Paranormal University: Third Semester: An Unveiled Academy Novel

by Jace Mitchell

  “Wooden staff or worker staff?” Richard responded.

  “Clever one, he is,” the man commented again to his dog. “Worker staff. You would call them ghosts.”

  It’s him, Richard thought. He’d had a suspicion with the three-headed dog but couldn’t have known for sure. He’d wondered where all the ghosts came from, and now he understood. Richard was staring at a Greek god. Hades. The canine’s name started with a “C,” although Richard couldn’t remember it at the moment.

  “As a matter of fact, I do know where your staff is. If you come with me, I can take you to the people who can help you get them back.” Richard leaned over to the other side of the car and shoved the passenger door open. “You and your dog want to hop in?”

  Hades looked down at the dog. “What do you think, Cerberus? Should we get in the mechanical chariot and see where it takes us?”

  The dog yelped in a friendly fashion.

  Don’t think too kindly of him, Richard thought. He killed over twenty people just down the road.

  Hades nodded. “Cerberus finds your offer enticing, so we shall take it. Bring us to those who know where my staff is. I am sure they are eager to get back to work.”

  The Greek god walked across the street and to the other side of the car. The three-headed dog leapt in first, one of his heads sniffing Richard as it hopped into the back of the car. Hades sat down in the front passenger seat, lowering his satchel to the floor. Something large appeared to be inside the bag, but Richard asked no questions. He dared a glance in his rearview mirror at the dog.

  Hope that thing doesn’t slobber or shed everywhere, he thought. Richard’s eyes flashed back to the road, and he pressed down on the gas, wondering what in the hell the Five would say when he showed up with a god.

  Chapter Twelve

  Claire was struggling, to say the least. She’d been at the beach for four days, and yesterday Al had handed her an iPad and saying nothing else. A website was preloaded.

  Dog Mauls Twenty People at Local Gas Station in Nebraska.

  Claire read a few paragraphs. No dog or owner had been found. She looked back up at Al, whose shirt was hanging in the air.

  He reached for the iPad. “Hades has a dog with three heads. It’s a vicious son-of-a-bitch. That’s exactly like something it would do.”

  He’d left Claire without speaking anymore.

  And now, as nightfall approached the beach, and Frank was preparing to leave for bowling, she found herself nearly paralyzed with confusion.

  “Ye coming, lass, or are ye staying here tonight?” Frank asked as he entered the living room. His bowling bag was slung over his shoulder, the thing having been tailored to fit him so it wouldn’t drag along the floor as he walked.

  Claire was lying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “Frank, we need to talk.”

  Frank frowned. “I do not like the sound of that, and plus, I don’t have a lot of time. Supposed to meet that foul-mouthed fairy in a few minutes.”

  Claire tilted her head so that they were looking at each other. “I don’t care if you’re meeting the President. We need to talk. Sally can wait.”

  “Zeus, help me!” Frank cried. He dropped his bag to the floor, the bowling ball making a heavy thunk. Frank shuffled over to a chair and sat down, his thick eyebrows furrowed and grumpiness lining his face. “What is it, lass?”

  Claire turned her head so that she was staring at the ceiling again. “I know you don’t want to talk about anything that has to do with the Veil, and I know you don’t want to be involved, but something is going on.”

  Frank threw his hands in the air. “How many times must I tell ye people?”

  “Hush!” Claire yelled, whipping her body up so that she was sitting on the couch. She stared at Frank, her anger silencing him. “I’m not asking you to do anything, Frank. I don’t want to get you involved. I don’t want to talk to you about it. But I have talked to Al, and he gave me information that my friends—our friends—need to know. If I don’t tell them, I’m putting them at risk. So, I have to call the university. You understand what that means?”

  Frank leaned back in his chair, the anger across his face disappearing. A smirk replaced it. “Lass, how dumb is ye?”

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “The question was plain. How dumb is ye?” the leprechaun repeated.

  “Not very,” Claire growled, still not understanding what Frank was getting at.

  His smile broadened. “Who runs that university?”

  “The FBI,” she replied. “So?”

  Frank nodded. “That’s exactly right. The Federal Bureau of Investigation of the United States of America. These people can put missiles up a terrorist’s ass from thousands of miles away. Do ye think they didn’t follow ye, Claire?”

  She fell back onto the couch. “If they followed me, then why aren’t they here?”

  Frank shrugged. “How do I know? Maybe Lance’s hemorrhoids started acting up again, or Remington found out his true love was ballroom dancing. I couldn’t possibly say, but if ye or I think they don’t know where ye are, then we’re delusional. The only reason they can’t find Al and meself is that we’re completely off the grid. You, though? Claire, you might have a microchip in ye skin after living at their university. They definitely know ye are hanging out here on the coast, and sooner or later they’re going to show up. I’ve known this the whole time. I don’t know how ye didn’t.”

  Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Then why did you let me come?”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Despite my best intentions, I’m fond of ye. Ye asked to come out here, and what was I to do, turn ye down? If the FBI comes, I can handle meself. I certainly wasn’t going to turn ye away and make ye go home crying to Mommy and Daddy.”

  “I wouldn’t have cried,” Claire told him stubbornly. She looked down at her feet. “What’s your point?”

  Frank shook his head, still grinning. “Lass, ye are much dumber than I ever thought. My point is that if ye want to call your friends and tell them what Al said, I don’t think ye are going to get me in any more trouble than ye already have by coming here. I like Jack and Marissa. Just because I’m not getting involved again doesn’t mean I will stop ye from trying to keep them safe.”

  Claire let her arms drop to her sides, her own frustration and sullenness draining. She looked up at her green friend. “You’re a good guy, Frank.”

  He stood and grabbed his bowling bag. “One, I’m not a guy. Two, don’t let that get out. Three, if I’m late to me game, ye’re going to be homeless.”

  He gave her a wink and walked out of the front door, leaving her chuckling. Claire waited a few minutes, letting her emotions settle while she worked out what she was going to say. When she was ready, she took the cell phone out of her bag and dialed the university’s public number. She’d memorized it because she kept having to give it to her dad each time they got off the phone—he rewrote it again and again, because “if I lose one copy, I want to make sure I have another.”

  She thought it was silly but had humored him. Now she was glad she’d done it.

  “The University of Paranormal Studies. How may I direct your call?”

  This was the first time Claire had ever called the school, and she didn’t know what she’d expected, but a secretary wasn’t it. It’s better than an automated system, that’s for sure, she thought.

  “I need to speak to Marissa Hallor.”

  “I apologize, but students can’t be reached through this line,” the answer came back.

  Claire sighed. “Look, I know that’s your job and all, but my name is Claire Hinterland, and I’ve got news that everyone in that place will want to hear. Now, I’m not giving it to Dean Pritcham or anyone else besides Marissa or Jack, so get one of them on the phone. I’ll wait while you go talk to your superiors.”

  A second passed as the person on the other side of the line considered Claire’s words. Then, “Please hold.”


  Claire did. Seconds turned into minutes, but eventually, Dean Pritcham picked up. “Claire?”

  “Hi, Dean Pritcham.” She spoke as politely as she could under the circumstances. “I told the receptionist or whoever that I would only speak with Jack and Marissa. I’m not a student anymore, so I’m calling to speak with my friends. Will you let me talk to them?”

  Another pause, and Claire knew that the dean was thinking. She was a smart, levelheaded woman—she was trying to figure out the best course of action for everyone. “Okay,” Dean Pritcham returned. “You can talk to them. They’re in class somewhere. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get them on the line.”

  Claire waited again, crossing and uncrossing her ankles as she did.

  Jack’s voice came over the line. “Claire, I’m busy learning. I don’t appreciate you interrupting me, and hurting the entire nation in the process,” he chided with mock sternness.

  Marissa interrupted. “Shut up, Jack. We’re both here, Claire.”

  Claire nodded to herself. “I know that this is being recorded, and most likely, people are listening right now besides us, but that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, I’d say you’re right on all points,” Jack responded. “But I imagine they bug our rooms, and probably even the bathrooms because they’re perverts, so what can ya do? What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m here with Al and Frank—”

  Jack nearly shouted into the phone, “Right now? Is he on the line? Ask him how the strip clubs are where he’s at!”

  Claire rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. “No. He’s not here right now. Marissa, can you make Jack-ass shut up?”

  “Yeah, I got you,” Marissa replied.

  Claire heard a smack, then Jack yelled something farther away from the phone. “That should keep him quiet for a bit. Sorry, Claire, go on,” Marissa instructed.

  Claire felt a pang of nostalgia, missing being there with the two of them.

  You can’t let that distract you right now, she thought, shoving the feelings away. “Okay. Listen, Al has been talking to me about what’s going on in the Midwest. He thinks it’s something serious, and everyone on your side needs to know about it. Have the professors or FBI guys said anything else?”

  “Nope,” Jack answered. “Not a word.”

  Claire sighed. “Then they don’t know, or they’d be moving already. Al thinks it’s Hades. Those ghosts the witches called over? Well, apparently, they all worked for Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Or some worked while others just floated around screaming and stuff. I’m not really sure about the details, but I guess they don’t matter. The point is, Al thinks that all the crazy stuff with the sky, and what you could see through the sky, well, it was Hades preparing to cross over from the underworld.”

  A long silence fell across the line.

  “Did you guys hang up?” Claire asked.

  “No,” Jack answered. “I’m looking at Marissa’s face turning whiter and whiter by the second. I think she might actually be turning into a bedsheet at this point.”

  Marissa’s voice was a whisper. “Gods…”

  Claire waited another second and then asked, “You still there?”

  Marissa’s voice was low. “Gods are different than ghosts and vampires. Gods are… You heard the Greek myths. They’re all-powerful.”

  Jack sounded decidedly more confident. “Okay, let’s all calm down. They’re not all-powerful. They can be stopped, fooled, whatever. It happened all the time in those stories.”

  Claire grew quiet. She wasn’t sure what to say. She understood that this wasn’t her fight, even if she wanted it to be. All she could do was pass on the information. “I’m not sure what to do. I needed to tell you all what we thought was happening. I guess if Dean Pritcham and the rest are all listening, they’re going to ask questions, but that’s all I know. It’s pretty much all Al knows, too.”

  Jack sighed loudly. “We miss you. Not a lot, but we do miss you.”

  “We miss you a lot, Claire,” Marissa chimed in. “Jack is more insufferable than usual because of how much he misses you. How are things where you’re at?”

  Claire’s eyes grew moist. “I’m okay. I miss you both, too. I wish I was there.”

  Jack spoke next, and for once, Claire was thankful for his bravado. “Okay, enough with all this. You’ll be back soon. The FBI isn’t going to be able to live without you. We both know it. Look, Dean Pritcham is knocking on the door, so she clearly wants to start talking about all this. I’m sure they’ll be in touch.”

  Claire scratched absently at her pants leg. “Yeah. Me too. It was good talking to you.”

  “Bye, Claire,” Marissa told her.

  “See ya, Captain,” Jack bid.

  “Bye, guys.” Claire hung up the phone, her eyes still wet. She missed her friends. She missed what had been starting to feel like home.

  The knock on the door was loud and forceful.

  Frank screamed from the back bedroom. “I told ye! Now the FBI is here waking me up!”

  Claire rolled over on the couch and looked at her watch. “It’s not even six in the morning,” she mumbled. “What in the hell is going on?”

  The knock came again, louder.

  Al screamed next. “Claire! Answer it!”

  “This is ridiculous, lass! Some of us are trying to sleep here!” Frank yelled.

  Claire sat up, rubbing her eyes. She was sleeping in her jeans, as she did every night since coming here. She ignored the two Mythers’ yelling and forced her mind to focus on what was actually happening.

  It can’t be Remington and Lance, she thought. Not this early. I talked to Marissa and Jack at, like, eight last night.

  The knock came once more.

  “Claire! I’m not telling ye again!”

  “All right, all right,” she mumbled, getting up from the couch. She walked across the living room to the apartment door. She peered through the peephole first before unlocking it. Sure enough, there was Remington and Lance, both wearing their stupid suits before the sun was even up.

  She spoke through the closed door. “What do you want?”

  Remington’s voice came back. “To talk, Claire. Let us in.”

  “I’m a private citizen now,” she declared. Through the peephole, she could see a small smile cross Lance’s face at the remark. “Don’t laugh! I am.”

  Remington shoved his hands in his pockets. “We all know you’re going to let us in. Quit fooling around and wasting time. Just let us in, Claire.”

  She backed up from the peephole and sighed. They were right. It’s not like she was going to send them on their way. She looked over her shoulder and called to the back room. “Frank, they want in. Do you care?”

  Frank’s reply was terse. “Nah, I don’t care so long as ye keep them out of my room and don’t wake me up again!”

  Claire leaned against the door for a moment. She supposed that she knew this would happen; she just hadn’t wanted it to occur so soon. She stood and unlocked the deadbolt then opened the door. She turned around and walked back into the living room, taking her place on the couch in silence. She listened as the FBI agents shut the door and then followed her.

  They stopped just as they entered the living room.

  “Everyone here is asleep as if you couldn’t tell,” she told them in the most unfriendly, yet low voice she could muster.

  Remington glanced around the place. “This definitely looks like a bachelor pad. Not a single piece of art.” He looked at Claire. “You going to spruce it up a bit?”

  Claire was still groggy and wanted to go back to sleep. She certainly didn’t want to be sitting here talking to these two after they’d practically forced her to leave the university. “I don’t think you two flew here to discuss decorating tips. What do you want?”

  Lance walked in front of the television and folded his hands in front of him. “Obviously, you know we listened in on the call yesterday.”

  Claire raised both eyebrow
s, not impressed with these opening lines. “Obviously.”

  Remington stepped up next to Lance. “We believe Al is right. We’ve had scholars look into what the myths say the underworld looked like, and we think it’s what was behind the sky.”

  Claire let out a long sigh and leaned back against the couch. “That’s great. It still doesn’t give me any indication as to why you’re here.”

  “We want you to come back,” Lance answered calmly. “This is all we wanted, was to get some indication of what was happening in Nebraska. Now that we know, we’re requesting you resume attendance at the university.”

  Claire opened her mouth and audibly scoffed. “This has to be some kind of joke. You’re saying you used me?”

  Remington shuffled his shoulders slightly. “Not exactly, but we did think you would come here, and we did think that you’d relay back whatever information you found out.”

  “How is that not using me?” Claire shook her head, almost unable to believe that she’d been used so blatantly. “You figured this would happen the entire time, didn’t you? Every single move I made, you had it planned it out?”

  Lance smirked. “We’re good at our jobs, Claire. And you’re good at yours. That’s why we need you to come back. The university needs you.”

  Claire didn’t say anything for a few moments. She stared out of the balcony to her right. She could see the ocean from where she was sitting. It wasn’t a bad view at all. Moments passed. “No,” she told them without looking at them.

  Remington sounded as if he didn’t believe her. “You’re going to stay here?”

  “Claire,” Lance interjected. “We know that you’re going to come back. We know your psychological profile. Just like we knew you’d come here and then relay us the information. It’s why we chose you for the university—because we understand how you operate. Because you’re exactly who we need. Don’t play this game. Your friends need you. The world needs you.”

  Claire turned her head so that she met their eyes. “The answer is no. You used me, and I don’t take kindly to that. I don’t know how you’ll try to use me in the future, and the bottom line is, I don’t trust either of you. I’m not going back. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but getting on a plane with you two isn’t even in the realm of possibilities.”