Ominous (9 page)

Tonight was about my Billings sisters—the ones who were alive and well and by my side. Not the dead ones who were haunting my dreams.

The lights on the dance floor throbbed to the beat of the music, which vibrated the floor beneath my feet. Every step was uncertain as I tried to weave my way through the crowd, shoving a bare-backed sumo-wrestler type with my elbow, taking the pinpoint stiletto of a black Louboutin in the toe. Everywhere I looked there were unfamiliar faces, all distorted by punk makeup and dyed hair.

Where was she? I knew she was here somewhere, but everyone was so tall, so sweaty, so … bizarre.

Suddenly, someone slipped past me, the silky smooth fabric of a black robe tickling the skin on my arm. I felt a cold whoosh in my lungs as the figure passed, and I turned for a better look, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd. Then, out of the corner of my eye, another robe. My heart caught with fear. This person stood stock-still in the middle of all the mayhem, face completely covered by the heavy, black hood. But I could tell I was being stared at,
so I quickly turned away … and slammed right into another hooded figure, its chest so solid I bounced off. I wanted to reach up and rip the hood free, find out who or what was underneath, but something told me not to. Something told me I wouldn’t like what I found. Sweat popped up along my brow as I whirled off, fighting the crowd, desperate to get away. I tripped over someone’s outstretched leg and suddenly found myself at the edge of the dance floor.

I took a shaky breath and laid my hand flat over my locket. Before me was the lobby of Billings House. There was the gleaming oak banister. The faded gold wallpaper. The framed photos of former Billings Girls lining the walls. The ancient but pristine Oriental carpet in the center of the floor. And there stood my friends. All of them. Wearing their black dresses, holding their candles. They smiled at me over the flickering lights. Noelle Lange, Kiran Hayes, Taylor Bell, Tiffany Goulborne, Natasha Crenshaw, Cheyenne Martin, Shelby Wordsworth, Vienna Clark, London Simmons, Rose Sakowitz, Portia Ahronian, Ariana Osgood. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a bleached white robe. My hair was combed out over my shoulders and gleamed in the candlelight. I felt warm and safe and at peace. Like those apparitions in their black garb could never hurt me. Then someone took my hand. I looked over and smiled.

“Astrid! There you are!” I said, throwing my arms around her neck.

“I’ve been here all along, love. Where have you been?” she asked.

She smiled as I released her, and the girls began to chant.

“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle.”

I smiled at Astrid as she gazed back at me, her eyes full of pride. Then, out of nowhere, a black cloth bag descended over her face. Astrid let out a bloodcurdling scream as she was dragged backward, away from me and toward the door.

“Astrid!” I shouted.

I looked to the sisterhood for help, but they all simply stood there, their smiles placid, continuing their chant.

“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you—”

“Help! Noelle! Do something!”

Astrid screamed and kicked and flailed. The door behind her opened and she reached out, clutching the sides of the doorway with both hands.

“Stop!” I shouted, moving toward her. “Leave her alone!”

For the first time, the person who’d grabbed her showed her face, appearing over Astrid’s right shoulder. The straight blond hair. The condescending blue eyes. It was Cheyenne Martin.

“She’s mine now, Reed,” Cheyenne said through her teeth.

I whirled around to look at the sisters. The spot where Cheyenne had stood a moment before was empty. All that was left in her place was a pink cardigan sweater, in a pool on the floor.

“We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle. We welcome you to our circle,” the sisters chanted.

Astrid let out one last, strangled scream as the door slammed behind her.

My eyes popped open. I was on my side on my bed. My room was
dark. My fingers clutched my pillow next to my face, and I was breathing hard. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to press out the image of Astrid’s kidnapping, the eerie expressions of peace on the faces of the former Billings Girls.

It was just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream.

Clearly it had been brought on by Noelle’s recent “kidnapping.” And far too much chocolate at tonight’s celebration.

I took a deep breath and rolled over onto my back. Already the images were fading and my pulse was returning to normal. I moved my foot and it hit something hard. My head shot up and I saw that the book of spells was still open near the foot of my bed, where I’d left it when I’d dozed off earlier. I thought about closing it and putting it away, but my limbs were too heavy and tired to move. Instead I rolled over onto my other side to face the wall.

Somewhere in the back of my consciousness I heard the soft, whispering sound of loose pages fluttering to the floor. Then my eyelids drooped closed and I quickly slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At breakfast the next morning, Missy’s table was surrounded by a bunch of girls in our year, everyone talking excitedly as they leaned in toward some kind of magazine or catalog. I tried to get a peek at whatever it was as I strolled by, but London saw me and moved her arm, blocking my view from the page. Still, I thought I glimpsed swatches of fabric, and I definitely saw Constance shove a huge color wheel into her bag.

A sinking feeling sucked at my stomach. Was it possible? Were they picking out paint and fabric colors for the new Billings House?

I placed my tray down across from Noelle’s and she scowled, perturbed. “Since when does the reject table get to shoot
us
looks?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. “They’ve been looking down at me all morning.”

“And you’ve just been taking it?” I asked.

Her nostrils flared slightly as she placed the mug down. “Let them have their fun. They think they’ve won a battle, but the war isn’t over.”

A thrill of anticipation shot through me. A couple of months ago Noelle had told me she had no interest in bringing Billings back. But now she sounded more than a little invested.

“Does this mean …?”

Noelle smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry, Reed. I’ve decided to make it my mission to crush Missy Thurber’s every wish. If there’s a Billings on campus next year, you’ll be running it.”

“But how?” I asked, thinking of Mrs. Lange and her promise that we could set things right. Had Noelle reconsidered exploring the book of spells?

“Well, remember the other day when I told you that Daddy would get you anything you wanted?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows over the tipped rim of her coffee cup.

I squirmed. Somehow I didn’t like where this was going. “Yeah …”

“I think you should ask him to put in a bid for Billings!” Noelle announced. She placed her cup down with a clang. I gaped at her. She had to be joking.

“You want me to ask your dad to build me a million-dollar dorm so I can live in it my senior year,” I said.

“Actually, it’ll probably be more like ten mil.” She lifted both shoulders casually. “And why not? You’ll ask him when we go to the city this weekend for your birthday party. The timing really couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Noelle—”

“I have to say, Reed, I was a little annoyed at you for not having called him back yet, but now I realized you’ve been playing it all perfectly,” she
said, her eyes shining with pride. “Make him wait. Make him grovel. By the time we get there, he’s going to be ready to give you
my
trust fund.” She blinked. “Actually, don’t make him wait
too
long.”

“I really don’t feel comfortable with this plan,” I said tentatively.

“Do you want Billings back or not?” she asked.

“Yeah, but—”

“Then you should be willing to do whatever it takes to get it back,” she said firmly. “That’s the Lange way.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to remind her right now that I wasn’t a Lange. And Brennans weren’t much for throwing money around. Instead, I decided to let the subject drop for now and reached for my orange juice glass.

“You
slept
with her?”

The entire cafeteria fell silent at the sound of Ivy’s inhuman screech. I whirled around and saw her standing near the far wall of the cafeteria, under one of the larger paintings depicting a quaint street in Easton circa the turn of the century. The object of her rant was Gage Coolidge, one of my least favorite people at Easton, and Ivy’s long-term on-again, off-again friend-with-benefits. He looked around nervously, his shoulders a bit hunched as he noticed the entire world was watching.

“Ivy, chill. It was nothing. And I told you, I was drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse!?” Ivy shouted, her face red with rage. “You knew exactly what you were doing! Admit it!”

Gage reached for her. “Ivy. Baby. Stop it. You know I love you. I would never—”

“Don’t say that!” Ivy cried, shoving him off of her. He hit the wall, and the painting over his head shimmied on its mount.

The Easton security team sprang into action. Two of the guards rousted themselves from their posts near the doors and started toward Ivy at a swift, but not panicked, pace.

“You’re such a liar, Gage,” Ivy seethed, her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You’re a liar and a slut and a cheat! I don’t know why I ever got back together with you!”

The painting tilted suddenly as one of its strings snapped. I gasped, but Ivy didn’t seem to notice.

“Ivy,” Gage implored.

“No! Just leave me alone, Gage! I hope you die.”

Just then, the second string snapped and the heavy painting plummeted. Half the dining hall gasped; the other half screamed.

“Gage! Look out!” I shouted.

Everything happened so quickly it was all a blur. Gage looked up, his eyes widened, and he staggered sideways just in time to keep from getting his face flattened, but the corner of the frame slammed into his shoulder. His head hit a chair as he went down and landed, sprawled on the floor, the frame half covering his face.

“Oh my God,” Ivy said, crouching next to him with her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God!”

“Miss, please. Step back.” The security officers had swooped down at the last second. One of them took Ivy’s arm and helped her to her feet. All around me people loud-whispered.

“Is he okay?”

“Could have broken his neck …”

“Why did it fall …?”

I ran over to Ivy and put my hand on her back, just as Josh arrived from the other direction, looking scared and tired, with dark circles under his eyes. Ivy buried her face in my shoulder as the security guard carefully moved the frame. There was a gash across Gage’s forehead and the blood had seeped onto the floor. I swallowed back a surge of bile.

“Is he okay?” Ivy whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at me.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure. The second guard leaned in toward Gage’s face, cocking his ear toward his lips.

“He’s breathing,” he said. “Call nine-one-one.” The other guard did as he was told and the first guard stood up. “Nobody touch him. It’s best if he’s not moved.”

“Oh my God, Reed, what did I do?” Ivy said quietly. “What did I—?”

“You didn’t do anything. It was an accident,” Josh said as I stroked her hair behind her ear.

“No, but … right before it happened, I imagined it happening,” she whispered furtively. “I saw it…. I wished the painting would fall down on his head.”

My blood stopped moving in my veins. I glanced at Josh and his eyes were wide. Ivy’s words still hung in my ears as Gage suddenly awoke and looked around. “What happened?” He touched his fingers to his forehead, then swooned when he saw the blood.

“Don’t move, son,” the guard said, dropping to his knees next to Gage. “You had a blow to the head.”

“See? He’s fine,” I told Ivy. “He’s gonna be fine.”

Before long, Gage sat up slowly with the help of the guards and was lifted into a chair. The entire dining hall breathed a sigh of relief, and there was a smattering of applause, like he was an injured football player who’d managed to limp off the field. Ivy took in a broken breath and nodded.