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“And in 1901,” he said, “the convent was the sight of a mysterious disappearance. The door to a room shared by four of the nuns rattled in the howling winter wind, so it was locked every evening when the nuns retired for their rest. But the lock was on the outside of the door, so once the nuns went to sleep, they stayed in the room until they were released the next morning.
“One evening, Sister Bernadette went to sleep with her sisters. They said good night to each other, said an evening prayer, and fell asleep. But when the other sisters awoke the next morning, Sister Bernadette was nowhere to be found! Her bedsheets were tousled—and still warm. But the bed was empty—and the door was still locked from the outside! Sister Bernadette had disappeared in the night, and she was never seen again.”
The tourists offered sounds of interest, then began snapping pictures of the convent.
A few weeks after my initiation by firespell, his ghost story didn’t sound so unusual. I had a few ideas about where Sister Bernadette might have gone . . .
The man in black noticed I was heading for the gate and waved his hand at me. “Young lady, are you a student at St. Sophia’s School for Girls?”
The people taking the tour turned to look at me. Some of them actually looked a little scared, like they weren’t entirely sure if I was real. Others looked skeptical, like they weren’t entirely sure I wasn’t a plant.
“Um, yes,” I said. “I am.”
“Mm-hmm,” he said. “And have you seen anything mysterious in the hallowed halls of St. Sophia’s?”
I looked back at him for a moment and kept my features perfectly blank. “St. Sophia’s? Not really. Just, you know, studying.”
At his disappointed look, I continued through the gate. I glanced up at the black stone towers and the monsters that stood point on the edges of the building’s facade. These were the gargoyles Scout had referred to, with their gnarly dragonlike faces and folded batlike wings. They perched on the corners of the building as clouds raced behind them, their bodies pitched forward like they were ready to take flight.
“They’re definitely St. Sophia’s appropriate,” I murmured, “but they aren’t exactly pretty.”
Okay, maybe I imagined it. Maybe I was tired, or the run-in with Sebastian had finally scrambled my brain.
But just as the words were out of my mouth, and before I’d taken another step forward, the gargoyle on the right-hand corner of the building tilted its head and stared down at me with an expression that was none too amused.
Frankly, he looked a little irritated.
My jaw dropped. I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised that he’d moved—or that he’d been offended because I didn’t think he was pretty.
“Sorry,” I mouthed back.
Within the blink of an eye, he reassumed his position, and looked just the same as he had a moment ago.
Surely I hadn’t just imagined that?
On the other hand, I thought, walking toward the door again, stranger things had happened.
It was St. Sophia’s, after all.
