office.

"Yes, ma'am." Boullan rose to his full height, his face red
and furious as he took Kelly's wrist and twisted her arm behind
her. He marched her into Lucy's office
,
pulling her arm up
until she thought her elbow would pop its socket. But Kelly
managed to remain silent, eyes dry, determined that she
wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her fear
and pain.

"Put her in the chair," the nun commanded.

Roughly, Boullan did her bidding, then stood behind Kelly,
his fingers now pinching her shoulders.

''That will be all, Basil," Lucy said stiffly
.
''Please go into
the waiting room and allow no one to disturb us
.
"

"Yes, ma'am."

After he left, Lucy studied her, making Kelly feel like an
amoeba under a microscope. "Why?" the nun asked.

''Why what?" Kelly snipped back
.

''Why were you stealing this jacket?"

"It's not yours," Kelly said sullenly.

"Do you know this boy, this Mark Lawson?
"

Kelly didn't answer.

"I assume you've lost your virginity to him
.
He came here
to have sexual intercourse with you."

"No!
"

"We'll see about that. I have no reason to believe you." She
paused, her pinched face as harsh as her voice
.
"How did you
meet this boy?"

"I don't know him."

"You're lying
.
" The nun's voice was glacial now. "Where
did you meet him?"

Kelly decided that the only thing she could do was refuse
to answer, so she remained silent as Lucy asked question after
question
.

Finally, the nun twined her fingers together on the desk. Her
knuckles were white, in spite of her calm exterior
.
"You will
be punished, of course."

"Of course
.
"

"Impertinence will only make things worse for you."

"So?" Kelly kept her eyes on the nun, trying not to flinch
or look away.

''A week in solitary, for lying. If you decide to tell me about
your relations with this Lawson boy by tomorrow, I'll shorten
it to four days."

Kelly felt sick. A week in that horrible dark room would
drive her insane, but she wasn't about to admit it.

''For stealing, after your confinement ends, you will be
responsible for cleaning all the lavatories every day for the
month of
October. No one will help you. I'll personally inspect
your work and each infraction, every hair in a sink or fingerprint
on a light switch, will extend your sentence another day. Is that
understood?"

Kelly nodded curtly.

"Basil," Lucy called.

The do
or opened almost instantly, and the creepy caretaker
came in. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Take this girl to Dr. Dashwood. Tell him I want to know
if she's lost her virginity and that I'll expect his report before
the dinner hour. When he's finished with her, put her in the
solitary room. Bread and water only."

The smarmy grin on Boullan 's face made Kelly feel sicker.
She had to get away somehow.

"Get up, Miss Reed, and go with Mr. Boullan," Lucy
ordered. "Don't try anything, or solitary will be extended
another week."

Silently, she rose and walked to the door, Basil-Bob's hand
clutching her shoulder.

''Open the door," he ordered, after they'd crossed the waiting
room
.

She did, instantly coming face to face with Marcia Crowley
and her snotty friends.

Marcia stared at her. ''Get in trouble again, Ghost Girl?"
she taunted. The others giggled, and behind her Basil-Bob
chuckled, too.

His hand loosened for just an instant and Kelly saw her
chance
.
She bolted for the front doors, ignoring Basil-Bob's
outraged cries behind her.

She made the doors and slammed out of them, running down
the stairs, slipping at the bottom, and going down on one knee.
She could hear Boullan's running steps behind her, but she was
instantly back on her feet, running across the lawn, running for
the forest, knowing that with a little luck, she could lose him
there.