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Chapter the First: Arrival

It was day, not night, but it was certainly dark and stormy when Katherine Thorne boarded the bus to Leshe University. The rain was lashing the windows; the sky was tinged with a faint, wet green. It was not at all reassuring weather, especially not when one was sitting in an ancient, grumbling bus, driving up a steep, narrow path into the middle of nowhere.

Kathy was fairly certain Leshe was the middle of nowhere because, as her sister Izzy often said, one had to travel through a whole lot of nowhere to get there. She had been watching, through the window of the plane, for most of the trip, as the Atlantic passed beneath her and gave way to the varied landscapes of Europe. It had landed in a dinky, understaffed airport in a tiny town, and she had transferred to a bus; the bus had carried her, from midnight to sunrise, through dark, dense forest and the occasional thorp - small collections of houses that didn't even deserve the name 'town.' It must cost a fortune to run power lines out here.

As the sun rose, pale and wan through a thin veil of mist, Kathy and her fellow passengers had arrived at the place Izzy lovingly referred to to as 'University Town.' It had been the town of Leshe, back when Leshe had been the name of the family living in the castle. Then, eighteen years ago, a board of trustees had acquired the castle. The Leshe family had disappeared, leaving their name to the college; and Leshe University, the foremost place of study for Gothic scholars in the country, was born. The town, several miles downhill from the castle, had sprouted a Starbucks and an office supply store to cater to the students. If you stood in the middle of it, at the bus stop, you couldn't quite see the forest in all directions; Katherine could pretend for a minute she was back home in Kennebunk, Maine, on a particularly damp day. At least, she could until the bus arrived. It was a truly ancient contraption, gasping and ponderous, that looked as though it ought to run on steam instead of gas; and as soon as she had climbed into it, she was forcibly reminded that she was half a world away from home, in the mountains of Eastern Europe.

That was when it had started to rain.

As the bus labored uphill, the rain grew steadily worse. Kathy found herself unconsciously leaning forward as though to push the vehicle up the steep incline; her overnight bag, companion throughout this entire nightmarish trip, she clutched tightly to her chest. Was that the wheels skidding in the mud that she heard? She looked nervously around the small bus, hoping for some reassurance from her fellow passengers; but in vain. Directly across the aisle from her was a small, pale girl - probably another freshman - who looked even more anxious then Kathy felt. She had her forehead pressed to the window, strands of coarse black hair (probably natural, and not, as Kathy's was, the result of a dye job) clinging to glass damp from condensation. Behind this girl was a worn-looking man with greying hair, patrician features, and small, round glasses. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly too far gone in sleep for even the occasional crack of thunder - which made the small girl in front of him twitch, every time - to rouse him. Without moving from her seat, they and the driver were the only people Kathy could see. And she didn't want to talk to the driver. It might distract her.

Presently, the bus came to a stop. It was a gradual stop, and Kathy didn't even notice at first that they had halted, until she heard a peculiar grinding sound, as of wheels turning futilely against ground that gives them no traction. The driver swore, and cut the engine.

A buzz of fear went through the bus. The driver twisted the key in the ignition, started the bus, and floored the gas pedal. The wheels spun, finding nothing to push off against. More swearing from the driver.

The man across the aisle moved at the corner of Kathy's eye; she turned her attention on him as he shook himself out of his nap and sat up, blinking fuzzily behind his owlishly round glasses. "I say, have we stopped?" he said. His accent was British, he seemed like such an archetypical Professor Kathy might almost have giggled, if she were not in such a predicament.

"We have," said the driver. She was a broad, blonde woman, almost certainly a local by her accent. "The road is too slippery for the bus to go on. We sit until the rain clears, or you get out and walk."

"Well, the rain's not going to clear soon," said the man who was almost certainly a professor confidently. "We had all our sunshine for the week already this morning. Leshe's not known for it's splendid weather, you know. But it's not far from here to campus. I'll walk it, if any of you are willing to come." He stood up and looked back at the other passengers on the bus.

"I'm game," said a boy's voice. He did not sound European; rather, his accent was broad and flat, very United States Southern. Lovely; at least Kathy wouldn't be the only international student.

"Um - me too!" said the girl across from Kathy, peeling her pale, round face away from the window.

After that, several other voices added their agreement. Kathy, unwilling to be left alone on the bus, chimed in with her own.

"That's everyone, then," said the professor-ish man. "May we leave our bags in the bus?"

The bus driver scowled at the lot of them. "If it pleases you. Watch out for the wolves," she said darkly, and made an odd sign with one hand, five splayed fingers pressed to her chest.

The gaggle of passengers on the bus clambered out into the rain. There weren't so many of them, it turned out. The professor, the pale girl, and Kathy herself were joined by a tall, blonde, athletic-looking boy - the one who had spoken in a Southern accent - a dark complected boy with wire-framed glasses, and a rather polished, European-prep girl who looked dismal at the prospect of doing this walk in the rain. "Well, this way, then," said the professor, and set off down the steep, narrow path.

Kathy went nowhere without her overnight bag; and so, despite the fact that she knew it would get soaked, she brought it. The instant she stepped out of the bus, the rain sheeting down from the heavens drenched her; a fork of lightning threw the trees around her into stark relief. Her glasses beaded with moisture, her jet-black bangs flopped into her eyes, and the pair of short braids she wore her hair in began dripping insistently on the back of her shirt. She could hardly see the people in front of her; they were dim shapes, walking off up the path, and she hurried along after them, irrationally worried about being left behind. Wolves, the driver said? Wolves wouldn't show their noses in this weather if they knew what was good for them.

The preppy girl produced, as if by magic, a bright pink umbrella. Although Kathy didn't directly benefit from its protection, she was pleased at its appearance; the vivid pink canvas was easy to follow, even through the sheeting rain. The other thing she had to fasten on was the voice of the Professor; he spoke as they walked, only slightly winded by the steep climb. "I teach math at Leshe," he confided to his students. "Name's Keppler, John Keppler. It's a very interesting posting. Most people in the hard sciences wouldn't be willing to come out and teach at a school like this, you see. Too many nutcases running around, don't tell my respected colleagues I said that please."

They went on like this for several minutes. Kathy forged forward, mud sucking at her Converses, following the pink umbrella and Professor Keppler's chatter. His voice faded in and out of hearing in time with the grumble of thunder. Lightning flashed.

What was that?

Kathy looked off into the woods. She could have sworn she had seen something move, streaking by alongside them; although the trees were so lashed about by the rain that she wasn't sure how she would have detected anything. The whole woods was in motion. It was probably a loose branch. She looked forward, fastening her eyes on the pink umbrella of Preppy Girl in front of her. It was hard to be too nervous about anything when you were following a pink umbrella.

Presently, the path leveled out, steepness giving way to a gentle slope and mud to well-packed dirt. "Ah, here we are, then," said Professor Keppler happily. Kathy looked; to either side of the road were a pair of wrought-iron gates, full of intricate curlicues, topped with a row of wicked looking spikes, and thrown open. They seemed somehow ominous; a padlock nearly the size of her head hung from one, on links of thick chain. With that fastened, she couldn't imagine anyone getting in - or out.

"Do we have any freshmen here?" asked the professor loudly as they passed the gates. Kathy and the pale girl called out assent. "All right, for your benefit, then," he said. "We'll be passing the undergraduate dormitories in a moment. To your left, Penn; to your right, Benedict. These are new buildings, added during the remodeling. You'll be staying there. No ghosts in them!" He sounded cheerful about that last one. Kathy peered through the rain; she could see, to either side, low, hulking brick buildings in an ugly, functional style that suggested if a structure could withstand a siege, it didn't need to be pretty. For a moment, she felt grim. Was this what she had consigned herself to for the next four years? But Izzy had rhapsodized over the architecture!

Then, ahead of her, she saw a tall spire rising into the misty air. As she drew closer, she realized it was part of another long, low building, set to the left of the road; but this one was beautiful. The elegant tower soared to graceful heights, ending in an intricate peak; the lower part of the building had a curled over roof, with fantastic details, fruits and leaves carved into the stone front, gargoyles hulking under the eves. "That's the Tower," said their self-appointed guide, "Where the graduate students and faculty abide. Opposite is the dining hall, don't forget where that is." He looked back at them and smiled. Kathy rolled her eyes and looked away from the Tower; the dining hall was in the same elegant style, although without a tower, clinging to the ground. "Only a little farther to the castle proper now," said Keppler.

The castle slowly materialized out of the rain. It was lovely; it was exquisite. It was aesthetic and gorgeous and all the other things one could say about a building. A set of sweeping marble stairs invited the incoming student up to a pair of double doors, carved with sunbursts. Tall, arched windows defied the rain splattering against their panes. A pair of stone creatures, rather like lions with bat wings, rested to either side of the doors; more gargoyles rested on the roofline, water pouring out of their mouths. Ivy climbed the building, and the stones that made it up were massive, ancient, stained with age. It was also, inexplicably, quite frightening.

Kathy found herself slightly ahead of the rest of the group, and was the first to put her foot on the marble stairs.

"Wait!" called the boy with the Southern accent, coming up behind her. "Ya don't go in that way."

"Why not?" Kathy asked petulantly. She was wet, and didn't want to go in through any side doors.

"It's awful bad luck," he answered. "Come around the side with the rest of us."

Kathy shoved back her wet, dark bangs so she could treat the boy to a proper glare. "Bad luck? You're not serious."

"Dead serious," he said. Behind him, the preppy girl nodded frantic agreement. "Ci, don't go in that way. And don't hold us up."

"Fine, go around," Kathy growled, and, walking up to the great double doors, grasped the brass handle and pulled it open.

She half expected it to be locked, but it swung easily in her hand. A wash of chill, dank air breathed out over her, making her shiver in her damp clothes; but, defying the other students without - she would be superstitious later, when it was less wet - she stepped in.

She was in a great entrance hall, with a floor of polished black marble. Two narrow windows to either side of the door let in what light there was; although a chandelier winked and glittered from the vaulted ceiling above, it was not lit, and neither were two tall, spidery iron candelabras flanking the door at the opposite end of the hall. It was silent; Kathy held her breath in spite of herself, but there was nothing she could do about the ringing of her shoes on the floor. One hand clutched her overnight bag, now soaked quite through; with the other, she stroked the necklaces she wore around her neck. Dog tags. A silver cross with a red gem in the center. A dragon curled around a white marble. They went with her outfit, all black and grey and lace, checks and stripes and frills. 'Mall Goth,' Izzy called it in a derogatory voice, 'Hot Topic Goth. Poseur.' And now, amongst all this antique splendor, she had to admit she did feel cheap, costumed.

When Kathy had made it to the middle of the room, the door on the other side creaked open.

She froze, at first unable to see who had opened it. There was no wind, it had to be someone. And after a moment that someone became visible: a tall, frail girl, a little older then Kathy, with pale blonde hair hanging in soft curls to her waist, slender to the point of boniness. She wore a long, white dress that would have looked a century out of date back in Kennebunk. Here it fit much better then Kathy's ensemble.

"I thought I heard someone. But most of the returning students, they do not use this entrance." The strange girl's accent was throaty French. Kathy instantly decided she didn't like this newcomer much. She had too easily mastered the ghostlike look Kathy has always strived and failed to attain.

"Why not?" asked Kathy. Her voice was much louder and more strident, intrusive; it echoed around the room. She resumed walking.

"The portraits," said the girl, gesturing. "They say they are frightening, that the eyes follow them."

Kathy looked behind her. There were the great double doors of the entrance; there were the two narrow windows, letting in dim light. Between doors and windows, on either side, were a pair of paintings: a man and a woman, both wearing stern, haughty expressions on their aqualine faces. By their narrow, sculpted features, they could have been related, or they could simply have come from similar backgrounds. The man had dark hair, worn nearly to his shoulders; the woman was glowingly blonde. And both portraits seemed to have their piercing stares fixed on Kathy.

"The Lord and Lady Leshe," said the strange girl, and Kathy twitched slightly.

"Really," she said, turning. She could still feel stares on her back, making the skin between her shoulderblades prickle. Or maybe that was just her braids, dripping on her. They were paintings, after all, they couldn't really see her. She tried to look casual. "Well, creepy. But not worth going around the back for. Hey, do you know where I'm supposed to pick up my room key and stuff?"

The girl pointed, past the doors she had entered through. "The third floor by the first staircase. Don't stray."

Right. Kathy brushed past the girl and headed down the hallway, glad when the door closed between her and the portraits with a soft thump.