Long Black Veil (28 page)

Devon could feel the temperature in the room drop suddenly. Gooseflesh rippled across her arms and down her back as her body registered the presence of the otherworldly, even as her mind took the time to understand it. She could feel Jessamy’s presence behind her, could almost feel the soft weight of the ghost’s hands on her bare shoulders.

Skylar continued to scream, but the crowd had begun edging away and muttering. None of them looked at the being behind Devon; they all watched Skylar and her freak-out. Devon took a step towards the Winter Queen. Skylar backed away slowly, all thoughts of Brock and Micah forgotten in her fear.

“You’re going to stay away from us, do you hear me?” Devon demanded of the girl. Her voice sounded strange to her ears, almost as if there were two voices talking at the same time but hers was primary. It had an echoey quality about it. “And that includes this brainless jackass, understand?”

Skylar nodded frantically, before scuttling away to the bathroom or the parking lot, or wherever she could go to get away. Devon swayed a bit on her feet, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Brock had his hand under her arm and was guiding her out of the gym. He signaled to Gil to get their coats and then led her to his car.

“How’s your face?” Devon asked when he had the heat cranked and the doors closed.

Brock rubbed at the sore spot on his jaw. “It’ll be okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “Jessamy seemed hella pissed.”

“You could see her? I didn’t think anybody but Skylar could.” Devon gathered her shawl around her shoulders and shivered.

“I could, but I think that’s it. Everyone else just seemed to look right through her.” He took her hands in his. “Dev, that wasn’t the first time Micah tried something with you, was it?” His hazel eyes were hooded, their color dark in the dim light of the parking lot lampposts.

Dev ducked her head. She really didn’t want to be talking about this. So much for a nice and uneventful dance. Brock squeezed her hands lightly to get her attention. Finally she said, “No, it wasn’t the first time. But I can handle him.”

Brock just nodded, as if she had just confirmed his fears. He didn’t say anything for a few long moments and Devon began to feel bad for keeping it from him. When Gil knocked on her window, it was almost a relief. She took the coats from him, but before she could really thank him, Brock said in a low voice, “I’m taking her home.” Gil just nodded and waved, before heading back into the dance.

“We could stay. I’m pretty sure that was the highlight of the evening,” Devon joked. When it fell flat and Brock didn’t respond, she cleared her throat and looked out the window.

They’d been on the road for a few minutes before Brock finally said anything. “I don’t like him touching you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Devon assured him.

“It is to me.” He turned his head to stare at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Eyes on ROAD,” Devon answered nervously. She waited until Brock was looking ahead, then said, “Because it happened before you and I were ever an anything. And I could handle it. I had it under control.”

“Not tonight, you didn’t.” He sounded angry again.

“I got away from him didn’t I?” She tried not to sound smug.

“And you summoned a ghost to do it,” he bit out.

“What?” Devon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How do you figure that?”

“You’re linked to Jessamy, Devon. I think when you’re in trouble she feels it. And tonight she came to the school because of it.”

Devon sat in silent thought. “Do you really believe that?” She chewed on her thumbnail. “That I conjured her up or whatever?” That I could do something like that?

Brock shrugged, careful to keep his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what to think. But we need to figure out a way to get rid of her before you leave for college. I don’t think you want her following you to North Carolina.”

“I wish I knew how. We still have no idea what she’s waiting for.”

“Sure we do.” He sounded so sure of himself. “Daniel.”

Devon stared at him, wondering if his brains had been rattled a little too hard when Micah slugged him. “Daniel’s dead. And as far as we know, he’s not hanging around haunting the place.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So how are we supposed to get Jessamy to stop going to his grave? Dig him up?”

“Yes, Dev, that’s exactly what I think—it’s high time we resorted to grave robbing.” He shook his head. “We’re not ghouls.”

“Then what?” she challenged.

“Maybe he had a touchstone or something else that’s keeping Jessamy tied here. It’s possible.” He turned onto the track that led to the trailer.

“Okay, but how do we find it?”

“That, my dear, I leave up to you. You’re the brains of this operation.” Brock pulled the car into off to the side of the road across from the abandoned church.

“I notice that I become the brains of this outfit when there’s research to be done. How is that fair exactly?” She tapped the dashboard with her index finger.

“It’s perfectly fair; an equitable distribution of our respective talents. You get with the thinky thoughts, and I lift the heavy boxes.” He grinned at her.

Devon watched him as he slid closer to her in the front seat. “Somebody’s been studying for his SATs.”

“And somebody talks too much.”

She was planning on telling him that she did NOT talk too much, thank you very much, but his mouth closed over hers and what she had to say didn't seem so important.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Devon looked up as the assistant principal came to the door of her classroom, interrupting the teacher’s coverage of the War of 1812. She watched curiously as the two adults whispered to each other at the front of the class. The rest of the class descended into whispers once Ms. Wingate’s attention was elsewhere.

“Devon, could you follow Mr. Marcom, please?”

She looked up at her teacher and the AP. Mr. Marcom gestured for her to take her things with her, so Devon gathered up her notebooks, pen and messenger bag. A few people laughed behind her back, but Ms. Wingate’s quelling look put a stop to the titters.

Feeling shell-shocked, she managed to put one foot in front of the other in order to follow Mr. Marcom out the door. Once in the hall she asked, “What’s going on?”

“We’ll talk about it in my office.”

Devon felt like throwing up. She’d never had to go to the principal’s office, and she’d never been pulled out of the middle of a class before. She had no idea what could have happened. Maybe Gammy had gotten sick? The roiling in her stomach got worse.

The AP deposited her in a chair in front of the principal’s office with the admonition to wait. A few minutes later Brock joined her. She looked from him to the principal’s closed door, her insides churning. What the heck was going on?

“Do you know wh—” Brock began to ask, but was interrupted by the principal’s door opening.

Mr. Harper gestured for the two of them to come in. Two chairs sat in front of his large desk and he waved for them to have a seat. Devon looked nervously at Brock, wishing she knew why they had been called in. She supposed they would find out soon enough.

Principal Harper sat down behind his desk. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. His face was carefully neutral. He said, “I know you two are wondering why you’ve been called out of class today, and I will explain soon enough. But I need to ask you both a few questions first.”

Devon kept her eyes firmly on the principal and her hands folded in her lap. She got the feeling something very serious was going on, and as much as she might want to hold Brock’s hand for comfort, she somehow didn’t think this was the best idea. She waited to hear what the principal had to say.

The principal slid a few pieces of paper across the desk. “Devon, could you take a look at these and tell me if they seem familiar to you?”

Devon took the pages from him. They were copies of what looked like an English paper. The cover sheet was missing. She began to read; it was a paper about Hawthorne’s use of imagery in his short stories. She knew because she had written a paper very much like it last year. She quickly scanned the paper, her eyes flicking over passages of text that were very like what she’d written. There was maybe a word changed here or there, but for the most part, it was her paper.

She placed it back down on the desk. “That’s my paper—or parts of it anyway—from junior English.”

Mr. Harper nodded. He passed the pages to Brock. “Brock, have you ever seen these before?”

Devon watched as Brock took the pages in his hands and read through them. When he was finished, he shook his head. “No, sir, this doesn’t look familiar. But Devon and I weren’t in the same English class last year.”

“You’ve never seen these pages?” Mr. Harper frowned. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, sir.” Brock’s eyebrows were drawn down in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Mr. Harper clasped his hands together on top of the desk. “You know that we take a dim view of cheating at this school.” Both Devon and Brock nodded. “And selling your old term papers and essays would be looked on as cheating.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Harper?” Devon was certain she had misheard the man. Selling papers? “Who exactly is selling papers?”

“That, Devon, is what we are here to find out.” He gave her a hard look.

“Wait,” Brock said, his voice shocked. “You can’t think that we’re the ones selling them.”

Mr. Harper cleared his throat. “I find it hard to believe myself. Miss Mackson, your school record speaks for itself, and your teachers have nothing but glowing recommendations of your character. And you, Mr. Cutler, are a pillar of this school’s athletic community.”

Brock frowned at that last remark, but said nothing. The principal continued. “However, someone has accused you both of selling papers and brought forth this,” he pointed to the pages on the desk, “as proof.”

Devon felt the room spinning around her. This couldn’t be happening. It COULD. NOT. be happening. Not now. “Who’s accusing us?” she asked.

“Until a full inquiry is made, I am unable to tell you that.”

“So we don’t even get to confront the person who’s making up lies about us?” Brock asked, his voice furious.

Mr. Harper’s mouth set in a frown. “In due time, we’ll get everything sorted out. But for now, I have to contact your parents and let them know you are on academic probation.”

Devon knew she had to be as white as a sheet. Academic probation now? When she was so close to graduating and getting away from here? “What will that mean for college?” Her voice had barely risen above a whisper.

Mr. Harper looked at her, his face a neutral mask. “Most colleges do not tolerate cheating of any kind, Devon. I think you already know that.” He turned to Brock. “If there is anything either of you would like to tell me before I speak with your parents, now would be the time.”

Brock took Devon’s hand in his. She thought she saw Mr. Harper’s eyebrows rise slightly, but he said nothing. “You don’t have any real proof,” he said, angry now. “You’re just taking someone’s word over ours.”

“Believe me when I say that the student accusing you of this scam will also be investigated.” He looked pointedly at their hands before asking them to wait outside his office while he called their parents.

Devon plodded to the chair she’d been sitting in before her world had crumbled in the principal’s office. She knew she must have looked like a zombie, but she didn’t care. Her mind just refused to wrap itself around the words Mr. Harper had said in there; they were just replaying themselves as random noise bouncing around her skull.

Brock sat next to her, his head in his hands. She shook off her fugue state long enough to put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He swung his head up and his hazel eyes were dark with fury. “I don’t believe this,” he growled.

Devon could feel her eyes filling with tears and she blinked quickly to clear them. Her words caught in her throat for a second and she couldn’t speak. Eventually she was able to steady herself. “I know. I’m not sure I understand what it means.”

Brock’s face softened. He put a hand up to her cheek, brushing away a stray hair. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “Terrified.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve been working to get away from here for the last four years. And now this?” Devon closed her eyes, as if unwilling to even contemplate it. “I’m trapped.” She leaned her forehead against his, suddenly beyond tired.

Brock pulled back from her, placing his hands on her shoulders so she would look at him. “No. You’re not trapped.” He glanced at the principal’s door. “You can still get out of here.” He swallowed nervously, as if unsure of what he was about to say. “I’ll tell them I did it.”

Devon blinked. His words made no sense. “What?”

Again the look toward the principal’s door. “I’ll tell them that I stole your paper from you and I was the one selling it. I’ll tell them that you had nothing to do with it—that you didn’t even know about it.”

“But you can’t…I mean, your college…” Devon didn’t even know what she was trying to say.