The Witches of Willowmere

Chapter 15

Okay.  Now it's getting scary.

Claire stood outside Mrs. Robertson's office. The door was closed, but the light was on, so Claire knew she had to be in there. She never forgot an appointment, so she must be busy with something. Claire glanced at her watch. Five after two. Well, she'd give her a few more minutes before knocking. Claire leaned against the wall and waited, feeling utterly exhausted. Had it not been for Dr. Ames's sleeping pill, she would not have been able to drag herself out to Willowville High at all. As it was, she had skipped all her morning classes and made another appointment with her doctor for the following week. She would show Dr. Ames the page from Mr. Ramsay's memoir notes and let her draw her own conclusions. She had also made this second appointment, to see Mrs. Robertson at two o'clock this afternoon. Not that the guidance counsellor could help: this problem was clearly outside her field of expertise. But Claire badly needed to talk to an adult. She couldn't call her father—it would just worry him sick, and he'd be back in a few days anyway. But someone older, wiser, able to advise and give comfort . . .

The counsellor's door was still closed. Claire glanced at her watch again, frowning. It was now ten past two. Mrs. Robertson never kept her waiting this long. There was no sound of voices. She wasn't on her phone, then, or seeing another client. But the light was on—Claire could see its glow under the door. Maybe the counsellor had forgotten after all?

Claire knocked on the door. "Mrs. Robertson?"

"Come in," called a voice.

Claire stood motionless, her hand arrested in mid-knock. Then she flung the door open.

Mrs. Robertson was not there. Instead, Josie sat at her desk— in the counsellor's seat—idly painting her fingernails with black polish.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Claire, striding into the office. "Where's Mrs. Robertson?"

Josie glanced lazily at a shiny black nail. "Sorry, but your shrink had to leave. Family emergency. She left a note for you, there on the desk."

It was just like Josie to read a private note intended for someone else, but Claire did not waste any time telling the girl what she thought of her. She snatched the piece of paper off the desk and read it:

Claire:

I'm so sorry, but I'll have to reschedule our appointment. My mother's not well. I will see you as soon as I can when I return.

Pam Robertson

"Funny thing," remarked Josie laconically, "all these elderly relatives getting sick lately. Almost makes you wonder if there's something going around."

Claire looked at her with contempt. "What are you talking about?"

Josie got up, pocketing her nail polish. "You're running out of protectors, Claire. Soon you'll be all on your own."

With a final sneer, she swaggered out of the office. As she glared after the girl, Claire suddenly noticed that despite Josie's efforts to hide it, she was walking with a limp.

There was no point in staying on at school. After the confrontation and her sharp disappointment, she was in no mood for classes. Claire walked across the street to the bus stop and stood in the shelter. It was growing chilly; there was a strong feeling of autumn now in the winds that blew from the north. But she was still so angry that she hardly felt the cold. When Mrs. Robertson got back, she would ask her to speak with Josie's parents. Claire had put up with a lot so far, but the girl had really crossed the line this time. She debated whether or not to mention the rat and decided against it. She had no proof the animal had been Josie's—nor was there evidence of any kind of break-in. The rat could have found its way in on its own, through the cat door.