School Spirits - By Rachel Hawkins Page 0,8

caption read, STILL NO LEADS IN ATTACK ON POPULAR TEACHER.

“What happened?” I tapped the picture.

“Was just a few months ago,” Maya said. “I remember it because that town in Mississippi was close enough to here that it made the local news. The science teacher was found nearly dead from a blow to the head.”

“Okay, well, that seems awful but not necessarily supernatural,” I said, but Mom shook her head. Pointing to a section of the article, she said, “Read this part. ‘Police are particularly baffled as David Snyder was found in a room locked from the inside.’ No witnesses, no fingerprints. And he swears he was alone in the room.”

I read all of that, but I still didn’t get it. “It’s creepy, but it still isn’t all that Brannick-y.”

Mom looked up at me, the corners of her mouth turning down. “Unless it’s a haunting.”

Digging my fingers into the couch cushions, I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. “Mom, come on. A ghost case?”

As far as Supernatural Threats went, ghosts were way down there at the bottom of the list. For the most part, they just floated around and creeped people out, and they were ridiculously easy to banish.

But Mom actually smiled. “This sounds perfect, Iz. Exactly the kind of case you could tackle by yourself, get your confidence back—”

Now I couldn’t keep the petulance out of my voice. “Mom, ghosts jobs are nothing. They’re…they’re like Brannick training wheels.”

“Tell that to Mr. Snyder,” Maya muttered, and Mom nodded.

“If this is a haunting, it’s a potentially dangerous one. We owe it to the students of”—she squinted at the paper—“Mary Evans High to keep them safe.”

Flipping my braid over my shoulder, I sank deeper into the couch. “I know, but—” I sat up straight. “Wait, this happened at a high school?”

Mom had always gone out of her way to avoid jobs that happened at schools. She’d never said why, but I’d guessed it had to do with me and Finn and Mom not wanting us to get any ideas about a “regular life.” That’s why we’d always been homeschooled, although I doubt many kids had to write an essay on The Hammer of Witches as their midterm. And sure, a few years ago, I’d kind of…not longed for it, exactly, but I’d thought high school had a certain exotic appeal. But that was when I was just a kid.

Whatever was on that piece of newspaper suddenly became very interesting to Mom, and dread began to settle in my stomach. “Mom, is this…am I going to have to go to this high school?”

Mom didn’t look up. “It would be the best way for you to do the necessary reconnaissance work. And it might be good for you.” Her mouth tightened into a firm line, and I knew that whatever came out of her mouth next, it would be a command, not a request. “This is the case for us right now, Isolde. The case we need.”

When Mom used that voice, there was no arguing. It was the same tone she used to get me to put in an extra hour on the training field.

The same tone she used the day she’d said we were done looking for Finley.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound sullen. But…high school. Regular high school, with…with… Yeah, I had no idea what that would actually entail, other than a vague notion of school dances and lockers. And while our cabin in the woods may not be much, it was home.

“The town is only about fifty miles from here,” Maya offered. “I could ride with y’all, show you around.” She narrowed her eyes at Mom. “And I’m assuming you have ways of finding a place once you get there.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Mom said tersely.

“We won’t need a place,” I insisted, rising to my feet. “Places are for jobs that are more than chasing down Casper.”

Mom began gathering the pieces of paper. A few caught her eye, and she folded them carefully, putting them in the pocket of her jacket. “Enough, Iz.”

She stood up and said to Maya, “We’ll need to go home, get a few things first. We’ll drive down next week.”

I frowned at that. We had a car, but it was not the most reliable thing, and as much as I loathed Itineris travel, it was a lot faster.

While Mom and Maya made plans, I sat back on the couch, the newspaper article in my hand. I knew I should have been more concerned about