Read Online Gypsy (The Cavy Files Book 1) by Trisha Leigh - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Trisha Leigh
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graveyard, maybe in the history of the world, sits on it, though, and I wander out of my way to stare through the open, overgrown gates of the Unitarian Church grounds.
A breeze, colder than the warmish air on the street, caresses my face, threads through my hair. The wild trees, grasses, and plants obscure concrete benches and memorials, and a brick path has sunk down into the earth as though pulled downward by some hidden force. A second gate leads into the oldest part of the graveyard, and a shudder works through me.
The word that pops into my mind is foreboding. This place, or something lurking inside it, wishes to be left alone, and despite my love of cemeteries and my special relationship with the dead, there’s no way I’d venture inside at night.
Instead of using the graveyard as a shortcut, I walk back down King Street, turn onto Queen, then swerve onto Archdale when Charleston Academy comes into sight.
It resembles a cathedral, which makes sense since it was founded as a Lutheran institution. The outside is tan stucco, grooved to look like more expensive stone, and the gates are flung open here, too. A different type of trepidation drifts out to greet me. The Academy reeks of the unknown, of a hundred kids who have known each other since they took their first steps but have never once laid eyes on me. Then again, if any of them watch the news, they know too much about me.
Remembering how easy the aptitude test was relieves some of my anxiety. At least I won’t have to deal with being the dumbest kid in school, and with the uniform, I don’t have to worry about not fitting in because of my lagging fashion education.
If I can avoid touching people, this place won’t look to me like the graveyard across the street.
The pep talk marches through my head, each letter waving little pom-poms of encouragement. It’s like Bring It On in my brain, and just as ridiculous as the original.
I take a deep breath and pass through the ornate wrought iron, enjoying the little fleur-de-lis cresting the tips. The concrete steps are sturdy and new, not a crack to be found, and the massive wooden doors at the back of the courtyard tower above me by at least ten feet.
The noise in the foyer buckles my knees, as with every new place in the “real” world. Kids—some older than me, others younger—whiz every direction, their feet scuffing the marble floors, arms slung through one another’s as they laugh and shriek and swap stories about their weekends. In the movies, everyone stops and stares at the new girl; they might give her weird looks or whisper behind their hands. But here no one notices me.
It’s a strange feeling, both unsettling and comforting. I loved my afternoons alone at Darley, but since leaving, I miss the easy companionship of my friends. Being invisible makes me sweat, and my heart begs for one single person to look my way, to reassure me I haven’t suddenly taken on Haint’s power to disappear.
On the other hand, nothing about me is screaming out to be noticed, that they should treat me differently or give me a wide berth in the hall, and that relaxes the majority of the tension still stiffening my neck.
If I knew where to find the office, it might go away altogether.
Before I can make an educated guess of which direction to walk, someone stumbles into me from behind, knocking me off balance. The whack from behind doesn’t ruin my day—accidents happen—but my fingers, in their scrabbling desperation to break my fall, connect with bare skin.
The number 18 flashes, burns black, and etches into the backs of my eyelids.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Lordy, I am so sorry! My mom’s always sayin’ I’m so clumsy I could trip over a cordless phone.”
A breathless, sweet female voice chatters the apology as she tries, with little success, to drag me upright using the straps of my backpack. She’s behind me, so she’s not the person whose age of death I just saw in my first two minutes here. Not
A breeze, colder than the warmish air on the street, caresses my face, threads through my hair. The wild trees, grasses, and plants obscure concrete benches and memorials, and a brick path has sunk down into the earth as though pulled downward by some hidden force. A second gate leads into the oldest part of the graveyard, and a shudder works through me.
The word that pops into my mind is foreboding. This place, or something lurking inside it, wishes to be left alone, and despite my love of cemeteries and my special relationship with the dead, there’s no way I’d venture inside at night.
Instead of using the graveyard as a shortcut, I walk back down King Street, turn onto Queen, then swerve onto Archdale when Charleston Academy comes into sight.
It resembles a cathedral, which makes sense since it was founded as a Lutheran institution. The outside is tan stucco, grooved to look like more expensive stone, and the gates are flung open here, too. A different type of trepidation drifts out to greet me. The Academy reeks of the unknown, of a hundred kids who have known each other since they took their first steps but have never once laid eyes on me. Then again, if any of them watch the news, they know too much about me.
Remembering how easy the aptitude test was relieves some of my anxiety. At least I won’t have to deal with being the dumbest kid in school, and with the uniform, I don’t have to worry about not fitting in because of my lagging fashion education.
If I can avoid touching people, this place won’t look to me like the graveyard across the street.
The pep talk marches through my head, each letter waving little pom-poms of encouragement. It’s like Bring It On in my brain, and just as ridiculous as the original.
I take a deep breath and pass through the ornate wrought iron, enjoying the little fleur-de-lis cresting the tips. The concrete steps are sturdy and new, not a crack to be found, and the massive wooden doors at the back of the courtyard tower above me by at least ten feet.
The noise in the foyer buckles my knees, as with every new place in the “real” world. Kids—some older than me, others younger—whiz every direction, their feet scuffing the marble floors, arms slung through one another’s as they laugh and shriek and swap stories about their weekends. In the movies, everyone stops and stares at the new girl; they might give her weird looks or whisper behind their hands. But here no one notices me.
It’s a strange feeling, both unsettling and comforting. I loved my afternoons alone at Darley, but since leaving, I miss the easy companionship of my friends. Being invisible makes me sweat, and my heart begs for one single person to look my way, to reassure me I haven’t suddenly taken on Haint’s power to disappear.
On the other hand, nothing about me is screaming out to be noticed, that they should treat me differently or give me a wide berth in the hall, and that relaxes the majority of the tension still stiffening my neck.
If I knew where to find the office, it might go away altogether.
Before I can make an educated guess of which direction to walk, someone stumbles into me from behind, knocking me off balance. The whack from behind doesn’t ruin my day—accidents happen—but my fingers, in their scrabbling desperation to break my fall, connect with bare skin.
The number 18 flashes, burns black, and etches into the backs of my eyelids.
Chapter Six
“Oh, Lordy, I am so sorry! My mom’s always sayin’ I’m so clumsy I could trip over a cordless phone.”
A breathless, sweet female voice chatters the apology as she tries, with little success, to drag me upright using the straps of my backpack. She’s behind me, so she’s not the person whose age of death I just saw in my first two minutes here. Not
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