Читать книгу The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn - Frank Wood - Страница 17

One thing about being with Neville, Gabbie never had to worry about coming down on the wrong side of any teacher, even one for whose class they were terribly late. Neville had an uncanny way of smooth-talking his way out of any situation, no matter how serious, but this time it turned out he didn’t have to use it. Neville’s burst landed him and Gabbie in their seats just a millisecond after the banshee sounded. The two exchanged smiles as Grawl groaned behind them.

“Sparkling on school hours, Mr. LeGrand, that’s a tardy for both you and Miss Del Toro,” Mrs. Winterberry said.

“Way to start off the school year, you two,” Grawl muttered.

“Sorry, Gabriella. I thought it would work,” Neville said with a disarming smile that was interrupted by a drop of a whitish-yellow liquid from the ceiling falling into his hair.

“Watch out, it’s bat crap!” Mac McPherson guffawed from the back.

“Sorry, mate!” The bat materialized into the figure of a red-haired boy. “Couldn’t hold it.”

“You’re a pig, Oscar!” Gabbie shouted at him.

“Actually, that time I was a bat,” the boy replied glibly.

“Why’s he always such a jerk to you?” Gabbie said, hot under the collar.

“It’s not important, Gabriella,” Neville said, wiping his hair free of the excrement.

“No, but you could put him down in an instant, Neville, you of the violet persuasion.” Gabbie was referring to his irises, which were the deep violet hue that meant the gifts of speed, stealth and flight were his to claim as a warlock.

The banshee screamed again, denoting the start of class.

“Just drop it, Gabriella,” Neville whispered.

“Mr. LeGrand, go tend to yourself,” Mrs. Winterberry said. “Still haven’t mastered all the aspects of transformation, Mister Adamson-Horwitz?” she asked the former bat boy. “For undue crudeness, I think I’ll assign you a demerit on your cache until we can be clearer on the matter.”

“You’re disgusting,” Gabbie told Oscar. “How can you all be friends with him?” she asked Mac, (real name, Austin) and Grace Johnson, who sat on either side of Oscar and were virtually inseparable.

“It isn’t what it seems, Gabbie,” Grace said, but Gabbie was too angry to try and understand.

Then Gabbie had to suffer through the duration of Advisory, which seemed longer than its normal thirty minutes, before she could really get into it with Neville and Grawl about all she had heard in the council room.

The usual announcements for the new school year followed: welcoming them all to Ghoul School, the sterling reputation of the school, how deeply it was steeped in history, how they should all be proud to be among the witches and warlocks who matriculated there.

They heard about the Back to School Haunt that evening, which was always a good time. Several teachers were commended for being selected to participate in the implosion festivities of the Historic Bridge at the Serpentine Fire Rail Station, which would happen later that week. That old bridge that led from Ghoulsville to the Other Side had seen better days, and was becoming less and less helpful in keeping out mortal humans who lost their way, usually during hikes and camping trips near the bridge entrance. A new bridge had been constructed with a higher take-off point that mortals couldn’t traverse.

“Too bad,” Oscar Adamson-Horwitz commented at this announcement. “What’ll we do now to stir up mortal frights this Halloween?”

“I’m sure I can find a few things to keep you occupied, Mister Adamson-Horwitz,” Mrs. Winterberry chortled.

“Whaaaatttt?! I didn’t see her there!” Oscar yelped, to the laughter of his nearby friends.

“So let me get this straight,” Grawl began, turning to Gabbie during the announcements. “The Warlock Sentry is going to be snooping about the school looking for possible witnesses to the Pumpkin Hill Plunder…witnesses that could potentially come out for or against Dad.”

“Yes, for the billionth time, Grawl, and I think it’s mostly for,” Gabbie replied, flustered. Why were boy trolls so dense sometimes?

“As much as I would like to believe that,” Grawl said, “it just sounds funky to me, that’s all.”

“Who’s funky?” came a thick voice from behind Gabbie and Grawl. “You, Grawl?” It was Francis McTavish, the biggest and strongest boy in the sixth grade and the youngest of the three McTavish kids who, for all intents and purposes, ruled the school. Patty McTavish was the star screamleader of the school, and Oliver McTavish was the star ghoulball player. It didn’t hurt that both of their parents were now on staff at Ghoul School—their father as coach for the ghoulsball team and their mother as scream coach and history teacher. Rumor was that Francis McTavish and Florinda had grown closer over the summer and were now officially boyfriend and girlfriend, interminably at each other’s sides.

“Good one, Frannie,” Florinda said from her seat right behind Gabbie.

“Back off, Florinda, haven’t you caused enough grief today already?”

“Hey, don’t talk to my girlfriend like that, Beast,” Francis roared.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle you know what,” Grawl said.

“Hey, you want a pounding, troll?” Francis turned his beady eyes to Grawl.

“We were having a private conversation here,” Gabbie said.

“Have away,” Florinda said, “don’t mind us at all. Pretend like we’re not here.” She faded off and then on again, a smug smile on her face. “Just one of the neat things that you can do…once you get your witch’s stripe, that is.”

“I say, what’s that smell?” Horace Cuthbert, Ghoulsville’s resident chanteur and fine arts aficionado asked.

“Something’s burning!” Grace said.

“Florinda, it’s you!”

“What?”

“There, coming from your rear!” Oscar said as the kids and Mrs. Winterberry made quite a commotion moving away from Florinda, whose backside was indeed emitting a foul, egg-smelling green flume.

“Oh my stars!”

“Oooh, it stinks!”

“There there, children,” Mrs. Winterberry said, waving her hand in front of her nose. The green flume started to dissipate, and the smell with it. “Looks to be just a defecation spell...quite harmless!”

There were eruptions of laughter as the banshee howled again. Gabbie spied Neville returned from the lavatory in the back of the room, a merry glint dancing in his violet eyes.

“Neville, did you do that?” Gabbie asked under her breath with a little smile.

“Come along, banshee’s yelling," Neville smiled.

As the children got up to make their way to the next class, a boy who had been crouched in the corner with his head on his desk looked up at them. His hair was a mess and his face had the imprint of the grain of the desktop.

“Sorry about that, you guys,” he said, blinking his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“It wasn’t you, Awful Alvin,” Horace said, “at least not this time.”

“Oh. Well that’s good, I guess,” he said.

“You’re just in time for your next class, Mister Pomfroy,” Mrs. Winterberry said. “Try to stay awake, won’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Awful Alvin said, shaking out his hair and rubbing down his ruffled and wrinkly clothes.

“Why ever do they call him Awful Alvin?” Mac asked, as the students made their way down the corridor to their next class.

“No one really knows for sure,” Oscar said.

“I heard it’s because he’s had to do the sixth grade three times,” Florinda said, “and this last time, when the headmaster told him he would be repeating, all he could say was 'Oh, that’s just awful…'”

“I guess it stuck,” Grace said.

“It’s bizarre,” Grawl said. “He’s not really as slow as he seems. Take it from one who’s been misunderstood.”

“Did you hear anything else at that meeting?” Neville said to Gabbie in a low and curiously serious voice.

“It’ll keep till later,” Gabbie replied.