Winter's Shadow (15 page)

The next morning, Winter approached Jessie with a significant level of suspicion. For all her affectionate personification of the scooter, Winter knew that ultimately it was just a piece of machinery incapable of sentient thoughts. Nevertheless, if it started now after dying outside the Velasco place and forcing her to endure that uncomfortable car ride with Blake, she might start believing the scooter was following its own personal agenda. She didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed when Jessie remained obstinately silent after multiple turns of the ignition key.

Winter returned upstairs and picked up the phone. Lucy had already driven to work, so if she wanted to get to school on time she’d need to get a lift from someone else. She dialled Jasmine, hoping that her friend didn’t
bear a grudge about the tetchy way Winter had spoken to her last night. It really hadn’t been fair of her to snap at Jasmine like that.

After a few short rings the line was picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Morning, Jas, it’s Win.’

‘What’s up?’ Yep, Jasmine was still upset with her. Winter could detect the slight coldness in her response.

‘I was wondering if you could pick me up? Jessie died.’

There was a brief pause, before Jasmine responded. ‘Sure, be there in ten.’

Winter hung up the phone, grateful that she had a lift, but not relishing having to endure a car ride with Jasmine if she was in a huff. It was at least a forty-five minute walk to Trinity, and there was no way Winter could make it to her first class on time without Jasmine. Not that Winter would have been too distraught to miss out on Mr Jenkins’s quadratic equations, but her shaky record didn’t need another black mark on it for late attendance.

Thinking about this, Winter recalled the vaguely threatening email she’d found in her inbox this morning. It was Harry Francis, insinuating that if Winter failed to produce the pictures for his article today, he wouldn’t hesitate to report to Sorensen that she’d failed her extra credit task. Winter patted her schoolbag, feeling the comforting shape of the photograph wallet she’d packed earlier. They were good pictures. She
knew
they
were good pictures, but there was every chance Harry would try to find fault with them. She didn’t know whether he would still complain to Sorensen, seeing that she’d completed the assignment, but wouldn’t put it past him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a car horn beeping outside. Winter jogged down the driveway to where Jasmine’s champagne-coloured Mini Cooper was idling.

She slid into the passenger seat. ‘Thanks for picking me up, Jas.’

Jas smiled politely. ‘No problem.’

So far, so good. Winter strapped herself in as Jasmine pulled back onto the road. However, after a few minutes of driving in silence, Winter realised that Jasmine wasn’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation.

‘So, about last night . . .’ Winter began, biting the bullet. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude to you on the phone. I was just upset.’

She glanced at Jasmine out of the corner of her eye, and was relieved to see Jasmine’s expression soften. Despite Jasmine’s sensitivity, she was always quick to forgive.

‘It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed you as hard as I did. So what happened?’

Winter took a deep breath and told Jasmine everything that had happened at the Velasco place: the diary, the cats, the curious music she’d heard, which beckoned her upstairs. She glossed over just how furious Blake had been when he found her, conscious of not wanting to paint him in a bad light.

After she finished, Jasmine remained thoughtfully silent for a moment.

‘He likes you, Win,’ she stated as though it were an obvious deduction.

Winter shook her head, secretly delighted at Jasmine’s conclusion. ‘I doubt that, Jas.’

Jasmine shrugged. ‘Keep in mind, I’m only going off what you’ve told me – but if I found a strange guy lurking in my house I wouldn’t offer to drive him home. Even if his scooter broke down.’

‘Blake’s just nice.’

‘He doesn’t sound nice. He sounds kind of angry and weird. Hanging out in graveyards, living in a haunted house, keeping all those cats.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw him,’ Winter said, grinning at Jasmine’s bluntness.

‘Whatever. I don’t know if I should encourage you to see this guy again. It’s just as well he gave you the ticket back.’

Winter looked out the window at the clear blue sky, feeling much better for having discussed the situation. Could it be true? Could a guy like Blake really be interested in someone like her? He had saved her life . . . What was that syndrome called where nurses fell in love with their patients? The Florence Nightingale Effect. Maybe there was something similar for guys who saved girls from collapsing churches?

Trinity loomed on the right side of the road.

‘Sam called me last night,’ Jasmine said as they passed through the gates into the parking lot.

‘Really? What did you talk about?’ Winter looked over and saw Jasmine struggling to contain her excitement.

‘Everything. School. His family, my family. I was on the phone to him for nearly two hours. An unbelievable conversation. He’s like, you know, a man. Not a boy. Deep.’ Jasmine looked out the window at their classmates milling about the grounds. ‘Not like the rest of these monkeys.’

Winter couldn’t help but grin at her starry-eyed friend. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Jasmine go gaga over a boy so quickly, but it was the first time she’d ever heard Jasmine refer to one of her conquests as
deep
.
Hot
,
lush
and
sexy
were the adjectives she usually relied upon.

‘Who would have thought we’d both meet someone at the same time?’ Jasmine said as she pulled into a space and switched off the engine. Smiling, Winter shrugged in agreement. Not that she thought their situations were very similar – Jasmine actually stood a chance with Sam.

They got out of Jasmine’s car and walked towards the entrance of the main building. Students loitered on the front steps, talking in cliques or standing alone waiting for their friends to arrive.

Jasmine continued gushing about Sam. ‘It’s funny, but when I first saw him I got this feeling that there was something special about him. No, that’s not true.’ A cheeky grin surfaced. ‘First I saw the muscles, and the smile, and the teeth, and the eyes – then I got that special feeling. Do you think it’s possible, Win? You can just look at someone and know them?’

Winter thought back on that first moment she saw Blake in the graveyard. ‘I think so.’

‘I gotta tell you, it’s a little bit freaky. I mean, when was the last time . . .’ Jasmine stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened dangerously, her golden cheeks coloured, and her bottom lip twitched ever so slightly. Winter had known Jasmine long enough to recognise these signs, and to heed them. A storm was coming, a Jasmine storm, and it would probably be wise to start looking for cover. Luckily the fury wasn’t directed at her. Winter followed Jasmine’s enraged stare and saw Sam standing at the base of the steps leading up to the entrance. He wasn’t alone.

Becky Layne – or Layne the Pain as Winter and Jasmine called her – was talking to him, though
talking
probably wasn’t the most accurate description. As they watched, Becky laughed uproariously at something Sam said, then touched his arm in a nakedly flirtatious gesture. She flicked her long blonde hair back over one shoulder, smiling up at Sam from beneath her eyelashes.

‘Excuse me a second,’ Jasmine said through her teeth, and marched towards the duo, her face approaching the colour of her vivid pink fringe.

As much as Winter would have loved to watch Jasmine eviscerate Layne the Pain, she had more pressing matters to attend to. She made her way past the gym towards the Rec Room, where the
Times
headquarters was located. Harry was sitting at his desk poring over some sample layouts for the next issue. It didn’t surprise her to find him here before school had started – Harry more or less
lived in the Rec Room. At the sound of her approach, his head snapped up, beady eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses when he saw it was Winter.

‘Winter, I take it you received my email this morning?’

‘Yes, Harry. Thank you for being so patient,’ she replied, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. ‘As requested – your photographs of Pilgrim’s Lament.’ She dropped the photograph packet in front of him on the desk.

‘I have to admit, I had my doubts.’ He opened the sleeve and took out the photographs. ‘When Sorensen told me I had to use you as a photographer, I thought it was going to be a disaster. No offence, but you’ve never struck me as the sort of person who had a strong work ethic.’

‘I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt,’ Winter replied through thin lips.

She watched closely as Harry thumbed through the pictures, taking no small satisfaction in the way his sceptical expression slowly changed to genuine admiration.

‘Not bad. I suppose we can work with these.’

‘Not bad? If you only knew what I went through to get them.’

‘Surprisingly, I really don’t care.’ Harry continued inspecting the pictures, oblivious to Winter’s exasperation. ‘Woah! What have we got here?’ he said, frowning as he reached the final photograph. It was the creepy graveyard image marred by the hazy black flaw, which Winter had forgotten to remove from the packet.

‘Very interesting.’ Harry brought the picture closer to his glasses.

‘Yeah, something went wrong with that picture when it was developed.’ The oddly textured darkness of the photograph made Winter feel unsettled again. There was something almost substantial about the flawed area where Blake should have been standing – as though it had form.

‘I don’t think this is a developing mistake.’

‘Why? Have you seen something like this before?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have. You’ve got yourself a Shadow.’

‘I know that.’

Harry shook his head. ‘No – that’s not what I meant.’ He sighed with frustration. ‘You never watched
Mysteries of the Occult
? Eleven-thirty Saturday nights?’

‘I must have missed it.’

Harry waved the picture at her. ‘This was taken in a graveyard, correct?’

Winter nodded, unsure how an environment could be connected to a developing error.

‘Well, what do you find in graveyards?’ Harry continued, as though explaining something patiently to a small child. ‘Dead people. A Shadow is the spirit of a dead person caught on film.’

He noted Winter’s incredulous expression, and seemed a little offended.

‘Look it up – it’s science.’

Despite the ludicrousness of Harry’s explanation –
Science? Yeah, right!
– a chill ran up Winter’s spine.

‘Can I keep it?’ Harry asked hopefully.

‘No.’ Winter took the picture from him, not sure why she was feeling so possessive about it.

She left the room quickly, ignoring Harry’s bemused expression. She couldn’t believe she was affected by what he’d said. It had to be a joke.

There was no such thing as ghosts.

Not usually the biggest fan of gym class, today Winter enjoyed the distraction running around the school oval afforded her. Trying to keep up with the group, her eyes fixed on the sweat-stained back of the girl ahead of her, she was able to momentarily put Blake out of her mind. This was no easy feat. His sculptured features, flawless olive skin, the slight stubble roughening his chin, and most of all his dazzling green eyes kept intruding on her thoughts. It wasn’t only Blake’s face that muddied her thinking, but the graveyard photograph which seemed inexorably linked to him.