Immediately, I knew that I was being watched.
I felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand upright, as if charged with static electricity; felt a pair of eyes, burning into the back of my head with their unerring gaze; felt the chill in the air and the blood humming through my veins faster and faster as my heartbeat raced.
I had been slumped over in my chair, absent-mindedly taking notes on the history of the suffragette movement, when I felt this unwanted attention trained on me. The biro I was holding fell from my hands, skittering away across the sage linoleum floor; it came to a stop a few metres away.
Bobby Reinhardt noticed the pen and leant over to pick it up. He held it back to me, hand outstretched, with a hopeful expression deep within his eyes. "Here you go, Emily."
"Thanks, Bobby," I murmured back. His eyebrows rose slightly at my casual use of his name, as if he was shocked to learn that I knew who he was.
"Are – are you okay?" he asked me, apparently buoyed by my response.
I nodded wordlessly, snatching the pen from his hands. If he noticed my rudeness, he didn't show any signs of it; he happily went back to his texting, no doubt informing all of his friends that he had spoken to Emily Scott – yes, the Emily Scott – and that...
Well, it didn't matter. I tried not to worry myself with the idle gossip that spread through this high school's halls like wildfire.
The teacher continued her lecture on the work of the Colonial Australian suffragettes, blissfully ignorant of the fact that her efforts were being largely ignored by the class. Students stagnated in the classroom, a few listening here and there, but most were waning perceptibly as the speech wore on. It was as if no one else could feel the presence but me.
A quick glance over my shoulder told me that there was no one awake in the row behind me, and no one looking in my direction further back than that – but the uneasy feeling still tormented me. Someone – something – was watching the students of Topsfield High School; someone or something had its eyes trained on me, and who knew who else?
Three rows away, Taylor Turner turned sat low in her seat, her long limbs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankle. She had buried her head in the crook of her arm and laid it against her desk and now her dark hair flowed over her ears and hid the buds of her headphones. Why can't she feel it, too? I groaned internally. Am I really going insane?
Just as this thought crossed my mind she shot upwards. The headphones fell from her ears, emitting a faint hum; her green eyes sought out mine, fear and confusion shining through them.
"Someone's watching," I mouthed to my sister.
Of course, she wasn't really my 'sister' – not in the biological sense. We were connected by something far more important and meaningful than family ties; what wove our fates together couldn't be defined by bloodlines or genealogy...
Covenant.
A sacred covenant, uniting five matriarchal families with secrecy and promise: a covenant of witchcraft and honour; of protection and survival; passed down from generation to generation, mother to daughter, culminating in this.
Secrecy. Survival. Fear.
Strange things were happening in Topsfield. These were not the eccentric goings-on of suburbia or the predictable neighbourly disputes so often seen, but, seemingly, the work of pure evil.
A missing student, for example; Daisy Matthews, a senior, who had disappeared after her shift at the Bakery and Bean last Friday night, along with her parent's Mazda and a nominal amount of cash from her bank account. Those who knew Daisy were perplexed. Why would she leave? She was happy; a hard-working, polite girl with a loving boyfriend and a coveted spot on the cheerleading squad. She'd never said a bad word about anyone; she had no reason to leave.
Many had assumed she'd just wanted something more from life and left, telling nobody of her plans. Life had continued on, just as it always had and always would, with no one dwelling too long on the sadness of the fact.
It didn't do to think about sad things.
Then, there'd been the fire – a strange fire, assumed to be a freak event of nature because no one could pinpoint how or why it happened. Repairs had been made to the severely damaged City Hall, but records had been lost. They didn't know which records; didn't know what information was contained inside of them; but the records were so old that most figured they couldn't be terribly relevant and shrugged the loss away... I knew better.
The records contained information about Topsfield's founding families – my family, Taylor's family, and three others.
"Mama Jeanie," I mouthed, nodding in a small gesture towards the door.
Taylor nodded back, distracted. She silenced her iPod, wound the headphones around it and tossed it into her bag carelessly as her eyes roamed the room. She was seeking out someone – something – just as I had. She was looking for the strange entity that had been watching them us weeks.
I slipped from my seat and across the classroom largely unnoticed – even by the teacher, whose attention still seemed to be focused on the large projection of Germaine Greer that dominated the screen. She didn't even look up when I opened the classroom door, or closed it behind me with my palm pressed against the wood to soften the sound of it being shut.
A quick scan of the hallway proved it was empty. Within seconds, I was dialling in my home number with shaking hands.
Mama Jeanie answered on the first ring. "You feel it, too?"
"They're watching."
"Just the one," Mama Jeanie – my grandmother – countered.
"Mama J," I whispered, my voice cracking as I glanced nervously over my shoulder. Through the small window in the door, I could see Taylor's staring at me nervously. "What are we supposed to – "
"The Book of Redemption tells of a small coven in Ipswich."
"But how do we know that they're – "
"The old Putnam barn... burnt down. A student found dead in his car and another gone missing."
My mouth was dry; I swallowed painfully and glanced about the hall once more. "Ipswich?"
"The answer lies in Ipswich," Mama Jeanie asserted. She hung up without saying her goodbyes – a habit that drove me mad, even after all these years. My hand dropped from my ear, fingers curling about the tiny flip phone to clamp it shut.
Ipswich, I sighed, turning back to the door. I slipped silently through the door and back to my seat without drawing too much attention to myself, other than a few intrigued or confused looks from my classmates.
The answer lies in Ipswich...