Max blushed as she thanked him and took his arm, suddenly aware of the many adults in the foyer who had taken notice and were smiling at them.
Outside, the grounds of the Manse had been transformed. Two enormous pavilions had been erected: white canvas swooped down in graceful arcs from tall, sturdy tent poles. Underneath one pavilion were row upon row of covered serving trays. Max looked longingly at a set of life-size gravestones fashioned of white and dark chocolate that must have come from Mr. Babel’s patisserie. Barrels and enormous woven baskets were stuffed with breads, apples, and sheaves of wheat or tall stalks of corn. Hundreds of jack-o’-lanterns dotted the grounds, crowded together in bunches or hovering above to illuminate the paths and gardens. Out on the lawn, several older students and alumni created eerie phantasms of ghosts and goblins, headless horsemen, and wailing banshees that galloped and loomed against the night sky before dissipating to wispy shreds of smoke.
On the parquet floor beneath the second pavilion, alumni danced to music played by an orchestra whose members were drawn from both the student body and the Sanctuary. A particularly delicate faun strummed a lute while a small man with green skin puffed his cheeks to astounding dimensions while playing the bagpipes. Kettlemouth was there, too, wearing a little pumpkin hat and sitting sleepily on an embroidered pillow, ignoring Lucia’s exasperated pleas to sing.
“Why is Lucia doing that?” asked Max. “He’s a frog.”
Sarah laughed.
“Lucia’s booklet said that his kind have been known to sing,” she explained. “And that his songs can inspire passionate love….”
Max cleared his throat and quickly spied out Connor, who was munching on a turkey leg and giggling whenever a student hit a wrong note or an alumnus attempted a particularly ambitious dance move. Max and Sarah strolled over.
“Hey, Connor,” said Max. “Where’s, er, Mum?”
Connor shrugged.
“I knocked on her cupboard and she started screaming that she wasn’t ready. Apparently her girdle was giving her some trouble.”
Max and Connor snickered; Sarah frowned.
David walked up, conspicuously not wearing the tie that he been wrestling with when Max had left to meet Sarah. The students chatted and waved hello to Bob, who ambled by in an enormous tuxedo, his few hairs combed carefully back.
Ms. Richter swept up, wearing a beautiful shawl of warm colors woven with Celtic borders.
“Don’t let Sir Wesley see you standing in the corner like this,” she said with a smile. “You’ll be practicing ‘mingling’ scenarios for weeks!”
She glanced at Max before addressing them all.
“Congratulations on the First Years’ victory today. I only caught the first half, but heard it had quite a finish. The alumni won’t stop talking about it!”
She stood upright and tapped her head a moment.
“Oh! As long as you’re standing here, would one of you mind running down to the kitchens and getting some more cornbread? It’s disappearing fast and I know Mum had a last batch baking.”
Ms. Richter was off again, confiscating a bottle of champagne from some scowling Fourth Years.
“Connor, why don’t you go?” said Sarah. “Maybe Mum’s ready.”
“Oh no!” pleaded Connor. “She said she’d find me! I don’t want to catch a glimpse of her in her girdle!”
“You’re impossible,” scolded Sarah, turning her back to watch the faun begin an intricate number on his lute.
“I’ll go,” volunteered David.
“See?” said Connor pointedly to Sarah. “David will go. Thanks, Davie—you’ve saved me from an awful sight!”
David smiled as Connor gave him an exaggerated pat on the arm, then he coughed suddenly and slipped through the crowd. The others went to examine the buffet. Just then, the grounds filled with light. A great bonfire had been lit on the ridge overlooking the beach; logs were piled thirty feet high and flames roared up into the night sky. The party cheered and glasses clinked as the orchestra began an upbeat melody.
Twenty minutes later, Max was savoring the lamb and talking to Sarah about the morning’s match when he stopped suddenly.
“Where’s David?” asked Max.
He turned to Omar, who shrugged, looking bored as he nibbled at a baby carrot while his date, Cynthia, trailed Nolan around the party.
“I’ll be right back,” Max said to Sarah. “I’m going to see where he is.”
Sarah nodded but said nothing as the orchestra began another song.
The foyer was empty. Max made his way down to the dining hall. He rounded the pillar and stopped dead in his tracks.
David was lying unconscious on the floor near several battered trays. Squares of cornbread were scattered around him like yellow sponges. His cheek was scratched and bleeding. One of the enormous oak tables was overturned on its side; the dishes and glassware that had been stacked upon it were shattered into thousands of little pieces.
Max looked up and gasped.
There was Mum. She was bound tightly to a stone pillar, pinned some ten feet off the ground, by writhing coils of green and gold fire. Her head hung limply to the side. One of her broad little dancing shoes had fallen off and lay at the base of the pillar.
Max turned and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time and sprinting out the front door to practically tackle Ms. Richter, who was posing for a photograph with some alumni.
“Ms. Richter!” Max panted. “Ms. Richter—come quick!”
“What is it?” she asked, turning to Max just before the flash went off.
“In the dining hall. Hurry!” Max wheezed, before racing back inside.
The Director took in the scene at a glance. Max knelt next to David, who was breathing slowly, the familiar funny whistling sound coming from his nose.
“Get away from him,” commanded Ms. Richter in a calm but stern voice. Max leapt to his feet and backed away against a wall.
As she walked briskly toward the unconscious boy, Ms. Richter raised her left hand, and the green and gold cords binding Mum dissipated to fading motes of light. Mum was lowered to the ground, where she slumped in a little limp heap next to her shoe.
Ms. Richter leaned over David, cradling his head in her hands and whispering softly. David moaned slightly and began to stir. She whispered again and David opened his eyes to blink at Ms. Richter.
“Mum attacked me!” he whispered, wide-eyed. “I just wanted to keep her away from me. I didn’t kill her, did I?”
Ms. Richter shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
With another small wave of her hand, Ms. Richter brought the heavy table upright and collected the broken plates and scattered corn muffins into a neat pile by the kitchen doorway. A chair slid across the floor toward her.
At the Director’s bidding, Max helped her lift David off the ground and sit him down. David was blinking distractedly, glancing at Mum, who was still unconscious.
Ms. Richter crouched over Mum and lifted up the hag’s chin. Mum’s leg kicked, and she awoke with a shriek. She spied David and shrieked again, scrambling to her feet to sob behind the pillar.
“That thing is dangerous!” she cried.
“Really?” said Ms. Richter. “He says that you attacked him, and I am totally inclined to believe it.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Mum’s voice could be heard, heavy and desperate.
“I thought you were playing a game with Mum—sending down a tasty little boy on All Hallows’ Eve. I thought he was a party favor!”
“Why on earth would you think that?” snapped Ms. Richter. “Everyone here is off-limits, Mum. You’ve been told a thousand times.”
“Not that one!” Mum cried. “That one is all right for Mum to eat!”
Max suddenly remembered back to the day the First Years had met Mum. David had fled at the sight of Bob and disappeared into a pantry. Max had not seen him come out.
“Ms. Richter! I don’t think David ever went through the sniffing ceremony—I think maybe he was hiding!”
“Dear heavens!” exclaimed Ms. Richter. “David, is that true?”
David just sat there blinking sleepily.