The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn. Frank Wood

and not his typical GQ self, which was saying a lot, as Neville LeGrand was the fashion plate of Ghoul School, bar none. “Neville, you’ll never believe who may be infiltrating our school,” Gabbie said.

      “Who?”

      “The Warlock Sentry.”

      “Really? Whatever for?”

      “They think there may be persons of interest lurking about the school grounds…who possess intimate knowledge of what went on at the Pumpkin Hill Plunder.”

      “I think we all know what went on, Gabriella.”

      She stopped abruptly midstride. “Since when have we all known such a thing?”

      Neville paused and his tone softened. “I’m sorry, Gabriella, you know I am. But the evidence against Uncle Barister appears to be quite strong.”

      Gabbie felt her eyes fill. “I thought you were loyal, Neville!”

      “Gabbie, you know I am. I do want to believe in your father and I want that evidence to be ruled fraudulent, I do!”

      “Oh, skip it, Neville. You don’t have to pretend any more for me or for my father. As a matter of fact, you don’t even have to go on calling him ‘uncle’ if it’s too much for you.”

      “Gabriella, I’m not pretending. Your father, Uncle Barister,” he emphasized, “has always been there for me and I shan’t forget it. I’m not like the others, Gabbie, I don’t scare easily. I want his innocence with all my heart. Anyone could have planted his cloak at the scene, I suppose…”

      “They’ll prove it was planted, Neville, just you wait and see!” Her eyes started to swell, as they did whenever she was emotional.

      “Of course they will, Gabbie,” he said in a gentler tone and with a smile. “I truly am sorry,” he said, producing a lilac-colored handkerchief.

      Gabbie knew it to be so. There was much more that bonded her and Neville than separated them. Both had been the victims of the collateral damage of the times. Neville’s mother and young uncle had met grisly ends at the hands of those who warred against the current normal—his mother at the hands of members of Lord Jinn Dread’s assassins, and it was said that she was driven mad by them—and his uncle at the hands of Jinn Dread’s younger loyals. It was in that last skirmish that Gabbie and her family had lost Efrian, the horror of that time serving to bond her and Neville deeply. And though their fathers, who had been like brothers, were not on speaking terms, due, Gabbie suspected, to her father's present situation, she and Neville remained close. Neither father made any overture to discourage their relationship, which for Gabbie meant that there was still hope that Barister and Niall, Neville’s father, would one day reunite. She dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief.

      “And really, it’s not as if we don’t have enough to worry about around here, with geometry and concoctions!” Neville went on to say.

      “Good point.” Gabbie smiled.

      “Come on,” he said with a smile, “no one’s looking—let’s sparkle!”

      “Neville, I’ll be in such trouble! My cache is already spent and the school year’s only just begun.”

      “Oh come on! We’ll put it on mine,” he said, disappearing into a bright, sparkling purple burst. Gabbie grinned and did the same. The two bursts darted through the halls to their next class.

      “I told you it wasn’t something you needed to wear, not for what we had to do that night!” Linda McTavish was fussing with her husband Landon, shortly after the meeting adjourned. “Now you’ve possibly cost us discovery!”

      “You need to speak with a civil tone, woman, I’m not a child,” Landon growled back.

      If Linda McTavish was rattled by her husband’s tone, she did not show it. “Losing a button from a garment is more childlike than anything I can imagine, husband.”

      “Don’t worry, let the Warlock Sentry have their look. They won’t find anything, I can guarantee that.”

      “Hmmm, they better not,” Linda said, “we’ve already risked too much as it is.”

      As the McTavishes went their way, their oldest son Oliver—teaching assistant that he was, hence his reason for being in the administrative tower that morning—watched his parents head to their various classrooms from one of the overhanging balconies.

      Advisory

      One thing about being with Neville, Gabbie never had to worry about coming down on the wrong side of any teacher, even one for whose class they were terribly late. Neville had an uncanny way of smooth-talking his way out of any situation, no matter how serious, but this time it turned out he didn’t have to use it. Neville’s burst landed him and Gabbie in their seats just a millisecond after the banshee sounded. The two exchanged smiles as Grawl groaned behind them.

      “Sparkling on school hours, Mr. LeGrand, that’s a tardy for both you and Miss Del Toro,” Mrs. Winterberry said.

      “Way to start off the school year, you two,” Grawl muttered.

      “Sorry, Gabriella. I thought it would work,” Neville said with a disarming smile that was interrupted by a drop of a whitish-yellow liquid from the ceiling falling into his hair.

      “Watch out, it’s bat crap!” Mac McPherson guffawed from the back.

      “Sorry, mate!” The bat materialized into the figure of a red-haired boy. “Couldn’t hold it.”

      “You’re a pig, Oscar!” Gabbie shouted at him.

      “Actually, that time I was a bat,” the boy replied glibly.

      “Why’s he always such a jerk to you?” Gabbie said, hot under the collar.

      “It’s not important, Gabriella,” Neville said, wiping his hair free of the excrement.

      “No, but you could put him down in an instant, Neville, you of the violet persuasion.” Gabbie was referring to his irises, which were the deep violet hue that meant the gifts of speed, stealth and flight were his to claim as a warlock.

      The banshee screamed again, denoting the start of class.

      “Just drop it, Gabriella,” Neville whispered.

      “Mr. LeGrand, go tend to yourself,” Mrs. Winterberry said. “Still haven’t mastered all the aspects of transformation, Mister Adamson-Horwitz?” she asked the former bat boy. “For undue crudeness, I think I’ll assign you a demerit on your cache until we can be clearer on the matter.”

      “You’re disgusting,” Gabbie told Oscar. “How can you all be friends with him?” she asked Mac, (real name, Austin) and Grace Johnson, who sat on either side of Oscar and were virtually inseparable.

      “It isn’t what it seems, Gabbie,” Grace said, but Gabbie was too angry to try and understand.

      Then Gabbie had to suffer through the duration of Advisory, which seemed longer than its normal thirty minutes, before she could really get into it with Neville and Grawl about all she had heard in the council room.

      The usual announcements for the new school year followed: welcoming them all to Ghoul School, the sterling reputation of the school, how deeply it was steeped in history, how they should all be proud to be among the witches and warlocks who matriculated there.

      They heard about the Back to School Haunt that evening, which was always a good time. Several teachers were commended for being selected to participate in the implosion festivities of the Historic Bridge at the Serpentine Fire Rail Station, which would happen later that week. That old bridge that led from Ghoulsville to the Other Side had seen better days, and was becoming less and less helpful in keeping out mortal humans who lost their way, usually during