Wuthering high: a bard academy novel (19 page)

“You think Heathcliff
killed
her?” Hana asks, sounding worried.

“We don’t know for sure,” Ms. W says.

“But Heathcliff doesn’t kill anyone in
Wuthering Heights,
” Hana points out.

“Heathcliff is a boy without a moral compass,” Charlotte tells me. “He is a hard person with a hard heart. He is capable of anything.”

“But in the book he loves Cathy,” I say.

“But he also does a lot of bad things to a lot of people,” Ms. W says. “And besides, we think that it’s possible that if fictional characters and real people form real relationships, it offsets the balance between our dimensions.”

“And brings on the apocalypse?” Blade prompts, almost sounding excited. I swear, her obsession with the macabre is getting ridiculous. Hana gives her an evil look.

“We think it’s why Kate disappeared,” Coach H says. “If she got too close to him, it may have destroyed her. That’s why we have to find Heathcliff and send him back where he belongs.”

“Along with all the characters who don’t belong in this world,” Charlotte adds.

“Like Mrs. Rochester,” Hana says.

“Exactly,” Ms. W says, and nods.

Twenty-five

The three ghosts
decide that the best way to approach their new problem is to call a faculty meeting in the library. They take us there, but when I try to take a seat, front and center, Charlotte frowns at me.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Miss Tate? You and the other children cannot be privy to this meeting.”

“If I’m Dead Girl Walking, then I think I deserve to hear what you guys are planning to do about it,” I say.

“I’m sorry, rules are rules,” Charlotte says, then points to the nearby library office. Reluctantly, Samir, Hana, Blade, and I file in.

“You know too much as it is,” Coach tells us.

“This is for your own safety,” Ms. W adds before she closes the door. “We’ve told you enough of our secrets already. Besides, if you know our plan, then you’ll be at risk, especially if Emily thinks she can kidnap you to find out.”

“But I can help —” I say, but she’s closes the door on me. The next thing we hear is the sound of the key turning in the lock.

“Wow, I had no idea this school was so freakin’
awesome…
” Blade starts.

“Hey, Goth Girl, nobody asked you,” Hana says. She’s clearly had enough of Blade.

“Listen, let’s not fight, okay?” I say, trying to barter a truce.

“I still can’t believe Emily Brontë violated me like that,” Samir says, patting his stomach. “I feel like I was raped.”

“I wish she’d done that to me,” Blade says in a dreamy, far-off voice. She is seriously disturbed. Hana makes a move toward Blade and I step quickly between them and put a cautioning hand on Hana’s arm.

“Get her away from me or I am going to hit her,” Hana whispers to me through gritted teeth.

“Guys, let’s focus here, okay? We’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do,” I say.

“Do? I’m not doing anything,” Samir says, sitting down and crossing his arms. “Let our famous goblin friends figure it out. I’m done.”

“Technically, they are ghosts, not goblins,” Blade says. “Goblins are like evil faeries, but they’re about the size of dwarves.”

“How do you
know
that?” Samir asks, looking at her for the first time with a kind of fear. “I mean, how does this girl know this stuff?”

“Miranda…” Hana warns me. She really wants to deck Blade, I can tell.

“Can we not talk about the occult for five seconds?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “I’m talking about how we’re going to get out of here.”

“I don’t see why we should,” Samir says. “We’re safe here. I don’t see any Draculas or Heathcliffs or Frankensteins, or man-eating plants, or God knows what else. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just stay, thanks.”

“You’re just chicken,” Blade says.

“That’s right. I am, and I’m proud of it,” he says. “It means I have half a brain, okay? I’ve seen enough strange things today to last me a lifetime, thanks.”

“I hate to say this, but I think I agree with Samir,” Hana says. “I mean, even if we could get out, which we can’t, what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just feel so helpless sitting here.”

“At least we have a good window seat,” Samir says.

It’s true. One solid wall of the office is a window and it looks right out on the library, where the faculty are gathering. It’s not like we could do much and get away with it. We’re pretty much in a glass cage.

“Hey, look,” Samir says, pointing out at the faculty. “I see dead people.”

“Ugh,” Hana groans. “That’s not funny.”

“I still can’t believe they’re ghosts,” I say, watching as they take their seats in chairs around the library tables as Charlotte calls the meeting to order.

They look so real. You know, aside from the fashion disasters most of them are wearing. But I suppose it might be hard to keep up with fashion trends
if you’re dead.

“But are they all famous? I don’t recognize all of them,” Hana says.

“I think that’s part of their punishment,” Samir says. “Can you imagine? Dying as a famous author in your time and then winding up at a reform school where half your students have never heard of you? That’s got to be a serious blow to the ego, you know?”

“Who do you think Ms. S is?” I ask, watching my klutzy chemistry teacher trip over a snag in the rug as she tries to pull a chair out from the table. She’s by far the worst science teacher I’ve ever had.

“That’s easy,” Blade says. “That’s Mary Shelley. You know, she wrote
Frankenstein
?”

“How do you know that?” Samir asks. “What are you? The Horror Encyclopedia?”

“You guys haven’t read
Frankenstein
? I mean, I’ve read all the horror classics — duh,” Blade says, as if we’re all morons.

“And him?” I ask, pointing to the bus driver.

“Hunter S. Thompson,” Samir says. We all stare at him as if he’s insane. “What? I can actually
know
something. I mean, guys, it’s obvious. Doesn’t he look exactly like the guy Johnny Depp played in
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
?”

“You think Hemingway would write me a recommendation to Yale?” Hana asks.

Before any of us can answer, laughter floats up to us through the heating grate in the floor.

“Please tell me that one of you just laughed,” Samir says.

The rest of us shake our heads.

“Just so I’m straight here, that crazy laughter is Mrs. Rochester, the crazy nineteenth-century pyromaniac?”

“Don’t forget that she could destroy our universe as we know it,” Hana adds.

“Boy, I am having a
bad
day,” Samir says.

“Do you smell smoke?” Blade says. “I smell smoke.”

“Of course you smell smoke,” Samir says. “Where there’s laughter, there’s fire around here.”

“I don’t suppose anyone has a magical copy of
Jane Eyre
with them?” I ask.

Samir and Hana shake their heads. Blade frowns at me.

“I just thought I’d ask,” I say.

Smoke starts seeping into our locked office room from the grate in the floor.

“Uh, guys, we have a little bit of a problem,” I say, looking at the grate. The rest of them follow my gaze.

“You call that a little problem?” Samir asks me.

“Compared to Dracula, it’s a little problem,” I point out. “Words, by the way, I’d never thought I’d actually say out loud.”

“Welcome to Bard Academy,” Hana says, whipping off her blazer and covering the grate where the smoke is seeping in.

Samir tries the second door of the room, the side door, but it’s locked, too. He rams the door with his shoulder, but it doesn’t budge.

“Ow,” he says, rubbing his shoulder. “That really hurt.”

It becomes clear that we’re all in big trouble. We’re locked inside a tiny office with one sealed window and two doors — one leading back to the library and one leading outside the building — both of which are locked. The smoke is getting thicker. We’re all going to die of smoke inhalation if we don’t get out of here, and soon.

Blade and I press our faces to the glass and try to get someone’s attention, but the faculty members are all fixated on Headmaster B. Blade and I start pounding on the window and shouting, but it seems to be soundproof because nobody looks in our direction. None of them seem to notice me flailing my arms, either. Wow, for ghosts, they have lousy peripheral vision.

Blade starts to cough. I wave my hand in front of my face, but it does no good — there’s too much smoke. I kick at the window, hoping it’ll break, but all I get is a sore toe.

“Move!” Samir says. He’s got a chair in his hands. He rams it into the window like a battering ram, but it doesn’t even make a scratch, and the impact throws him backward. “What the hell is that made out of? Bulletproof glass?”

Now all four of us start shouting and banging at the window, trying to get someone’s attention, but the smoke is filling the room quickly and it’s getting harder to see.

That’s when I see Mrs. Rochester run through the library with a lit torch, screaming and setting fires as she goes. She causes instant mass confusion as some faculty try to catch her and others run off to put out the fires she’s setting to books, tables, and the floor.

“For a small woman, she causes a lot of trouble,” I say.

“Why can’t they catch her?” Samir asks. “They’re ghosts, for goodness sake. Why aren’t they flying?”

“Why don’t they
see
us?” Hana shouts.

The side door in our office rattles. It’s the one leading to the outside and it sounds like someone’s trying to get in.

“Help,” I shout, to the door. “Help us! There’s a fire! We’re trapped!”

Samir and Blade start shouting, too. And Hana pounds on the door.

There’s a hard thud on the door, sounding like someone is throwing their weight into it.

“Wait a minute,” Samir says suddenly. “How do we know who that is on the other side? What if it’s Dracula?”

“Dracula was sucked back in the book, remember?” I say.

“And I don’t think he uses doors,” Blade says.

“But what if…?”

Before he can finish his sentence, the door comes down with a crash and Heathcliff stalks in. He’s just kicked down the door.

“…it’s Heathcliff,” Samir finishes.

With the usual dark scowl on his face, Heathcliff stomps straight up to me (I suppose if I had to save me as many times as he has, I’d be in a pretty rotten mood, too), scoops me up in his arms, and carries me straight out of the room, leaving Samir, Hana, and Blade to fend for themselves. He’s clearly got only one objective: to save me.

“Nice rescue,” I hear Hana say, sarcastically, behind me.

I glance back at them and I see that the three of them trot out of the room and start after us, but they all cough and stop, trying to regain their breath. Heathcliff takes me swiftly away from them.

Outside it’s morning already and it’s light. Off in the distance, I hear the breakfast bell. How did it get so late? I don’t have time to dwell on it. I need to get away from Heathcliff.
Now.
He could be a killer for all I know.

“Let me go!” I shout, kicking and squirming in his arms.

Heathcliff contains my squirming easily, carrying me as if I weigh nothing, which I know is not true at all, despite the Bard Academy cafeteria diet.

“Put me down!” I cry, kicking my legs. “Put me down
now.
”

Heathcliff doesn’t say a word, just keeps moving. Boy, he’s stubborn.

“Let me down! Let me down
now,
” I say. I try to punch or hit him, but he’s got my arms firmly trapped at my sides.

“Cathy,” he says, between gritted teeth. “You know I am no hero of romance. You will not expect from me unlimited indulgences.”

“I’m not Cathy!” I shout. “And I know who you are. Who you
really
are. And I know what you did to Kate Shaw. You killed her.”

Heathcliff stops in his tracks, standing near the chapel doors. He’s taken me this far and now he stops. He looks me in the eye. His eyes are fierce and angry.

“I’ve not killed anyone,” he says. “I may be a villain, but even I have limits. And that sort of villainy I’ll leave to the Lintons.”

Linton — the name of the man who married Cathy. She died after becoming pregnant with his child. He wasn’t a murderer, although in Heathcliff’s eyes he was.

“What happened to Kate?”

“You mean Cathy,” Heathcliff says. “Kate Shaw was my Cathy’s alias. It allowed her free access to the campus.”

So, Kate Shaw wasn’t a Bard student at all. She was a fictional character. She was Catherine Earnshaw from
Wuthering Heights.

“She’s a character — like you,” I exclaim. My mind whirls. Did Coach H, Ms. W, and Charlotte know this? And if so, why didn’t they tell me?

Heathcliff looks away from me. “Her life was not in my hands,” he says, sounding a little sad. “She went home to Wuthering Heights. It was her choice. She wanted to go.”

Heathcliff puts me down now, setting me carefully on my feet. I realize that Heathcliff existing in this plane puts us all at risk, but right now all I see is a sad, misunderstood boy. Someone who spent his life being blamed when no one ever gave him the chance to be anything but the bad guy.

And he doesn’t seem capable of destroying the universe. All I know is that he’s saved me. Again and again. And I’ve never properly thanked him.

“Thank you,” I say. “For saving my life — again. I don’t know how I’m supposed to repay you.”

Light from the rising sun shines on us and Heathcliff delicately pushes a strand of hair from my face. He trails his finger down the side of my cheek. He has a surprisingly gentle touch.

“There’s no need to thank me,” he says. “My soul is yours to do with as you please.”

I am momentarily taken aback. Nobody, especially a boy, has ever said anything like that to me before.

That’s when I hear shouting behind us. It’s Samir, Blade, and Hana. They’ve caught up to us on foot and they’re yelling.

“Get away from her!” Samir says, and he’s wielding a stapler he stole from the library office. Hana and Blade have equally ridiculous weapons. Hana has a hole punch and Blade has a trashcan. It’s sweet that they want to rescue me, but none of them are any match for Heathcliff.