She knew where the boiler room was, or at least where the door that led to it was. She'd never actually been inside. By the time she reached C-wing she'd left the music of the dance far behind.
The door marked custodian's office opened onto a long narrow room with unidentifiable machinery all around. Generators were humming, drowning out any other noise. It was cool and dank... spooky, Cassie thought. There were NO smoking signs on the walls and it smelled of oil and gas.
A stairway descended into the school basement. Cassie slowly went down the steps, gripping the smooth metal handrail. God, it's like going down into a tomb, she thought. Who would want to spend their time here instead of in the light and music up in the gym?
The boiler room itself smelled of machine oil and beer. It wasn't just cool; it was cold. And it was silent, except for the steady dripping of water somewhere.
A terrible place, Cassie thought shakily. All around her were machines with giant dials, and overhead there were huge pipes of all kinds. It was like being in the bowels of a ship. And it was deserted.
"Hello? Deborah?"
No answer.
"Debby? Chris? It's Cassie."
Maybe they couldn't hear her. There was another room behind the boiler room; she could glimpse it through an archway beyond the machines.
She edged toward it, worried about getting oil on Laurel's pristine dress. She looked through the archway and hesitated, gripped by a strange apprehension.
Drip. Drip.
"Is anybody there?"
A large machine was blocking her way. Uneasily, she poked her head around it.
At first she thought the room was empty, but then, at eye level, she saw something.
Something wrong. And in that instant her throat closed and her mind fragmented, single thoughts flashing across it like explosions from a flashbulb.
Swinging feet.
Swinging feet where feet shouldn't be. Somebody walking on air. Flying like a witch. Only, the feet weren't flying. They were swinging, back and forth, in two dark brown loafers. Two dark brown loafers with little tassels.
Cassie looked up at the face.
The relentless dripping of water went on. The smell of oil and stale alcohol nauseated her.
Can't scream. Can't do anything but gasp.
Drip and swing.
That face, that horrible blue face. No more lady-killer smile. I have to do something to help him, but how can I help? Nobody's neck bends that way when they're alive.
Every horrible detail was so clear. The fraying rope. The swinging shadow on the cinder-block wall. The machinery with its dials and switches. And the awful stillness.
Drip. Drip.
Swinging like a pendulum.
Hands covering her mouth, Cassie began to sob.
She backed away, trying not to see the curly brown hair on the head that was lolling sideways. He couldn't be dead when she'd just danced with him. He'd just had his arms around her, he'd flashed her that cocksure smile. And now-
She stepped back and hands fell on her shoulders.
She did try to scream then, but her throat was paralyzed. Her vision went dark.
"Steady. Steady. Hang on there."
It was Nick.
"Breathe slower. Put your head down."
"Nine-one-one," she gasped, and then, clearly and distinctly so that he would understand, "Call nine-one-one, Nick. Jeffrey-"
He cast a hard glance at the swinging feet. "He doesn't need a doctor. Do you?"
"I-" She was hanging on to his hand. "I came down to get Deborah."
"She's in the old science building. They got busted here."
"And I saw him-Jeffrey-"
Nick's arm was comforting, solid. "I get the picture," he said. "Do you want to sit down?"
"I can't. It's Laurel's dress." She was completely irrational, she realized. She tried desperately to get a grip on herself. "Nick, please let me go. I have to call an ambulance."
"Cassie." She couldn't remember him ever saying her name before, but now he was holding her shoulders and looking her directly in the face. "No ambulance is going to do him any good. You got that? Now just calm down."
Cassie stared into his polished-mahogany eyes, then slowly nodded. The gasping was easing up. She was grateful for his arm around her, although some part of her mind was standing back in disbelief-Nick was comforting her? Nick, who hated girls and was coldly polite to them at best?
"What's going on here?"
Cassie spun to see Adam in the archway. But when she tried to speak, her throat closed completely and hot tears flooded her eyes.
Nick said, "She's a little upset. She just found Jeffrey Lovejoy hanging from a pipe."
"What?" Adam moved swiftly to look around the machine. He came back looking grim and alert, his eyes glinting silver as they always did in times of trouble.
"How much do you know about this?" he asked Nick crisply.
"I came down to get something I left," Nick said, equally short. "I found her about ready to keel over. And that's all."
Adam's expression had softened slightly. "Are you okay?" he said to Cassie. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what. Then Suzan said you'd gone to look for Deborah, but that you were looking in the wrong place." As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached out to take her from Nick-and Nick resisted. For a moment there was tension between the two boys and Cassie looked from one to the other with dawning surprise and alarm.
She moved away from both. "I'm all right," she said. And, strangely, saying so made it almost true. It was partly necessity and partly something else-her witch senses were telling her something. She had a feeling of malice, of evil. Of darkness.