Chapter 13
It took a little time for Joy to get everything straight. First, it was a lot to accept that Ash Grove, in addition to a standard board of governors, had this second, secret one. The only overlaps in membership were Dr. Aysgarth and Dr. Michael Fellowes, the former principal of Ash Grove. Second, and much harder to get her head around, was the peculiar nature of Ash Grove High itself.
“Josiah Cavanaugh was an eccentric, but he was also a visionary,” her father explained via webcam. “He understood a lot more than most of his contemporaries about the existence of different dimensions and supernatural entities. A lot of what have been called his superstitions were actually very effective means of safeguarding his school from malignant forces.”
“Dad, you’re talking like a professor. Just spit it out.”
“Okay, then, how’s this: Cavanaugh believed in things like monsters and demons. And he was right to.”
Joy sent an appealing look to those gathered around the table. “That can’t be right. Can it?”
Mo cleared his throat. “Let’s just look at one example to start with. You know that there are a lot of mountain ash and holly trees on campus, right? Well, both of those are very powerful protections against evil. Mountain ash is also called rowan; you may know it by that name.” She nodded, thinking of her mother’s rowan pendant. “Cavanaugh built in a lot of protective measures like that when he established his school here.”
“Why not just build the school somewhere else?” Joy asked.
“Ah, another good point.” That was Dr. Fellowes, a dapper silver-haired man and evidently the senior member of the council. “That’s one of the most important things about Ash Grove, and the reason it needs so much oversight and protection. Cavanaugh chose for his school a site of tremendous power. He recognized that this apparently normal little patch of land was actually the locus of a huge amount of supernatural energy. He believed he could harness that energy for good, by channeling it into education and artistic endeavor. And, by and large, he was right.”
“Why did he choose the performing arts?” asked Joy. “Why not, I don’t know, physics?”
“There’s a kind of natural symbiosis between performance and the supernatural, or at least the unexplainable,” said Mo. “You’ve probably experienced it yourself, when you’re playing or acting and feel as if you’re channeling something you can’t explain. And you’ve probably also witnessed actors or dancers or singers who seem to literally cast a spell on the audience. It’s partly talent, but sometimes a performer taps into something beyond innate ability.” Joy suddenly thought of the Beltane festival: of her own feeling of effortlessness at the piano, of Maddie’s electrifying performance. “Cavanaugh got that—he was a talented musician himself—and thought it would be a harmonious way to diffuse the energies here, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
The school nurse—Ms. Ansley, a brunette with a soft Southern drawl—took up the story. “But the sheer power of this place can break loose from time to time. Even with all of us monitoring it, sometimes there’ll be little glitches and blips of weirdness. Like the time slips.”
“Joy, I had to tell them about your experience in the library,” said Gail. “It sounded like a time slip, and we try to keep tabs on everything like that, so we’ll be prepared if something big is building up.”
“I’ve looked at the building blueprints, and you were definitely in a part of the library that has never existed,” said Dr. Aysgarth. “Have you experienced anything else out of the ordinary? Any instances of time seeming to slow down or speed up?”
She was already shaking her head no when she thought of the night in the rose garden. The night that had seemed to last long enough to give her and Tanner time for all they had to say, and not say. She remembered that feeling that they were in their own little world, set apart from everything else.
“I think so,” she said reluctantly. “On Beltane night. I think time slowed down for a while.”
Her father’s image looked intrigued. “Beltane would definitely make sense,” he said. “It’s one of a very few days in the year when the veil between the worlds is lifted. Usually what comes through is good, unlike on Samhain. When time slowed down for you, Joy, was it a positive thing?”
She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “You could say that,” she said.
“Can you tell us anything else about that event?” Dr. Aysgarth could see her reluctance, and added, “It really may be important, Joy. We’ve been seeing signs of some kind of major disruption on its way, and we need all the information we can get.”
“Um. Well, I was in the rose garden. The one that… isn’t usually there.”
That staggered them. Half a dozen people started talking at once, including her father, and for a second she was worried that the shock was going to be too much for him. Finally things settled down enough for Gail to ask Joy to describe what she had seen. When she had finished describing the garden and how she got there—without mentioning that she had had company—an electric silence filled the room.
“That’s big,” said her father at last. “In the century since Cavanaugh had it planted, there are only two documented sightings of that garden.” He looked proud, as if Joy had accomplished something instead of just stumbling into it.
“Why is it so important?” she asked. “It’s just a flower garden, right?”
Dr. Fellowes explained. “Its function is far more than ornamental,” he told her. “When Josiah Cavanaugh founded Ash Grove, as I said, he intended for it to be a kind of benign channel for all the power concentrated here. The students would essentially be outlets for this power when they performed. But Cavanaugh knew there should be other outlets, as backups.”
“You mean, like safety valves?”
“Exactly. And the rose garden is the primary one.”
Her father took up the narrative. “Because roses are associated with positive qualities, primarily love, Cavanaugh evidently felt that they would be a secure channel for the paranormal forces here. However, he didn’t seem to take into consideration that the rose is also the flower of secrecy—and so the garden tends to remain secret.”
“Wow,” said Joy. “So this mojo from beyond has a sense of humor.” If thoughts of Tanner weren’t so painful, she might even enjoy the sly humor in the fact that their night together had been particularly appropriate given the setting—or vice versa.
“The fact that the garden has emerged into existence could mean that the fabric is weakening,” said Dr. Aysgarth, bringing them back to the larger concerns. “Along with Melisande’s influence, this could be dangerous.”
“Melisande!” Joy exclaimed. “What does she have to do with it?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out,” said Dr. Aysgarth, grimly. “We don’t even know what she is yet—whether she’s human or not—let alone what her agenda is. All we really know is that something is off about her, and her eagerness to establish good terms with Ash Grove is setting off our hinky meter. To use the technical term,” she added, with one of her rare flashes of humor.
So Melisande might not even be human? Prickles ran across Joy’s skin at the possibility that her own doubts and suspicions had not been so farfetched after all. But what would that mean for Tanner?
“It’s my fault we know so little,” said her father, regretfully. “If I were there on site, helping to monitor activity, you might not be experiencing so many anomalies. It’s because of me that you have so many unanswered questions.”
“Steven, it’s not your fault. We should be able to tackle this sort of thing by now.” Dr. Aysgarth removed her glasses, the signal that she was about to say something important. “We’d better discuss increased security measures, especially as we get closer to Samhain. I’ve heard that Melisande will be returning in the fall, and whether or not she has something in the works for Samhain, that’s always the time of year when Ash Grove is most vulnerable. Joy, I think we’ve kept you long enough. You can go. Thank you for b
eing so forthcoming.”
“Needless to say, this is all strictly confidential,” said Mo. “The less the other students know about it, the better. If a lot of untrained youngsters started trying to tap into Ash Grove’s power, things could get messy, and dangerous.”
“I understand,” said Joy. “I’ll keep quiet.” Even if she were to tell her friends about this, they’d never believe her. She was still having a hard time believing it herself. “Dad?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
She thought he looked uncomfortable, but it was hard to tell from the image on the screen. “Well, it was important to keep it secret, kittycat, even from you.”
“But to not even prepare me…”
“We’ll talk about it later, Joy. I need to discuss things with the council right now.”
Rather hurt at being dismissed this way, she pushed her chair back and stood. “Okay. I’ll Skype you after supper, then?”
“Sure thing,” he said, but it sounded merely polite.
Maybe, thought Joy, when they spoke privately he could tell her more about this bizarre secret history. She wasn’t sure she understood just what kind of power Ash Grove was channeling, and it made her nervous. So did the idea of blundering into a nonexistent piece of the campus again. She couldn’t understand why her father hadn’t at least warned her that such things were possible.
Something else was bothering her as well. Why hadn’t he insisted that she leave Ash Grove? Why wasn’t he trying to protect her? If he knew that time slips and slowdowns were the worst that could happen, he should have said so. And if there was the possibility of worse things in store, she definitely wanted to be forewarned. She hated being kept in the dark. It made her wonder if there were other matters he was being secretive about.
But when she asked him via Skype that evening why he hadn’t warned her about Ash Grove’s peculiarities, he brushed her off. “You could easily have gone to Ash Grove for four years without coming across anything paranormal,” he said in his most reasonable voice. “I didn’t see any reason to scare you with things you might never encounter.”
“It would have been nice to be prepared, though. At least to have some idea.” When he didn’t respond to that gentle reproach, she pushed a little harder. “Are there other things you’ve been keeping from me? Like your treatments? You’re not going to die, are you?”
He summoned up a tired chuckle. “I have no immediate plans in that area. But I admit I’m a little run-down today, so you’d better go ahead and tell me what you want to know about Josiah Cavanaugh and Ash Grove.”
Was he really not feeling up to the conversation, she wondered, or just using his illness as an excuse? She felt disloyal even considering such a thing, but she was starting to realize that maybe she couldn’t take everything he told her at face value any more. And that hurt.
“Well?” her father prodded. “What do you want me to tell you?”
She forced herself to focus. “Everything,” she said. “Tell me everything you know.”
But that, it seemed, was not terribly much. Josiah Cavanaugh had left little record of his life behind him, aside from the usual statistics of birth, marriage, death, and the instances when he emerged into public life—such as when he purchased the land for Ash Grove School. Most of their information about him, such as accounts of his superstitions, came from an obscure biography published anonymously. No one knew how he had come by his interest in the supernatural, for instance, or his knowledge about it. “He’s still a pretty mysterious figure,” he said. “Which is part of why it’s so tricky figuring out how to keep Ash Grove protected. We have to do a lot of guessing.”
“I would have thought he’d have left instructions behind, or appointed a guardian,” said Joy. “Is it possible he did, and something went wrong?”
“It’s possible, yes. But a lot of his legacy is drawn from fairly standard Celtic traditions and lore, like having a celebration at Beltane and a bonfire on Samhain. Those are the two biggies, the days marking the arrival of spring and fertility, and the coming of winter and darkness. Other than that, it’s—Joy? Are you all right?”
Fertility.
“Yeah, I just—I just remembered something I forgot. Can I let you go til tomorrow?”
Rushed I-love-yous and goodbyes, and she clambered across her bed to grab the calendar off the wall. Flipped pages, counted. Counted again.
“Oh, crap,” whispered Joy.