Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) (22 page)

           
I could see the sheep now, looking just as peaceful as ever.

           
We drew to a stop, and I slipped off my seatbelt.
 
"I'll be as quick as I can."

           
I hurried up to Mrs. Hannity's door and knocked, my heart pounding.
 
I hoped Mrs. Hannity would be home, and I hoped I could pull off my plan.

           
As I waited on the porch, I glanced over at Mr. Del Gatto's door.
 
I was surprised to see the same faint black smoke I had seen at Mr. Neverov's house swirling in grotesque shapes around Mr. Del Gatto's half of the house.

           
I turned and looked over Mrs. Hannity's place.
 
Her half of the house was free of the smoke.

           
I turned back to Mr. Del Gatto's and watched the smoke, twisting and turning in on itself, like a tortured soul.
 
It was hypnotic.
 
The spell was broken when the door in front of me opened, and Mrs. Hannity looked out.

           
Mrs. Hannity was wearing an oven mitt on one hand, and she had a cloud of white hair and wide, good-natured eyes – I had seen her around town before.
 
"Yes, dear, what can I do for you?"

           
It suddenly occurred to me that the twisting smoke might not be normal – maybe it was something only I could see.
 
"Hi, Mrs. Hannity.
 
I’m Katie Wickliff.
 
Before I tell you why I'm here, may I ask you a question?"

           
Mrs. Hannity's wide eyes registered mild surprise.
 
"Yes, you may."

           
"What's all that smoke on Mr. Del Gatto's porch?"

           
Mrs. Hannity stepped out and peered over at Mr. Del Gatto's half of the house.
 
"I don't see any smoke, dear."

           
I felt a chill steal over me.
 
I had been afraid of that.

           
"It must just be my eyes playing tricks on me," I said.
 
"I'm one of Mr. Del Gatto's students.
 
May I come in and ask you a few questions about him?"

           
Mrs. Hannity glanced over her shoulder.
 
"Certainly, dear, but just for a moment.
 
I'm baking for my church bake sale, and I'm very busy."

           
I stepped inside gratefully.
 
I was relieved to be past the first hurdle.

           
Mrs. Hannity led me back to a very warm kitchen that was full of the scent of sugar and baking dough.

           
Mrs. Hannity picked up a spatula and began moving chocolate chip cookies from a baking sheet that rested on the stove onto a cooling rack.

           
"Would you like a cookie, dear?"

           
"No, thank you, Mrs. Hannity.
 
May I ask you what happened the night Mr. Del Gatto disappeared?"

           
"That was Monday night."
 
Mrs. Hannity frowned as she worked.
 
"I was in the kitchen here.
 
I've never heard such a terrible racket in all my life.
 
There was banging and crashing, and then a loud wrenching – I think that was Mr. Del Gatto's back door coming off its hinges.
 
Then there was the most horrible screaming.
 
You may not think it of me, but I'm very brave.
 
I ran right outside to see what was the matter.
 
Nobody was in the back, though – no intruder, no Mr. Del Gatto, no one running.
 
There wasn't even any further screaming.
 
It was as quiet in the night as if nothing had happened.
 
All I saw was the door lying on the ground.
 
I called the police right away.
 
They're the ones who told me poor Mr. Del Gatto had disappeared without leaving any clues – they didn't even find any fingerprints – well, none aside from Mr. Del Gatto's own."

           
"And that's all you witnessed?" I asked.

           
"I'm afraid so," Mrs. Hannity replied.
 
"Now, I really must get back to my baking.
 
It requires precision and care, you know."

           
"Thanks for your time, Mrs. Hannity," I said, feeling my nerves rising again.
 
"Do you mind if I go out the back here?"

           
It was an ordinary request, but I feared Mrs. Hannity would refuse and insist I go out the front.
 
If that happened, GM was definitely going to see me, and there was no way I would be able to sneak out to the Old Grove.

           
"Certainly, dear," Mrs. Hannity said as she began spooning a fresh batch of cookies onto the baking sheet.
 
"Have a good day."

           
I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I started breathing again.

           
"Thanks, Mrs. Hannity," I said and hurried to the back door.
 
I knew I wouldn't have much time to search the Old Grove for clues.

           
I ran out the door and across Mrs. Hannity's back lawn toward the forest.

           
As I ran, I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Del Gatto's half of the lawn was full of black smoke.

Chapter 10.

As I ran through the trees toward the Old Grove, I seemed to be following a trail of writhing black smoke.
 
I knew I was headed the right way, so I tried not to let it distract me.
 
But there was definitely something unnerving about the twisting of the smoke – the shapes it formed were not familiar, but they were sinister – almost threatening.

           
I hurried past a white farmhouse in a small clearing, and I wondered if that was the house that Bryony's grandmother lived in with her ghost.

           
The smoke trailed ahead of me all the way to the Old Grove.
 
There, in the circle of trees, I found myself standing in the middle of a thick cloud of the smoke.

           
It swirled around me and rose above me in a column.
 
I was startled to hear a faint whispering in the dark vapor.
 
It was unintelligible, yet it seemed to draw me in, making me feel like I was drowning.
 
I shook my head to clear it – I was letting my imagination get the better of me.
 
I told myself that there was no whispering.

           
Suddenly I had the feeling that I was being watched again.
 
I looked around, but could see no one.

           
I pushed through the smoky haze to examine the grove.
 
My shoe caught on something, and I looked down to see a line of yellow police tape lying on the ground.
 
Icy fingers began to run down my spine.
 
I figured I must be close to where Mr. Hightower's body had been found.
 
It was important for me to search the site where he had lain – I figured I might find something the police had overlooked – after all, they hadn't been searching for anything supernatural.

           
I bent down close to the ground and brushed my hand over the dirt and the cold leaves on the forest floor.
 
I doubted that I would find the place where the body had actually lain – the police would hardly have drawn a chalk outline of it in the dirt – but if I were close, a clue of some kind might jump out at me.

           
I stayed close to the ground, searching for anything unusual.
 
The smoke was thicker here, and it clouded my vision.
 
I tried to brush it out of the way, but it remained stubbornly in place.
 
I squinted through it as well as I could.

           
Not too far from the base of a tree, I found a large patch of charred earth that extended in a circle.

           
As I examined the burned ground, I heard a rustling in the tree overhead.
 
I looked up, but I couldn't see what was moving in the branches through the haze of the smoke.
 
Then above me, there was a short, sharp scraping sound, as if someone were striking a match.

           
I watched the tree nervously for several moments, fearing that fire would rain down on me, before realizing how silly I was being.
 
Who would climb a tree and light a match?

           
I turned back to the burnt area.
 
I ran a finger over it, picking up a smudge of dark soot.
 
I remembered that Simon's brother James and his friend had been accused of setting a fire that had actually been set by two strange men.
 
I wondered if this was the spot where the fire had been.

           
I stood up.
 
Nothing was really jumping out at me, and the black smoke was making it difficult for me to really search the grove properly – it was a complication I hadn't anticipated, and time was growing short.
 
I decided I'd better get back to GM – maybe I would get another chance to search the grove.

           
As I turned to go with the black smoke swirling around me, something fluttered down from the tree above, brushing softly against my cheek.
 
I watched as a scrap of paper settled down by my feet.

           
I picked it up.
 
The scrap of paper was actually a black-and-white photo, and it was charred around the edges.
 
The black edges of the photo were still warm, and the burnt scent rising off of it tickled my nose.

           
I peered at it, puzzled.
 
It was a picture from my sophomore yearbook:
 
Mr. Del Gatto, Irina, James, and I were standing against a wall at school, all with strained expressions on our faces.
 
I remembered the day well.

           
Irina and I had been having an argument in the hall.
 
Mr. Del Gatto had heard the raised voices and had come over to break things up and berate both of us.
 
James, who was in danger of being late, had gone running by.
 
Mr. Del Gatto had corralled him, too.
 
Running in the halls was, after all, against the rules.

           
Mr. Del Gatto had been lecturing all of us, when a student photographer had happened by and had asked to snap our picture, not quite realizing what was going on.

           
Mr. Del Gatto had been thrown off by the appearance of the photographer and had let us all go after that.

           
I had been out sick the day the formal yearbook photos were taken, just as I had been my freshman year, oddly enough, so this candid photo was the only one of me in the whole yearbook.
 
I had been mortified when this photo had popped up originally.
 
And as I looked at the photo now, I realized that the picture showed the first three victims of the recent disappearances – and it showed them in the exact order that they had disappeared:
 
first Mr. Del Gatto, then Irina, then James.
 
The only one missing was Mr. Hightower, but as a substitute teacher, he was unlikely to appear in any yearbook photos.

           
And in his place in the lineup was me.
 
An unpleasant thought struck me:
 
could I be next?

           
I looked back up at the tree.
 
I couldn't see anything in the branches above me through the swirling smoke.
 
Was someone up there – perhaps someone trying to warn me?
 
Or had the photo been trapped up there somehow and had just now fallen down?

           
"Hello?" I called.
 
"Is anyone up there?"

           
But there was no answer, and the smoke continued to swirl silently.
 
The shapes it formed were still disturbing to me, and as I watched the smoke writhing, I sensed something purposeful in it.
 
There seemed to be a lifeforce in the smoke – something vital – causing it, controlling it.

           
I backed away from the smoke into the surrounding trees.
 
The smoke did not follow, as I had half-feared it might, and once I was clear of it, I could see that it was concentrated in the open space of the grove.
 
I looked over the whole mass of the dark, writhing vapor.
 
There was a line of the smoke trailing back the way I had originally come.

           
There was another line running deeper into the woods.

           
I had seen the smoke at Mr. Neverov's house and at Mr. Del Gatto's – was it possible the smoke trail had something to do with Gleb?
 
It certainly wasn't anything normal.
 
I wondered if I already had the clue I had been searching for – the smoke.
 
I had a strange feeling that the police wouldn't have been able to see it – just as Mrs. Hannity hadn't been able to see it.

           
I knew I should be getting back to GM, but I wanted to find out what was going on with the smoke.
 
I folded up the yearbook photo and put it in my coat pocket.