Voices in Stone - Emily Diamand Page 0,26

was so different now, as she hurried to eat. Lunch break was their busiest time.

“Are you finished yet?” Jess asked, when Isis was only halfway through her potato.

Mandeville materialised next to Nafira, starting as a smudge in the air and a smell of damp.

“Ugh,” Nafira said, spitting out a mouthful of apple. “This is all rotten inside.”

Mandeville waggled his fingers at Isis in greeting. “Are we ready?” he asked.

Isis shoved in a last mouthful of baked beans, then nodded at Jess, who was rubbing her arms without noticing.

“Come on,” Jess said. “I told them to meet us in the gap between the old hall and the science building. No one ever goes there.”

Chloe pulled a face. “It’s always wet down there, even in summer.”

Hayley didn’t look happy either. “Tommo said he saw a rat run across…”

“Your friend has such charming choices of venue,” muttered Mandeville.

“It’s perfect,” said Jess, looking smug. “It’ll set the atmosphere.” She smiled at Isis. “Won’t it?”

“Well…” But Jess was already leading the way from the canteen.

Isis picked up her bag and headed after her, with Hayley, Chloe and Nafira following. Heads turned to watch them leave and talk rippled, but not like before, when she’d run the gauntlet of jokes and sniggering. Now they were being discussed, like celebrities.

A Year Seven boy asked, “Where are you going?”

“Invite only,” said Jess, not even bothering to look at him.

Isis smiled, relieved, as they walked out.

The girls headed away from the newer buildings of the school, towards the old brick ones built a hundred and fifty years ago, when classrooms were intended to be high and imposing. Always cold and echoing, there were half a dozen tales of ghosts in them. None were right, of course; only Isis knew the truth about the ghosts that haunted there.

She glanced at Mandeville, drifting alongside her. His mouth was drawn into a peevish line, and his complaining began as soon as he saw Isis looking.

“Why do we have to lurk in a dingy corner, like petty criminals?” He pointed a bony finger at Jess. “And why does she determine where we go?”

Isis didn’t answer. The other girls might be impressed by the seances, but she wasn’t sure they’d react well if she started talking to ghosts when they were just walking through school.

Mandeville whinged into her silence.

“We need to start building your following, and I fail to comprehend how that can take place in toilets and alleyways. You should be taking charge, not allowing yourself to be managed by that girl. Her choices of location are highly unsuitable, and I have little doubt this is all being done in pursuit of her own aggrandisement.”

Initially Mandeville had been delighted by Jess’s efforts, but he was increasingly dissatisfied, and nothing seemed to be enough. Isis hefted her bag from one shoulder to the other, swinging it by the handle straight through Mandeville. He drifted and reformed, like oil on water.

“Do you mind?” he snapped.

“Sorry,” said Isis. Hayley, walking behind her, looked puzzled and Isis smiled. “I thought I hit you with my bag.”

“No,” said Hayley, shaking her head.

“You did that deliberately!” said Mandeville, and Isis turned her smile on him, with a little nod.

“I’m so glad I’m friends with you all,” said Isis blandly. She kept her eyes on Mandeville.

The other girls sparked into happy agreement, while Mandeville stayed close to Isis. They turned the corner of the sports hall, and a cool breeze fluttered their hair and coats. Mandeville shimmered with it, his form spreading out and thinning.

“Your loyalty to these girls is touching, my dear, but remember from whom you really gain your popularity. You should ask yourself, how true are these friends of yours? Would they be with you if I wasn’t? Would they eat lunch with you then?”

At this threat Isis stopped walking.

“Don’t,” she said, the word too quiet to be heard.

Mandeville was almost transparent now. “Why should I stay, when you treat me with so little respect? When you are merely using me to impress your friends!”

Jess and the others walked on a few paces, then Nafira turned around.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I…” Isis thought desperately, then bent down. “I’ve got something in my shoe.”

Nafira nodded, and carried on walking.

Isis whispered at the ground. “I’m not using you.”

Mandeville’s features grew among the cracks and discolouration of the cement. The dark stain from someone’s spilled drink became his face, one of his blue fire eyes glowed through a blob of chewing gum.

“You are wasting your talents and mine. We have