Graveyard Slot, Michelle Schusterman [top novels to read txt] 📗

thick accent, it sounded like “fuh-kyoos.” If the guide noticed his reaction—and I was pretty sure he had, since the guy’s friend kept punching his arm to get him to stop laughing—he didn’t acknowledge it, and kept talking over the snickers.

“Rude,” I muttered loud enough for the guy to hear. He glanced over his shoulder at me, pushing his glasses up his nose when they slipped.

“What’s that now?”

Before I could respond, Oscar spoke up. “We just want to know what the joke is,” he whispered eagerly, leaning closer. A few feet away, the teenage girl was also glaring at Glasses Guy, but her brother was watching Oscar.

Glasses Guy smirked. “Just . . . you know. This dude’s kinda hard to understand.”

“He is?” Oscar asked, his expression perfectly innocent. “So how do you know what he’s saying is so funny?” I had to chew the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling, and the teenage girl and her brother looked amused, too. But Glasses Guy didn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm.

“Well, it’s more how he says it.”

“Ah.” Oscar nodded. “Well, I’m sure you speak whatever your second language is perfectly.”

Glasses Guy blinked. “I don’t speak a . . .” He trailed off, scowling, as he realized even his friend was now laughing at him. “Whatever, kid.” They followed the rest of the group as the guide, now talking about the courtyard and the entrance to the catacombs, led them to the exit along the left wall.

Oscar and I headed back to Jamie and Hailey. “Nice,” I told him. “That guy was being a jerk.”

“Yeah.” Oscar smiled a little. “My grandpa had a really thick accent. Drove him nuts when people laughed, even if they weren’t making fun of him. And especially if they called it ‘cute.’ So one day he just started calling them out. Can you say something to me in your second language? Help me understand the correct way to have an accent. That usually shut them up pretty fast.”

The front door creaked open, and Mi Jin waved at us. She held the door as the rest of the crew filed inside, along with a man who I guessed was Professor Guzmán. Jamie and Hailey were already up and moving down the row to join us.

“He’s so tall,” Hailey whispered loudly, and Jamie shushed her. She was right, though—it was hard not to be taken aback by Professor Guzmán’s height. He towered above everyone else, and his slightly hunched narrow shoulders, spindly frame, and pointed chin added to the effect. A girl around Mi Jin’s age, who I assumed was one of his students, trailed behind him, barely keeping pace with his long strides.

“It’s so thrilling to meet a fellow parapsychologist!” Professor Guzmán was saying to Roland. “I’m sure you know how hard it is to find anyone in the scientific community who doesn’t scoff at psychical research. I’m afraid that Brunilda Cano’s poor spirit has been the subject of some ridicule since my students and I have reported our successful encounters.”

We hurried to keep up with the crew, listening intently as Professor Guzmán talked about Brunilda. He couldn’t keep still when he talked, flailing his arms or wiggling his fingers as he described some of his group’s most memorable séances.

“Last time, she elevated a table!” he was saying as we crossed the courtyard, mimicking the motion with his hands. “At least a few centimeters off the ground, maybe more!”

The catacombs entrance looked like something right out of a fantasy book: an ancient stone arch with a thick wooden door and rusted bolts, sitting in the middle of the grass and unattached to any building. It was easy to imagine opening the door and stepping through into another world. Which was almost the case. Only it was more like the underworld.

The door revealed a steep staircase that led straight down into the earth. Torches hung on the wall, providing very dim light. At the bottom, a single tunnel led us in the opposite direction, directly under the church. It ended in a sort of cavern that wasn’t very big, maybe twice the size of my bedroom back in Ohio, but with a high domed ceiling. And the whole thing was made out of bones.

They had been carefully organized: thick femurs forming the borders, pointed ribs protruding along the curve into the ceiling, and long, thin arm bones mixed with slender finger bones to create a macabre pattern. And skulls, skulls with hollow eyes and eerie grins, grouped into circles every few feet in a way that mirrored the stained glass windows up in the church.

“One day, when I have my own apartment,” I murmured, “this is exactly how I’m going to decorate it.”

Jamie laughed. “With real bones? Or, like, catacomb wallpaper?”

“Real bones, obviously,” I said. “It’s got to be authentic.”

In the center of the cavern was a large, round table with about a dozen chairs around it. Professor Guzmán led everyone over and began taking a bunch of items out of his bag. Oscar and I hung back with Jamie and Hailey as the others took their seats, with the exception of Guzmán’s student, who stood at his side, and Roland, who was walking around the room, peering closely at the bones like he was searching for something hidden between them.

Jamie nudged me. “You guys should be over there,” he whispered. “You’re part of the cast now.”

“Not enough chairs,” I said. “And we aren’t filming, anyway.” He shrugged and smiled. His arm kept grazing mine, and I couldn’t help wondering if it was on purpose.

“Here it is,” Professor Guzmán said grandly, waving a thick leather notebook in the air. “Brunilda Cano’s journal. Just one of the many treasures I found last year when cleaning out my grandmother’s attic. All in Spanish, of course, but I translated an entry to give you an example.” He handed Jess a printout. On either side of her, Lidia and Dad leaned closer. Sam just closed his eyes. I pulled out my Elapse, made sure the