I didn’t want to believe Sophie. It couldn’t be true. “What’s happened?” I demanded. “Where’s Helen?”

“They’ve taken her to the infirmary, but I saw her, I found her, it was so awful.” Sophie began to cry again.

“Where did you find her? What do you mean?”

“She was lying on the front steps of the school, all twisted and—and—I think she’d fallen from one of the windows or something. Oh, Sarah, her face was so white and horrible!”

“I must go and see her. Where’s Miss Scratton?”

“I don’t know. I think she went over to St. Martin’s, didn’t she? Miss Hetherington is with Helen. She told me to look for you and tell you to go over to the infirmary.”

I didn’t bother to ask any more questions. Hurriedly I put Starlight in his stall and made sure that he was all right, then raced into the school with Sophie trailing behind me. I flew up the marble stairs to the sickroom and burst in without knocking. Evie was perched on the edge of a chair next to Helen’s bed, looking scared, and Miss Hetherington was talking to the nurse.

“Thank you so much, Sophie,” Miss Hetherington said when she saw us. “You’ve been very helpful. You’ve had a shock, though, so go down to the common room with Nurse. She’ll give you a hot drink and sit with you for a while. You’ll soon feel better.”

“But what about Helen?” Sophie asked fretfully. “Isn’t she dreadfully ill?”

“She’s had a nasty accident, but the doctor says that fortunately she hasn’t broken anything. Don’t worry, Sophie, she’ll recover. It’s not as bad as we first thought.”

Sophie looked doubtful but allowed herself to be led away by the nurse. I went closer to Helen’s bed. She was lying with her eyes closed and her fair hair smoothed neatly onto her pillow. Her arms lay thin and bare on top of the covers, like a child’s. She had a bruise on her cheek and a bandage on one hand. The weird mark on her arm was clearly visible, an inky pattern against her white skin. Miss Hetherington sighed. “Silly child, getting a tattoo in the holidays. And now this.”

She looked at us kindly but questioningly. “I wanted to talk to both of you. It appears that Helen accidentally fell from the landing window in the dormitory corridor down to the steps below and knocked herself out. She’s incredibly lucky to be alive. Heaven only knows how she managed to do it, leaning out too far, I suppose.” She paused. “Unless, of course, it wasn’t an accident. I’m aware that you three were constantly in one another’s company last term. Do you know of any reason why Helen might have done this on purpose? Was it some kind of cry for help?”

A memory of Helen deliberately stepping off the steep gables of the Abbey roof in the dead of night flashed back to me. She had been testing her powers of using the air to “dance on the wind,” but another uneasy thought struck me. Helen had hinted before of wanting to end her life, when she had lived in the orphanage. Surely she hadn’t been thinking anything like that again? Had she been so terrified by the mark on her arm that she was looking for a way of escape? Why hadn’t I made her talk to me about it? So much for trying to look after my friends. With a sinking heart I felt that I had done nothing but let them both down since the term had begun.

“I found this in her pocket,” added Miss Hetherington. “I don’t know whether it means anything to you.” She handed us a bit of paper covered with Helen’s intricate handwriting.

I hover in the star-filled sky, flying free,

Skybird, high above the earth.

You cut my wings, and I fall

Like swift black rain.

Skybird, skybird,

Full of secrets,

Full of sorrows.

I am falling so fast

Falling out of my body

Into the deep blue arc of night.

The stars are ready to welcome me.

Let me fall—let me be free—let me go—

“It’s one of her poems,” I said. “She writes stuff like this sometimes. But that doesn’t mean—”

“I wondered—isn’t this a plea for freedom?” The art mistress had a strange, guarded look on her face. “It made me think that maybe Helen had meant to hurt herself.”

“I can’t believe that,” said Evie shakily. “She has her father now, she has us; it must have been an accident.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Miss Hetherington replied. “We can only be thankful that the result was not worse.”

“Has—has she woken up at all?” I asked.

“She regained consciousness earlier, when the doctor was here.”

“And did she say anything?”

“She talked a lot of nonsense, just rambling,” Miss Hetherington said dismissively.

“But what about?” I persisted. If Miss Hetherington was connected with the coven, she wouldn’t tell me, and if she was simply a teacher, as I hoped and believed, she wouldn’t mind my questions. Either way, I had to ask. “What did Helen say?”

At that moment the nurse returned and came over to Helen’s bed and she answered my question. “Oh, poor Helen,” she said. “She talked about the wind . . . and dancing, and something about, I don’t know, a priestess. It really didn’t make any sense, did it, Miss Hetherington?”

“A priestess?” I repeated.

“Yes, that was it,” the nurse replied. “But Helen’s always been, well, rather oversensitive, hasn’t she?”

“Anyway,” the art mistress said briskly, “I’m glad we’ve had this chat. The doctor said it was all right for Helen to sleep now.”

Miss Hetherington sent us away, saying that we could come back in the morning.

As soon as we were out in the corridor, Evie said in a stricken voice, “It wasn’t an accident, was it? It was her, Mrs. Hartle! She’s broken through our protective spell, hasn’t she?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Perhaps Helen falling really was just an accident—”

“Don’t! That’s the kind of stuff I wanted to believe, but it’s no use, is it? The coven won’t let us go as easily as that. You were right all along, Sarah. That mark on Helen’s arm—I knew it was a sign of danger, I just didn’t want to face it. And Helen’s poem—she must be so unhappy. Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’ve been so selfish.”

“I’ve been just as bad—I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“No, you were trying to make us face things and be prepared for what was out there, but I refused to listen. I should have—oh, I should have done it all differently.” She bit her lip and muttered, “I wanted to be happy after everything had been so awful, and I thought I could just make myself happy by ignoring what was going on. But it doesn’t work like that, does it?”

“I think perhaps happiness comes when you’re not looking for it,” I replied. “We can’t force it.” I had Cal to thank for teaching me that. “But I don’t blame you, Evie. I think I understand.”

“Do you really?” Evie looked up at me, hesitating. “Sarah—can you forgive me? Are we still sisters?”

“Now and always,” I said, hugging her.

“For eternity.” She laughed, then quickly grew serious. “What do we do now?”

“We need to find Miss Scratton—but let’s talk to Sophie first. I got the feeling she wasn’t telling Miss Hetherington everything.”

We found Sophie, hunched miserably over a cup of hot chocolate in the corner of one of the new common rooms that Miss Scratton had organized. A few younger girls were sitting around a table on the other side of the room arguing over some kind of board game while pop music played on the radio. The common room had been provided with books and magazines, but it remained a gloomy place, with heavy red flock wallpaper and a black marble fireplace. Sophie looked grateful as we went to sit beside her.

“I hope you’re feeling better, Sophie.” I felt sorry for her. She was weak and self-pitying, but she didn’t deserve to be so frightened and unhappy. “And thanks for raising the alarm about Helen.”

“It was terrifying, seeing her there like that. She was staring up, so still and cold . . .” Tears trickled out of Sophie’s baby blue eyes. “I’ve had such a dreadful weekend, what with last night as well.”

“Why, what happened last night?”

“Oh, it all started as a stupid joke. It was Velvet’s idea. I know she wants to get expelled, but I don’t, my parents would go mad.” Sophie lowered her voice. “I thought Velvet was nice at first, but she’s not. I think she’s a bit crazy. I don’t want to have anything to do with her anymore, but now Celeste and India won’t speak to me because I hung out with Velvet, and I’m so, so miserable . . . last night was so horrible.” She began to cry again.

“So what went on last night that was so terrible?” I asked.

Sophie groaned and blew her nose. “It was so awful. Velvet was going on and on yesterday about some weird idea about greeting the May, you know, because it was going to be the first day of May today. She wanted us all to meet her in the ruins at midnight to have some kind of dumb ritual for Bel—Bel something.”

“Beltane. It’s an ancient celebration,” said Evie.

“Yeah, that was it. But I was fed up with getting out of bed in the middle of the night—she’s dragged us out three times now, and it just makes me so worried about being caught. So I told her that May Day is about getting up early and washing your face in the dew and skipping about with flowers in your hair, not creeping around in the middle of the night, but she didn’t listen. She laughed at me for being scared, and the others laughed too, so I had to go along with it. But I wish I hadn’t.”

“So what actually happened?” I asked, beginning to feel impatient with Sophie’s rambling story. It seemed to be nothing more than Velvet showing off and fooling about.

“Promise not to tell anyone else?” she asked.

“Okay, I promise,” I said. “Just tell us.”

Sophie shuddered. “We all crept down to the ruins just before midnight, like Velvet had told us—me and Annabelle and Julia and the others. Velvet had got all these candles and stuff that she had taken from the cupboard in the dining hall. We all had to hold a candle and act in her horrible ceremony. I was cold, and I just wanted to get it over with, but Velvet was really into it. She had got dressed up in these black clothes and weird makeup, and she made us parade around the altar chanting, ‘We call the spirits of the dead, we call the spirits of the dead. . . .’ Over and over again like that. Annabelle was giggling like anything, but it made me feel scared. I couldn’t help thinking about Laura and how she’d been found dead in the lake, just a few yards from the ruins, and how the place had once been a church. It seemed wrong, you know, sacrilegious. But Velvet wouldn’t stop. She kept going on, calling out for the spirits of the dead.”

Sophie looked nervously across to the girls in the corner, leaned closer to us, and whispered, “Then it got worse. Velvet seemed to get serious, sort of desperate. She said we had to perform a ‘Rite of Freedom,’ to get her out of Wyldcliffe. She made a circle in the ground with a knife, slashing at the earth, and said we had to stand in the circle and make vows of freedom. I didn’t want to, but she made us.”

“Why didn’t you just leave?” asked Evie.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I was frightened to stay and frightened to go. And then Velvet brought out a bottle of wine she had stolen from the kitchens and we had to drink it in turns and say, ‘This is the blood of my enemies—the blood of my mother. I renounce her. I am now the daughter of the night.’ I know it was stupid, really, but you can’t imagine how freaky Velvet looked, saying all that stuff. And then she poured some wine on the ground and said it was an offering to the spirits of the dead.

“Velvet started to dance and writhe about, pretending to be, I don’t know, possessed or something, and she said, ‘With this blade and this wine I release every prisoner, every trapped animal, and every fettered spirit. I claim freedom for myself and everything around me.’ And the others were holding hands in a circle and chanting, ‘Freedom, freedom,’ and laughing like it was just a big joke.

“But after that—I don’t know whether it was the wine we had drunk, but something happened.” Sophie paused and seemed to sink into herself, remembering. “Velvet went all—all weird, but perhaps she was just playacting. I don’t know, but anyway she terrified me. She stood as stiff as a scarecrow and said, ‘We take our freedom. We are the spirits of the dead. We are the Priestess.’”

“We are the Priestess?” Evie and I looked at each other in alarm.

“Yes, and Annabelle said, ‘That’s very funny, Velvet, you can stop now.’ But Velvet just stared at us with these huge demented eyes and said it again and again: ‘We are the Priestess, we are the Priestess, prepare for the end. . . .’ And it was so real, like she really believed it. The next moment there was this great crash, and I nearly screamed. A massive stone had fallen from the ruins onto the grass. If it had hit any of the girls, they would have been dead.

“I’d really had enough, and besides I was sure we would have woken the whole school by now. So I pulled away from the circle, and then Velvet snapped out of it and was herself again, just laughing and showing off and drinking more wine. I didn’t want to stay a minute longer, though, so I ran back to the school and flew up the stairs to the dorm. Thank goodness I didn’t see any of the mistresses, but I had this awful feeling I was being watched the whole way. I was sure I was going to be caught. I felt terrible when I woke up.” She sniffed. “Then all this horrible business about Helen. And I thought the summer term was going to be so nice.”

We sat in silence for a moment, then Sophie asked timidly, “Do you think we’ll get into trouble about that chunk that broke off the ruins? Aren’t they worth millions?”

“I don’t see how anyone will trace the damage back to you, Sophie,” I reassured her. “It was probably just ready to fall after all those years, nothing to do with Velvet.”

“I don’t know,” said Sophie uneasily. “She says she can make things happen, and maybe it’s true.”

“What kind of things?”

“She told us this morning that she had made that stone fall on purpose. And—and that she could make me throw myself in the lake if she wanted me to.”

“Of course she can’t.”

“But she was there when Helen fell! I didn’t tell Miss Hetherington, because I was scared to say anything. But I swear Velvet was there, looking out of the window, when I found Helen. She stared down at me and put her finger on her lips as if she was warning me . . . oh God, I wish she would get expelled and go away!” Sophie sniffed again and wiped her eyes, then looked at her watch. “I’m so tired. I’m going to bed early. The nurse said I need to rest and was excused evening prayers. You promise not to tell anyone what I told you?”

“Of course,” we both said, and watched her leave. My heart felt as cold as a stone. “The Priestess—that’s what Helen talked about too,” I whispered. “It must be Mrs. Hartle’s spirit manifesting itself.”

“So it was Velvet who broke our protective seal and awakened her!” Evie groaned. “And then Mrs. Hartle was free to attack Helen. How could Velvet have been so reckless and stupid?”

“I don’t suppose Velvet really knew what she was doing. She probably thought it was a laugh, a silly game.”

“Some game,” said Evie grimly. “If Velvet wants to dabble in the unknown realms, she might cause all sorts of damage.”

“But do you really think she has any actual power? Isn’t it just talk to make herself important and scare people like Sophie?”

Evie threw herself back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. Then she sat up. “I remember Helen saying something once, Sarah, right at the beginning of all this. Something about everyone having a voice inside them, telling them the story of their own power, and that you can reach that power if you bother to find out how. Why would we be the only ones to unlock that part of ourselves? Why shouldn’t Velvet be alive to her own potential, even if she doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing?”

“And those stories of what happened at her last school . . . that girl being caught in the fire . . .”

“Should we go and talk to her?” Evie asked. “Confront her?”

I shook my head slowly. “No . . . no, I don’t think so. If it was only a fluke, there’s no point, and if she is onto something—if she is stirring something up, it might be best to keep out of her way. She’s done enough already. Let’s pray that it was just Sophie getting scared.” But somehow, I didn’t really believe that. I looked at Evie and saw my own fear reflected in her face. “Oh, Evie, how are we going to get through all this?”

She laid her hand on mine. “We’ll get through, if you guide us. S for Sarah, remember? Tell me what to do.”

I took a deep breath. “The first thing is to find Miss Scratton. We need our Guardian now. We can’t wait any longer.”

Leaving the crimson common room and its murmur of voices and music, we walked down the silent corridor as quickly as we could. Soon we reached the High Mistress’s study. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, I heard the sound of furniture being dragged around. I glanced at Evie in alarm, then tapped loudly on the door. It was flung open by Miss Dalrymple. For once she wasn’t smiling.

“What do you want?” she said abruptly. “It’s late. You should be getting ready for prayers.”

“Um . . .” I took a risk. “Miss Hetherington asked us to . . . to give the High Mistress a message.”

“The High Mistress cannot be contacted with any messages tonight.” A cold smile spread across Miss Dalrymple’s flushed, plump face. “Or for many nights to come.”

“Why not?” Evie demanded.

“A little accident has occurred on the way back from St. Martin’s. But I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. You’re in safe hands.” Her blank, toadlike eyes held a threat as she stepped nearer to us. I could smell the sickly perfume she used and see the powder on her mottled cheeks. Over her shoulder I saw that she had been ransacking the study. Books and papers were strewn all over the floor. What had she been searching for? “And I hear that poor Helen has had a mishap too,” Miss Dalrymple went on. “You must be so concerned for her. After all, you’re so close, aren’t you? Almost—” Her voice quivered. “Almost like sisters.”

Without warning Miss Dalrymple gripped my arm so tightly that I gasped in pain. “We’re watching you,” she whispered. “You need to be very, very careful if you don’t want to get into more trouble than you can handle.”

“Don’t touch her,” said Evie, flaming up in anger. “We know who you are and your disgusting friends. We’re not frightened of you or your precious Priestess or whatever she calls herself now.”

Miss Dalrymple’s face registered a flicker of surprise; then she pulled herself together. She let go of me and assumed her usual, sickly sweet expression. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“But what about Miss Scratton? What have you done to her?”

“What have I done? Sarah dear, I think you must be feverish. You need to calm down. If you carry on with your wild accusations, you might end up in trouble. And if you must know,” she added with a bright smile, “our dear High Mistress is in the hospital at Wyldford Cross. Such a dreadful accident. Such a shame.”

She shut the door in our faces and left us standing there, completely stunned. A single night and a stupid prank had changed everything. First Helen, then Miss Scratton had been struck down. Which of us would Mrs. Hartle and her minions attack next?