The Lost Lands: A Belladonna Johnson Adventure (Spellbinder Book 3) Read online

  Also by Helen Stringer

  Spellbinder

  The Midnight Gate

  The Blood Binding

  Paradigm

  No Better Thing Under The Sun

  Copyright © 2014 by Helen Stringer

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1.

  Mad

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  Belladonna spun around.

  Madame Huggins was standing in front of the blackboard clasping a pile of books which she dropped, melodramatically, onto the desk.

  “Am I to assume that Mr. Evans will not be joining us again?”

  “Um…I don’t think so.”

  Actually, she knew so. She had been watching him on the field below the window for the last five minutes, racing around with the rest of the under-15 football team. There was a match on Saturday against Dulworth’s arch-rivals, Arkbath Academy, and there was no way that Steve was going to skip practice for an hour of ancient Sumerian.

  “Oh, well,” sighed Madame Huggins, sitting down and pulling a large and formidable-looking tome towards her. “I don’t suppose it makes any difference. I don’t know why he has to be here at all, truth be told. I mean he’s the Paladin. All he has to do is fight. It’s not as if he has any other abilities, is it? Get out your lexicon and turn to page fifty-three.”

  No matter how often she heard them say it, Belladonna could never get used to the fact that half of the teachers at Dulworth’s were not only in on her secret but apparently experts in it. She wondered if they’d known all the time. If Madame Huggins, for example, had looked at Steve’s Latin and French homework last year and felt a little twinge of apprehension on thinking that this was the work of one of the two people who were supposed to save the nine worlds? And what had happened, she wondered, when Miss Parker had called them all into her office to tell them that they had to start trying to teach all this stuff to Belladonna Johnson and Steve Evans – a girl who was barely on their radar and the boy who was rarely off it.

  Had they all known that the headmistress of the school was the Queen of the Abyss when they had taken their jobs? Or perhaps she had selected them because they did. But none of them ever said anything, they just matter-of-factly taught them ancient Sumerian, the history of the nine worlds, and various rather deadly forms of defense without ever mentioning Miss Parker or her alter-ego, as if it was all the most normal thing in the world.

  Which it really, really wasn’t.

  Belladonna opened her book at the required page and stared at the dizzying patterns of the cuneiform words, along with translations in ordinary letters that looked more like the noises people make when they drop hammers on their toes.

  “Right,” said Madame Huggins, smiling. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’re moving on from vowel only words to words that have vowels followed by consonants.”

  Pleased wasn’t really the word, but she buckled down and got to work, sounding out the words and making notes and trying to be a tiny bit enthusiastic while all the time she could hear the yells of the football team, punctuated by Mr. Saxon’s barked commands and shrill whistle. Why hadn’t she put more effort into sport? She could be at lacrosse practice now, running around with the wind in her hair instead of sitting here learning that the Sumerian word for door was ig.

  The hour inched by as if time itself had decided to take the rest of the afternoon off, but eventually the hands of the clock crept to half past four and she was released into the empty corridors of the old school. It was starting to get dark outside, so she made her way to the year nine cloakroom as quickly as she could. She’d just grab her coat and go home – there was bound to be something delicious for dinner. Grandma Johnson had bought her mother a book on Thai cooking for her birthday. They still celebrated her Mum’s and Dad’s birthdays even though, being dead, they weren’t actually getting any older. And the Thai cookbook was superb. Mrs. Johnson had worked her way through all the books she’d bought when she was alive and totally mastered everything, even aspics and soufflés, but the Asian flavours in the new recipes were absolutely delicious.

  Belladonna shrugged her coat on, her head full of hopes for wide rice noodles and some kind of dark sauce, when she suddenly heard it.

  Sniffling. Quiet sniffling. The kind of sniffling people do when they don’t want to be heard but can’t help themselves. Then there was a sort of choked back sob.

  Belladonna walked around the rows of coat hooks to the back of the room. There, hunched in a corner, was Lucy Fisher. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose had that slightly swollen look that noses generally get when their owners have been crying for a long time. It wasn’t an attractive look. Lucy was small and slight, with pale skin and sort of fine, fluffy blonde hair, and the redness made her look sort of raw, like a deep sea fish that’s accidentally got caught in a net and hauled to the surface.

  “Are you alright?” asked Belladonna.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I thought everyone had gone home.”

  “They have. I just had an extra--”

  She didn’t get any further. Lucy had glanced past her, seen something and burst into tears again, burying her face in her hands.

  “Do make her stop, Belladonna. She’s been bawling for hours.”

  Belladonna spun around. Elsie was leaning against one of the coat racks looking extremely fed up, the long curls of her dark hair bobbing in disgust.

  “It said your name!” sobbed Lucy, suddenly stopping crying and looking up. “The… the…”

  “Ghost,” said Belladonna. “She’s a ghost. Her name is Elsie.”

  “But…Can you see it?”

  “Of course.”

  “But they said…they said…”

  “Who said?”

  “My mum and dad. They said it was my imagination.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” muttered Elsie. “And would you mind not referring to me as ‘it’?”

  Lucy just stared at her, her mouth sort of opening and closing slowly.

  “Elsie! You’re not helping,” said Belladonna, trying to sound stern. “Lucy, it’s alright. Some people can see them, that’s all.”

  “But they sent me to Dr. Worthy and he said it was a sign…that something had happened. He told them that if I don’t stop seeing them, he’ll have to give me pills and maybe…maybe send me somewhere. And I try! I really try! But I see them everywhere. That girl and the two little boys near the art room and the woman…”

  “I know. The dark lady who hovers around near the chemistry lab.”

  “And outside. Everywhere! Faces in windows and walking down the street… and that boy who just sits around near the war memorial in town.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” said Belladonna. “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t look! I don’t want to see them! My grandma says that I’m going mad!”

  “Well, your grandma’s an idiot,” muttered Elsie.

  “Elsie!”

  “Alright, alright. I’m going.”

  And with that, Elsie faded away and Belladonna was left alone with an even more alarmed-looking Lucy.

  “Here.” She hande
d Lucy a tissue. “Dry your eyes.”

  Lucy rubbed at her eyes and blew her nose, none of which helped her appearance one bit.

  “You can see them too?”

  “Yes. And it doesn’t mean you’re going mad.”

  “But my mum and dad…”

  “Just don’t tell them about it. It’s not a bad thing. It’s good. I mean, imagine if most people couldn’t see roses. They’d think the people who could were crazy, wouldn’t they? But wouldn’t the world be dull without roses, and wouldn’t you want to be one of the people who could see them?”

  “Yes, but--”

  “Well, then!” said Belladonna, cheerily. “Put your coat on.”

  Lucy seemed far from convinced that ghosts were anything at all like roses, but she stood up, pulled on her coat and picked up her bag.

  “Would you like me to walk you home?”

  “No,” Lucy shook her head and managed a bit of a smile. “I’ll be fine, honestly. You can really see them? It isn’t just me?”

  “Lots of people can see them.”

  “Alright…I suppose that makes it better, doesn’t it? If lots of people…well, they can’t all be mad, can they?”

  Belladonna led the way out of the school and watched for a while as Lucy walked away down the street towards her home.

  She’d never really thought about how lucky she was. Everyone in her family could see ghosts so no one had ever thought anything about it when she had started seeing them. And although she remembered not liking it at first, and being afraid that other people would find out and think she was even more strange than they already did, at least she never had to pretend to her family.

  Eventually, Lucy veered left at the bottom of the road and vanished from view. Belladonna turned away, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and started to walk home. It was almost completely dark now and felt much colder. She shoved her hands into her pockets and strode out, but she hadn’t gone far before the bushes at the side of the pavement rustled violently and a figure leapt out onto the pavement in front of her.

  “Ha! Your money or your life!”

  Belladonna rolled her eyes. Steve was always like this after football practice – full of energy, his face ruddy from running and his voice slightly hoarse from shouting.

  “Very funny.”

  “You’re very easy to sneak up on,” he said, grinning and falling into step beside her. “I could have been the Empress of the Dark Spaces. You’d have been toast.”

  “I can’t really imagine someone who goes by the name of ‘Empress’ leaping out from some bushes and going ‘Ha!’.”

  “No, but her minions could.”

  “What minions?”

  “Well, she’s bound to have some by now, isn’t she? She’s had a while to work on things.”

  He was right, of course. It had been almost a year since the Proctors had used Belladonna to bring the Empress into the Land of the Living from her exile in the Dark Spaces and everything had been very quiet.

  At first they had expected her at every turn, examining every unfamiliar face, wondering if this person or that person was really her. Miss Parker had said she could be anyone, that she could blend with her surroundings like a chameleon. That was why Steve had started walking her home after their extra classes. After all, if the Paladin’s job was to protect the Spellbinder, then making sure that nothing snatched her on the way home from school was probably job one.

  Of course, he didn’t actually walk her directly from school. That would set far too many tongues wagging. He usually just appeared at her side as she reached the top of the street then left her as she turned into Lychgate Lane. Belladonna knew that he still felt bad about letting the Proctors grab her from right under his nose last year, and that he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “I reckon she’s gone to London,” he said, kicking a stone into the gutter.

  “London?”

  “Yes. Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If she’s going to want to take over the nine worlds, I’m guessing she’ll start with this one.”

  “What about America? Maybe she’s gone to New York.”

  “Even better.”

  Belladonna smiled. It was nice to imagine that the Empress of the Dark Spaces was an ocean away and that she might become someone else’s problem, but she knew that wasn’t the case. And she knew that Steve knew it too. It just made them feel better to pretend that it was all over.

  They turned down Umbra Avenue and walked past the games arcade where they’d found the Draconian Amulet.

  “Why were you so late?” asked Steve. “Did Huggins give you extra work?”

  “No. I found Lucy Fisher crying in the cloakroom. She thought she was going mad.”

  She told Steve about Lucy and about Elsie scaring the timid girl nearly to death.

  “Seriously? Her parents sent her to some shrink?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. Some people, eh?”

  “I told her not to worry about it. That it’s not her imagination and to just stop telling people about it.”

  “Right. That’ll work.”

  “Why wouldn’t it? It works for us.”

  “We’re not Lucy. I went to the same junior school as her and she was always angsting about something or other. The girl lives right next door to the waterworks, if you ask me. I mean, okay, so she really can see ghosts, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she isn’t a loon.”

  Belladonna sighed. She didn’t want Lucy to be mad, she wanted her to be another girl who could see ghosts. She wanted someone to talk to.

  “Here we are!” announced Steve as they reached Lychgate Lane and the familiar spire of St. Abelard’s looming over them in the darkness. “Are you coming to the match tomorrow?”

  “I don’t…probably.”

  “See you then, then.” He smiled, spun on his heel and ran off into the darkness.

  Belladonna trudged the last few meters up the street, through the gate of number 65 and into the warmth of her own house. The smell of lemongrass and garlic hung in the hall as her dad stuck his head through the wall and grinned.

  “Welcome home, kiddo!”

  “Dad!”

  “Someone could see you!” he said, in his best imitation of his annoyed daughter.

  Belladonna couldn’t help grinning. It didn’t really matter at this time of year, anyway. The early dark meant all the curtains were drawn, making the Johnson house a ghostly oasis, apart from the rest of the world.

  She hung her coat over the banister, dumped her bag at the foot of the stairs, and followed the delicious aroma back into the kitchen. Her mother smiled as she walked in.

  “Hello!” she said, popping some of the fat noodles Belladonna had been hoping for into a pan of bubbling water. “How was Ancient Sumerian?”

  “Boring,” said Belladonna. “And Steve ducked out again.”

  “Well, he’s got an important match tomorrow,” said her dad, drifting into the kitchen and half sitting/half floating in a chair at the kitchen table. “Arkbath Academy, isn’t it?”

  Belladonna nodded and watched as her mother drained the noodles and tossed them into the wok.

  “What are we having?”

  “Pad si ew.”

  Belladonna glanced at her dad, who grinned.

  “Ewwwwwwww!!!”

  “Like I didn’t see that one coming a mile off,” said Mrs. Johnson, smiling. “It’s noodles with broccoli and a tasty sauce.”

  “Broccoli?” Belladonna’s heart sank.

  “Yes, broccoli,” said her mother. “You don’t have to eat it all, but you do have to try it. Now sit.”

  Belladonna sat at the table like a condemned man about to eat his last meal.

  “Oh, come
on,” said her dad. “It’s just broccoli not poison.”

  “That’s what you think,” muttered Belladonna as her mother slid the plate onto the table. “Mum! That’s tons of broccoli!”

  The yummy noodles and gravy were almost completely covered in chunks of the dark green vegetable.

  “Try it. It’s good for your eyes.”

  “That’s carrots.”

  Belladonna looked from her mum to her dad and realized she was going to have to try it. She stuck her fork into the smallest piece she could find and conveyed it slowly into her mouth.

  “Well?” said her dad. “What does it taste like?”

  “Green.”

  Mrs. Johnson rolled her eyes.

  “Honestly, Belladonna, you have to eat some vegetables or you’ll just fade away. You don’t like anything!”

  “I like peas,” said Belladonna, her mouth still full of dark green yuckiness.

  “Yes, well, you can’t have peas with every meal.”

  Belladonna swallowed, then stared woefully at the plate looking for the next smallest bit. She was hoping that her mother would relent, but she just sat in the chair across the table and folded her arms.

  “I bet nobody ever made Queen Elizabeth the First eat broccoli.”

  “She was the queen,” said her mother. “And they didn’t have broccoli in England until the 18th century. Now eat.”

  Belladonna sighed and managed to force down two more pieces before her mother finally relented. She was quite cross, though, and the rest of the evening consisted of television and pointed silence. Belladonna sighed as the mantelpiece clock struck nine.

  Bedtime.

  She stood up and walked to the door.

  “I’m sorry about the broccoli, mum.”

  Her mother smiled.