The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) by N.M. Singel

brother!”
    Trevor came to the door with his shirt off. She felt her face flush.
    “He’s probably talking to a teacher or something, Ricki. Check Mancuso’s class. He might be trying to talk his way out of an F.”
    “Where is that?”
    “Next to the library.” Trevor slipped back into the mysterious room. “Tell him to get his butt down here quick,” he added over the braying of the other boys.
    Erica found Mr. Mancuso’s classroom, but when she stepped inside the room was empty. Blake wasn’t anywhere. Now she was getting worried. He never disappeared.
    She started to leave the classroom and spotted Blake’s notebook on the corner of a desk. A huge white fox’s head sticker was plastered on the cover with a blue Yamaha label beneath it. She picked it up and leafed through the pages. Drawings of dirt bikes filled the margins of just about every page. This was definitely Blake’s. She tossed his notebook back on the desk. Maybe he went home sick, and no one bothered to tell her.
    The janitor popped his head into the room. “Finish up in here. I gotta mop.”
    Erica headed for the door, but something bright blue and sparkling floated down from the ceiling in front of her. She picked up the strange blue strip and examined it. As she ran her finger down the object, she could tell it wasn’t paper. It was grass, smooth, real, alive. But it smelled like Halloween candy. She glanced up to see where it had come from and noticed the ceiling was covered with black scorch marks. Weird. Again she ran her finger down the blue strand. Her whole body tingled. She flicked it away and hurried toward the door.
    “Miss Wyatt,” called a feeble voice.
    She turned. No one was there. “Who said that?” No one answered. She backed up slowly, looking at every corner of the room, but the place was empty. She definitely heard a man’s voice. Or maybe she was losing her mind.
    “Miss Wyatt, I am here.”
    “Who said that?” she asked sternly.
    “Are you the sister of Blakemore Wyatt?”
    “Who wants to know?” she demanded.
    “You must help me.”
    “Who is talking?”
    “Please, there’s no time. You must help me.”
    “Help who?” Erica looked around again. “No one’s in here.”
    “I am here, Miss Wyatt. Because of some unfavorable events, I am stuck behind what you cannot see. We must help your brother.”
    “Is he sick or something?”
    “He’s safe--for now,” the voice said, “but all that could change if we don’t find him soon.”
    Erica backed toward the door. “I don’t know who’s talking, but you’re really creepin’ me out.”
    “Miss Wyatt, please, open the bottom drawer of the teacher’s desk.”
    “I’m not doing anything until you tell me where my brother is.”
    “No time for that. Your brother’s life could be in danger, Miss Wyatt.”
    “Yeah, right.” She looked around again. “Okay, so where’s the camera?”
    “Please. Do as I say.”
    “Tell me where my brother is, or I’m gonna get the principal.” She backed slowly out the door.
    “No! Then they’ll find out about you. They can’t know that you exist!”
    “Who are these they people?”
    “We can’t risk their taking another Wyatt. We almost lost your brother.”
    A chill ran through Erica. She stepped into the room again. “Tell me right now where my brother is, or I swear I’ll go to the principal.”
    “Miss Wyatt, for your brother’s safety, please do as I say. Open the drawer of the teacher’s desk, and I promise you’ll understand.”
    “All right, all right.” She inched closer to the desk. “But if this is some kind of a trick, I can get to the principal’s office in two seconds. I broke the track record for the whole sixth grade.”
    “Open the drawer. You’ll find a pocket watch tucked behind some file folders. Take it out carefully. Do not open it.”
    Erica scanned the room again for some sort of electronic device. That voice had to be coming from somewhere. She looked up. Maybe from