The Rosebud Academy: The Complete Trilogy: Haunted Halls: Rosebud Academy

By Juliet Vane

At Rosebud Academy, the spirits have their own haunting melodies.

 

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

Now, though, she's determined to be the straightest arrow at Rosebud, an elite summer program for classical musicians.

 

But the unrestful spirits in the old school have other ideas.

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, a series of thefts related to scary stories, or the ghost determined to get Lissa's attention.

 

Dead men tell no tales, but dead girls do.

 

This box set includes all three books in the Rosebud Academy trilogy: June's Blood, July's Flesh, and August's Bones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Vane
• Release date: Feb 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540137630

Book preview

June’s Blood

Rosebud Academy, Book 1

Welcome to Switchback

Switchback, Colorado was exactly the kind of place I would have both mocked and avoided just a few weeks ago. The tiny town had a single cafe, grocery store, and gas station. Its narrow main street probably reflected narrow minds.

For the next three months, it would be the closest town to the old school building I’d be calling home, though, so I decided to get used to it. Besides, it wasn’t like I needed much in the way of attractions or shopping—my job here was to eat, sleep, play, and dream classical music. Distractions, attractions? I didn’t have space for them in my schedule or in my heart.

I navigated my little SUV down Main Street. Switchback was a mountain town that I hadn’t been able to find on the map until I’d zoomed in several times. Blink and you’ll miss it, Natalie Frost, the music program director, had told me on the phone.

There was no other word for it. The town was…quaint. I’d thought my hometown in western Colorado was small at a population of ten thousand, but Switchback was tiny. I drove past a burger place, a Thai food place, and a grocery store. Up ahead, I saw the gas station. Maybe there were more businesses on other streets, or maybe people had to go out of town to find other things.

The darkness of night probably wasn’t doing the town many favors, either. During the day, I bet it was downright cheerful. I could picture older folks sitting out at little tables in front of the grocery store, exchanging gossip. Or maybe a cute farmer’s market at one end of the street. But right now, it just looked dark and empty.

I pulled into the gas station. My gas tank was down to the one-quarter mark, and I didn’t like to take risks. If I got lost in the woods on my way to the Rosebud Girls Academy, I wanted plenty of gas to get me back out again.

After filling up the tank, I went inside for the restroom because if lost in the woods, I didn’t want to have to go into the wilderness to pee.

The guy at the counter gave me the classic cool dude head nod. I nodded back.

After using a surprisingly clean bathroom, I went back into the store. The Red Vines beckoned. I might not be able to come back into town for a while, so I grabbed three packs, and a handful of energy bars for good measure.

The guy rang up my purchases, his dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Other than his friendly smile, he looked classically tall, dark, and dangerous. Although I was guessing about the tall part because he was sitting down.

Are you a musician? His voice was deep, and I could hear music in it, threads of melody just beneath the surface.

I stared at him. How can you tell?

You’re not the first freaked-out college student to show up and stock up on booze and junk food.

No booze in this pile, I said, handing him a twenty. I didn’t correct him that I wasn’t a college student. I hadn’t graduated high school yet. The people in charge of diplomas hadn’t looked kindly on all those Fs on my report card. This summer, while attending Rosebud, I’d also be working on three summer school classes so that I could finish high school.

He gave me my change. So, what instrument?

Huh? Oh, piano.

I can see that, he said.

I wondered how he could see it, given that up until six weeks ago, I hadn’t practiced in almost a year.

Next weekend, he said, some of my friends are getting together. We hang out over on the Ripples Campground side of Green Lake. You should come, bring your new music geek friends.

Yeah, thanks.

He smirked, and his deep brown eyes crinkled at the edges. Was that a ‘yeah, thanks, here Logan let me give you my number so we can plan something’ or a ‘yeah, thanks, leave me alone, local jerk?’

My mouth fell open. Wow, he was direct. Fine, I could be direct, too. Somewhere in the middle.

He laughed. So, no phone number, then.

I shook my head and gathered up my snacks.

Don’t worry, he continued, I wasn’t hitting on you. I’ve got a girlfriend, and no, I’m not making her up to save face. Her name is Helen and she’s doing nursing school this summer. She might even come to the party this weekend. The party you won’t be attending.

Right, I said, backing toward the door. Thanks for the invite, but anyway, I don’t party.

He looked at me in puzzlement. "How can someone not party?"

I’ve figured it out. I bumped the door open with my hip and took a step outside into the chilly darkness.

Watch out for potholes on that road, the guy said.

Thanks, I will.

I got into my car and muttered, "I don’t party. Oh, Lissa, how far you’ve come."

Six weeks ago, as a brand-new eighteen-year-old, I’d nearly been arrested for public drunkenness and tossed in jail. If my best friend’s mom wasn’t the sheriff, I’d probably be attending some kind of hearing right now and getting sentenced to community service. Instead, I had a last-minute acceptance to the Rosebud Summer Music Festival, a buttload of work to complete for my diploma, and two sets of parents—mine and Chloe’s—who would be devastated if I were to fail again.

I would not fail again.

The gas station guy was right—the road leading to Rosebud was a minefield of potholes. Somehow I managed to avoid the worst of them, and I pulled up to a giant, wrought-iron gate straight out of a gothic mystery novel. The gate was open, and the brass numbers fastened to it matched the ones on my directions, so I drove through. It was impossible to see anything, but I imagined the grounds as they were in the brochure I’d taped to my mirror at home—some gentle hills covered in grasses and wildflowers, a copse of aspen trees, and the old Victorian building that would be my home for the next twelve weeks. Behind it all, a huge lake, miles wide, with a tiny island at the far end.

I followed a curve in the road and there it was—Rosebud Girls Academy. According to my brochure, it had been a successful school back in the 1950s, until illness had caused it to close down. Now, the festival director, Natalie Frost, owned the building and had transformed it into a summer music school.

There was a small parking lot off to one side, so I parked there, grabbed my snacks, backpack, the suitcase I’d borrowed from my mom, and three giant garment bags with my formal dresses to wear for performances. The awkward load made me stagger, but I found my balance. This was my new beginning. It was all about balance.

I walked up a short, paved path, onto the wraparound porch, and up to the double doors at the front of the building.

I will not fail again, I whispered.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

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. It’s just Harrison.

Sorry, he said, directing a beautiful smile at me. Then he turned toward the others. You’re still telling that story about the headmaster?

It’s a classic, Karl said, rolling his eyes.

I remembered the footsteps I’d heard on my way here, and I shivered. Tyler rubbed my back, and again the contact was cool, making me want to lean back into it.

Guys, Tyler said, we’re freaking out the newbie.

Harrison, the guy in the doorway, turned to me again. Hey, I’m Harrison. Piano instructor.

He barely looked older than Tyler and Karl. His auburn hair was long on top with an undercut, and pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. I didn’t usually like longer hair on guys, but he made it work.

Lissa, I said, remembering my voice. I’ll be one of your students.

Cool, he said. Well, I don’t want to break up your party, but don’t forget we have an early start tomorrow.

Everyone groaned.

What, Harrison said, smirking. Don’t shoot the messenger. He ducked out of the doorway and I heard his footsteps receding down the hall.

We probably should go, Mariella said.

I stood up. I’ll walk with you. Turning to Kirsten, I said, Thanks for letting me join you guys.

No problem.

Karl and Tyler stood up to go, too. Kirsten rolled her wheelchair out to the hallway alongside us. See you tomorrow, she said. Watch out for headmasters!

One Vial

Iwoke up a little before six, unable to sleep. This was the day I’d have to start proving myself, proving that I belonged here, that I could do the work.

My stomach felt like it was full of angry snakes.

According to the daily schedule posted on my nightstand, hot breakfast wouldn’t be available until seven, but I could help myself to a bagel or yogurt as early as six a.m.

The faint morning sun sent fingers of light in through my curtains, illuminating the room in a wash of warmth. I pulled one of the curtains aside and looked out.

Gorgeous view. I could see Green Lake, its dark water reflecting the morning sky. Pine trees framed the lake, jutting up at the sides, and the water seemed to go on for miles, interrupted by a ridge of mountains far in the distance.

I’d so lucked out by getting this corner room.

On my way across the hall to the bathroom, I passed a vase of roses and a mirror that I hadn’t noticed last night. The blooms were red, half-opened, with long green stems. They looked more romantic than I would expect in a dormitory, but then the crimson coloring reminded me of blood. Goosebumps trailed up my arms as I thought about the creepy headmaster.

Just a story, I reminded myself.

After my shower, I got dressed and headed down to the dining room. According to the school map, the dining room would be found on the first floor of the north wing, near Kirsten’s room and the kitchens. I could go downstairs at the end of the south wing and walk its length, but that story had spooked me. A part of me wanted to walk the lower floor of the south wing just to prove that I wasn’t scared, but I had nothing I needed to prove to anyone. Feeling like a chicken, I walked along the second floor and made my way downstairs at the other end. No need to walk through the first floor of the south wing…not unless I absolutely had to.

Natalie Frost, the director, was already in the dining room. Her pantsuit was pale pink and impeccably ironed—a far cry from the rumpled outfit of late last night. Kirsten was down here, too, talking to Natalie and blotting her cheeks with a napkin. Crying?

I rushed forward, then hesitated. If Kirsten was upset, would she want someone else to witness it? Instead of butting into business that obviously wasn’t mine, I sidled over to the counter and snagged a bagel and a little tub of cream cheese.

Lissa, Natalie called. Did you hear anything strange last night?

I turned to face them, taking in, once again, Kirsten’s tear-streaked cheeks. Forget it—it was my business now. I rushed forward with another napkin and handed it to Kirsten. No. What happened?

Kirsten pointed to the table next to them.

A two-inch high glass vial full of red liquid sat on the edge.

I took a step back. Is that—is that what I think it is?

I’m afraid to open it, Kirsten said, her voice breathy. But yeah, I think so. Like the story.

I shook my head. That’s—that’s messed up. Where’d you find it?

In my room. Kirsten shuddered. When I got up, I went to put on my necklace, the one you noticed yesterday?

I nodded, recalling the shimmering beads. Those beads are gorgeous.

"Carnival glass, antique. It was my grandmother’s. This morning, the necklace was gone. In its place…this." She pointed to the vial.

"Who would do that?" I asked.

I don’t know, Natalie said. But I assure you, Kirsten, I will be talking individually to every musician who was here last night. We’ll do everything in our power to get your necklace returned to you. This is unacceptable. She shook her head and picked up the vial of red liquid—I couldn’t call it blood, not even in my head—and walked away, heels clacking.

Kirsten looked at me, so I pulled a chair out from the table and sat next to her. Is there anything I can get you? I asked.

No. Her eyes welled with tears again. It’s just—it was my grandmother’s, and she died five years ago.

I’m so sorry, I said.

It was the same accident that did this to me. She gestured to her legs. She wouldn’t have wanted me to mope about anything—not my legs, not a necklace. She would have wanted me to get on with things. But sometimes I just want to wallow, you know?

I really do, I said, my heart clenching about the loss she’d suffered, as I remembered my own loss. My best friend died. It was about a year ago.

Kirsten reached out and took my hand. I’m sorry.

Yeah, well, screw cancer, right?

She nodded. Screw cancer.

I wasted a lot of time after she died, doing stupid stuff. I’m trying to turn things around now.

She squeezed my hand. You’ll do amazing. I know you’re nervous, being here, but other than the south wing classrooms at night, there’s not much to hold us back. Oh, and don’t eat all the blueberry yogurts. Mariella wouldn’t be happy.

I grinned. Yogurt is disgusting, so no danger there.

She also has a crush on Tyler.

My grin turned into a wince.

She doesn’t have any claim on him, though, Kirsten said with a smile. So, you know, feel free.

Why do you take it for granted that I’d act on any of this?

She looked at me seriously. Everyone hooks up at these music festivals. It’s a given.

Not for me, I thought. My parents, and Chloe’s, were counting on me to focus and make the most of my time here.

First Day Jitters

Tyler, Karl, Mariella, and Harrison all came into the dining room. Mariella went straight for the mini fridge sitting on the counter and took out a yogurt. Blueberry. Kirsten caught my eye and smirked.

Mariella shuffled over to us and sat down, yawning. Morning.

Morning, Kirsten and I said.

Tyler followed her over. Ladies. Everyone sleep okay? No ghostly specters of an old headmaster standing over you?

Not exactly, I said, looking to Kirsten to see if she minded. She shrugged, giving me silent permission, so I continued, But someone stole Kirsten’s necklace last night.

Really? Karl said, coming up to us. You sure you didn’t misplace it?

Pretty sure, Kirsten said, her voice hard. "Since there was a vial of blood sitting where I’d left it on my dresser."

What? Harrison said, a cup of coffee in his hand. I’ll go talk to Natalie.

She knows, Kirsten said, her voice miserable.

Annnnd? Tyler prompted. Is she going to file a report with the police?

That seems kind of extreme, I said. "This looks like a practical joke to me. A stupid practical joke, because it’s not funny at all. But the blood, and that whole story you guys were telling me last night? Seems like too much of a coincidence."

So, wait, Karl said. "You’re accusing one of us?"

Crap. That hadn’t been where I wanted to go with this idea, at all. That wasn’t my thought, no.

What, Mariella said, just say it. If the shoe fits, right?

No—I don’t think any of us would do that, although I don’t really know you yet. But I’m wondering who else was here last night, and who else could have gotten into the building without us knowing. You said you heard that story from some locals, right, Tyler?

He nodded.

Someone could have broken in, I said. We were all on the other side of the building, and we wouldn’t have heard a thing.

Good point, Mariella said. All right, maybe you’re not all bad. She looked at her phone on the table next to her. We should hustle over to the parlor for orientation.

I stood up and tossed the remains of my bagel, and we all headed to a large room next door. Mariella kept her arm linked with mine, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief that she wasn’t acting hateful toward me.

Although the parlor had obviously been updated since the 1950s, it still had an old feel to it, from the white wicker furniture with faded pastel cushions, to the heavy drapes that someone had opened to let in the morning sunlight. It felt like a grandmother’s living room. A baby grand piano stood in the corner, a hulking reminder of why I was here.

Several people in their late teens and early twenties were settled into the wicker chairs and couches, and Natalie Frost stood at one end of the room. Mariella pulled me down onto a loveseat next to her.

Natalie spoke. Welcome, everyone. As you should all know by now, I’m Natalie Frost. We have some new faces here this summer, but most of you are familiar. You are all here because you excel at your instruments and you have an interest in taking your practice to the next level. Schedules have been emailed to you all, and the wifi password is in the welcome packet located in each of your rooms. I won’t insult your intelligence or dedication with a trite, inspirational speech. Instead, I’ll expect to see you working your hardest and getting the most out of Rosebud as possible. Thank you for being here, and let’s make our third summer of the Rosebud Music Festival the best one yet!

There was a scattering of murmurs and people nodding their heads. Applause would have felt awkward with only twelve students and the five or six faculty.

She paused. We did have a bit of a mystery last night. We don’t know yet if it was a prank or an actual theft, but a musician’s necklace has gone missing. Carnival glass beads, two long strands. If you see the necklace anywhere, please bring it to me. If you are the one who took it, know that it isn’t funny. The necklace is a cherished item of great sentimental value to the owner. And everyone, please lock your rooms when you aren’t in them, and lock them at night when you sleep. These are standard safety measures.

Had I locked my room while I slept last night? How about when I’d left it this morning? I couldn’t remember. I hadn’t brought anything particularly valuable with me, other than my laptop and phone, but they weren’t the latest models or anything worth coveting. Still, Natalie was right. Standard safety measures. I’d be locking my room from now on.

Natalie continued, I’ll be in the lounge for a few minutes longer to answer any questions you might have. Otherwise, my office is on the lower floor in the south wing, and you can find me there.

Mariella stood up to greet someone else, and Kirsten wheeled over to me. Her eyes