June's Blood: Haunted Halls: Rosebud Academy, #1

By Juliet Vane

Ghostly footsteps, haunted mirrors, stolen treasures…welcome to Rosebud Academy.

 

Up until a few weeks ago, eighteen-year-old Lissa Anderson drank, smoked, and partied hard.

 

She was trying to forget a tragedy.

 

But now that she's seen the error of her ways, she's determined to be the straightest arrow at Rosebud, an elite summer academy for classical musicians.

 

A spooky old dormitory, overprivileged students, and hours at the piano make the program into everything Lissa expected. What she didn't expect is her quickly-budding romance with a cellist, the series of thefts related to scary stories, or the ghost determined to get Lissa's attention. Could Lissa's rebellious past help her unlock the future?

 

June's Blood is the first story in the Rosebud Academy series. If you like paranormal mysteries and haunted academies, you'll devour this spooky, gothic trilogy.

 

Explore these ghost-filled halls by starting the Rosebud Academy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Vane
• Release date: Sep 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386867340

Book preview

The Rosebud Summer Music Festival

Awoman wearing a wrinkled pantsuit opened the door. The pantsuit looked like it had been through a long day. You’re here awfully late, she said.

Yes, sorry. I took in her disheveled appearance. Her orange-red hair was pulled back into a bun that had once been severe, but now looked as if one missing bobby pin would cause it to fall apart. She’d probably been waiting up for me. No excuse, just it took longer than I’d expected. Sorry for the inconvenience.

She nodded. It’s okay. You’re the last for today, and we’ll have several more musicians arriving tomorrow. She held out her hand. Apologies, it’s late—where are my manners? I’m Natalie Frost, the festival director. You may call me Natalie.

I dropped my suitcase to the floor so I could shake her hand. Lissabeth Anderson. I go by Lissa.

Oh, I just adored your recording of that Chopin nocturne, she said. So much nuance. Smiling slyly at me, she added, Don’t tell the other musicians, but I made a copy of your audition CD to listen to in the car.

Wow, I said, trying to squash the guilt that flared in my throat. I’m flattered.

Don’t be. You worked hard for every note in that piece, I could tell.

I reached down to grab my suitcase again, hoping to hide my face.

She gathered my garment bags from my other arm and led me up a central carved staircase, intricate with designs of cherubs on the corners. I paused for a moment to remember the map of the school. It was formed in the shape of a boxy U, with the bottom of the U being the front of the school, and the south wing and north wing formed the sides. Natalie led me to the left, the south wing. This is where most of the dorms are located, although we have Kirsten staying downstairs for wheelchair access.

We passed several doors until we reached the end of the hall. I didn’t count them, but there had to be at least twenty, possibly thirty.

This is your room, she said, opening a door and leading me inside. It’s the Rose Room. Just across the hall is one bathroom, and there are more restrooms down the hall. Make yourself comfortable. I thought I heard people talking downstairs, so the other musicians might be gathered in Kirsten’s room. You might want to go introduce yourself. She walked to the closet and hung up my dresses. Seems you’re fond of red, she said with a little laugh.

Uh, yes, I said. Each dress was crimson. I’d picked them because crimson had been Chloe’s favorite color.

Well, it does tend to look good on blonds, she said. Not so much on redheads like myself. Anyway, do you need anything else tonight?

No, this is great, I said. I appreciate you staying up to greet me, and I’m sorry again for being so late. I wanted to impress you from the start, and—

It’s okay. You already impressed me with your audition CD. You’ll do well here, Lissa. My phone number is listed on the notepad on your night stand for emergencies.

Do you stay here in the school, as well? I asked.

No, I have a home in Switchback and I sleep there. It helps me keep a balance of work and home life. But all the musicians and faculty board here on the premises.

Okay. Thanks again. Goodnight.

Goodnight. Oh, she said, digging her fingers into the tiny pocket of her jacket. Your key.

It was a silver key attached to a thin black lanyard. I took it from her with another thank-you, and she walked down the hall, heels clacking softly on the tile.

I looked around my room. It seemed peaceful, and looked exactly like the photos in the brochure. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if this were the same room from the brochure. It had the same blue-striped bedspread and cheerful, colorful rug. In the morning, I bet I would see Green Lake from my window.

I put away my things and wandered down the central staircase, for no other reason than to see the cherubs on the railing again. There was a hush to the building that wasn’t exactly comforting. Once I reached the front of the building, sounds of voices, music, and laughter reached my ears. They were coming from the north wing. I continued along, remembering the north wing from the map. The corridor turned to the left, and I followed another hallway down, listening to the music and laughter leading me along. I wondered if this was what the building sounded like back in the 1950s, only instead of Imagine Dragons playing, it was something like Buddy Holly or Elvis Presley.

I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned to look, nobody was there. The footsteps continued. Pipes, maybe? Or maybe someone was walking upstairs, and the sound echoed. Trying to shrug off the creepy vibe they brought on, I made my way toward the sounds of other people.

Light spilled from a wide door midway down the hall, and I rushed for it.

A group of four people, my age or slightly older, lounged in a large room, each of them holding a red plastic cup. One girl, her hair a rich brown color, sat in a wheelchair. She looked up when I stopped in the doorway, and waved me in. The movement of her arm caused a necklace of shimmering beads to glitter at her throat.

Hey, I’m Kirsten, she said.

Lissa. I love the necklace.

Thanks. She beamed.

I turned to the rest of the room. I was good at parties—parties were all I’d done for the past two years. While I might feel inadequate with my music, I at least knew how to join a room full of strangers. Hey, everyone.

A guy with light brown hair and mischievous green eyes patted the spot on the bed next to him. Good—it was a second invitation to join this party. A stamp of acceptance. I made my way over to him, trying not to be too obvious about admiring the way his biceps filled out the black t-shirt he wore.

The green-eyed guy said, I’m Tyler, that’s Karl—he pointed to a broad-shouldered, blond-haired guy, and then to a curvy girl with a head full of dark-blond curls— and that’s Mariella.

Nice to meet you guys.

What’s your instrument? Tyler asked me.

Piano.

Piano! Karl shouted and held up his plastic cup.

How about everyone else? I asked.

Cello, Tyler said.

Kirsten said, Violin, and so did Mariella.

I also play violin, Karl said, but I’m here for piano.

Enough business, Kirsten said. Lissa, you’re fresh blood—I think you’re the only person here this year, who wasn’t here either last summer or the summer before.

Now I didn’t feel intimidated at all. Great. I gulped. Seriously?

She nodded. Toss me a cup, Tyler, and I’ll pour her some wine.

Actually, no thanks, I said. I don’t drink.

Everyone looked at me, and Mariella said, Nobody cares if you aren’t twenty-one. As long as we’re responsible about it, it’s not a big deal.

Thanks anyway, I said, shrugging. But I just don’t drink.

At least, not for the past six weeks.

Mariella shrugged. No big. She set down the cup. Hey, guys, Lissa’s new so she hasn’t heard the story of the wicked headmaster.

Karl groaned. No. Please, Mariella. I’m sick of that one.

But it’s the best, she said. Besides, she needs to hear it so she’ll know not to go wandering around at night.

I looked from one musician to another, then said, What are you guys talking about?

Kirsten came over, backing her wheelchair carefully next to the bed. Ghost stories. They’re sort of a tradition here.

Tyler learned a bunch from the locals, Mariella added.

Tyler sat up straighter, and said, Hey, they weren’t passed on as ghost stories, but warnings. We’re not supposed to go anywhere near the boat house—crazy bad juju, they said. And stay out of the first floor of the south wing at night.

The first floor of the south wing, I repeated, trying to figure out where that was in relation to my new bedroom.

The floor below all the other dorms, Kirsten said. Where most of the classrooms are.

It’s perfectly fine to go there. Karl drummed out a rhythm on the edge of Kirsten’s desk. I watched his fingers move. For piano, our fingers were numbered one through five, from thumb to pinky. His pattern went one, two, five, four, three, four, three, two. Over and over again. It was one of the strengthening exercises that I did, too. I’ve been down that hall several times, and no wicked headmaster has come after me.

The others rolled their eyes.

Yeah, the only thing you’re afraid of is the lake, Tyler said, laughing. His laughter sounded cold and hard.

Karl gave a weak laugh that didn’t sound entirely sincere, and the moment felt awkward.

Tyler scooted closer to me, and the wine on his breath reached my nose. Sweet, slightly tart. A little bit of wine would go a long way toward loosening me up and easing the awkward moment that had just passed, but I resisted the temptation. I was making a new start, and for a good cause.

So, there’s a lake, I said, which I saw in the brochure. And an island on it?

Yep, Mariella said, and we can take a boat out on the lake—well, not Karl, obviously.

Karl rolled his eyes.

But stay away from the island, Mariella said. Nuclear dump.

All the way out here? I asked.

Yeah, Kirsten and Tyler said. Kirsten continued, You know how people were back in the fifties. ‘Ooh, let’s drop atomic bombs on the Bikini Atoll. Oh, let’s dump a bunch of chemicals on our crops and spray for mosquitoes.’

That’s just wrong, Karl said, his voice slightly slurred.

Mariella giggled. So yeah, we can take the boats out if we sign them out and everything, but no trips to the island.

I nodded. Understood.

So, Tyler said, you know how this place used to be a school, right? For teenage girls.

Yeah, I said.

He grinned. True story, one of the headmasters was a total creeper. Came after the girls while they were sleeping in the dorms.

Wait, is this the story about the wicked headmaster? I asked.

Mariella clapped her hands and nodded, her eyes shining.

Kirsten spoke up. At first it was just a girl singled out here or there, and he’d torment her for a couple of weeks. Coming into her room, standing over her bed.

Tyler nodded seriously, his green eyes crinkling with a smile. Watching her sleep.

I could picture it in my head, and it was a freaky idea. The soft rise and fall of a girl’s form beneath her blankets, the silhouette of a man in some kind of tweed coat, standing over her.

But then his appetite grew stronger. He was no longer content to look, but had to touch, Tyler said, skimming his hand over my bare knee.

I jumped back, and he laughed.

Sorry, he said. You okay?

Yeah, just startled me is all.

The girls started talking, Tyler said. One of them woke up to his hand on her shoulders, and he’d told her it was just a dream, to go back to sleep. But then it happened to someone else. They started staying awake, switching beds, trying to catch him in the act.

My knee still felt the spark of heat from where Tyler had touched it. I rubbed the skin, and he smiled, took my hand, kissed it.

Across the room, Mariella sucked in a low breath.

Ooh, Karl said. The first romance of the summer.

Tyler tossed one of Kirsten’s red throw pillows at him. Stop being a douche. I’m just apologizing for scaring her.

It felt like more than an apology, and I liked it. When his fingers twined with mine, I didn’t pull away.

So, then what happened? I asked. Did he get caught? Taken away?

Nobody would believe the students, Mariella said. Her voice was a little colder than it had been before. The girls decided to drive him away on their own. For each girl he stalked, they resolved to take a vial of blood. One of the girls was into science, and she knew how to draw blood.

Did they kill him? I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

The locals don’t know, Tyler said. His thumb traced a circular pattern over the heel of my hand, cool and soothing. But he was gone one day. And every girl in the school had a vial of blood in the trunk of her belongings.

Kirsten shivered. That’s scary as hell.

Footsteps sounded outside the room.

That’s him now, Mariella said, eyes gleaming. He haunts the first floor of the south wing, steps right out of his painting at night and walks around. He’s looking for his blood.

A low chuckle echoed from outside the room. Karl huffed an impatient breath, stood up, and flung open the door, revealing a young man.

I shrieked, and the man smiled.

Mariella laughed.