Spellbinder Read Online Free PDF

know that when it dried it would become explosive. And we put it right up next to the radiator, but Mr. Morris tripped over Jane Fletcher’s bag and sort of stumbled into it. It wasn’t like we did it on purpose or anything.”
    Miss Parker looked at Belladonna. The explanation had the ring of plausibility to it.
    “Hmph,” she grunted. “I must admit, Mr. Morris does have a reputation for a certain amount of clumsiness.”
    Steve glanced at Belladonna—the sun was breaking through the clouds.
    “And as you have never been sent here before, Miss Johnson, I am inclined to believe you . . . this time.”
    She stood up slowly.
    “However, in future, any chemistry experimentation should be limited to the work assigned. Is that clear?”
    “Yes, Miss,” they both hissed eagerly.
    “Well.” Miss Parker waved a bony hand. “Off you go, then.”
    Steve shot out of the Office as if he’d been fired from a gun. Belladonna followed him, but stopped at the door.
    “Miss Parker . . .”
    The headmistress seemed surprised. “Yes?”
    “Has anyone ever died on our tennis courts?”
    Miss Parker removed her glasses and stared at Belladonna. “Died?” she said. “On the tennis courts? What an extraordinary question. Of course not.”
    Belladonna looked at her for a moment. She was lying. Miss Parker was lying. Unless, of course, the girl was the one making things up. But then why would she do that when she was already dead? Belladonna smiled weakly at Miss Parker, backed out of the room, and closed the door.
    Steve was waiting just outside, positively gleeful.
    “That was brilliant!” he gushed. “You’re a natural! I can’t believe you haven’t been in trouble before.”
    “Considering how often you’re in trouble, I would’ve expected you to put up a better show,” said Belladonna, walking away.
    “There’s not usually any point,” explained Steve. “I reckon it’s better to just fess up, take whatever they’re dishing out, and get on with things. Explanations usually just extend the agony.”
    “Oh, well,” said Belladonna sarcastically, “at least you’ve thought about it.”
    They walked down the stairs and along the empty corridors. Belladonna suddenly stopped. The tennis girl was at the end of the hall waiting for her. She looked worried and, as Belladonna watched, seemed to see something unpleasant to her left. Then she vanished again.
    “Steve . . .”
    “What?”
    “Have you ever heard of anyone dying on the tennis courts?”
    “Here?”
    “Yes, here.”
    “When?”
    Belladonna thought about the tennis girl’s dress.
    “I’m not sure. Early 1900s, maybe.”
    “Early 1900s?” he repeated, crestfallen. “How would I know? I thought you’d dug up some dirt on old Parker.”
    Belladonna rolled her eyes. The bell sounded for lunch and hordes of students poured out into the corridor.
    Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and started to slouch toward the door to the lunch room. Belladonna knew where he was going—the chess club always met at noon in a corner of the lunch room, hunched over their games in silence except for the occasional
whap
! as they hit the small stop-clocks that timed their moves. Yesterday Steve had caused chaos by producing a matchbox and releasing a large hairy spider across their boards. It was amazing how many of them turned out to be terrified of spiders; though it was always possible that, as they never seemed to go outside, they’d never seen one. In which case, thought Belladonna, it served them right.
    She was sure Steve had something equally effective planned for today, but to her surprise, he turned back.
    “I know where we might be able to find out.”
    He spun around and marched away from the lunch room and back into the oldest of the school buildings. Belladonna followed as they made their way back past the hot drinks machine and the notice board full of paper signs telling the students to do this, and not to do that, and cataloging the