Heroine Complex (Book 4): Haunted Heroine

by Kuhn, Sarah

  “True.” Aveda stared into space, thinking hard. “We need to find someone who knows her story. Like, her full story. What happened to her after she peeled her last orange?”

  “And how does this connect to Pippa’s disappearance?” I mused. “Because I’m thinking it must—do we have anything else on the bracelet yet? Scott said they were doing further analyses, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aveda said. “That’s really a Nate thing, which . . . you know what, why don’t I just ask Scott to ask Nate? That seems better for everyone right now. Healthier.”

  “Our household’s definition of ‘healthier’ has some issues,” I muttered.

  My phone buzzed, and I reached over to grab it, still turning this latest clue over in my mind.

  “Maybe that’s Nate texting you, realizing the error of his ways,” Aveda said, nudging me. “And now you can ask him directly about those analyses!”

  A slight flutter of hope bloomed in my chest—and was instantly replaced by dread. What could Nate and I talk about that wouldn’t lead us down the same path, to misunderstanding and frustration and hurt? Even asking about something purely scientific seemed fraught.

  I glanced down at the screen, almost afraid to look. But it wasn’t Nate.

  “Oh, Tess!” I cried out, showing Aveda the screen. “They finally got back to me. Says they’re fine, they haven’t seen Pippa, and . . .” I held the screen closer to my face, reading each word very carefully. “They can get us into the next ghost-hunting society meeting. Well, sort of.”

  “What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Aveda said, her eyes narrowing. She leaned over my shoulder, trying to read the screen.

  “They say we have to act like we got a mysterious, anonymous invitation,” I said. “We can’t let on that we know Tess. And we have to bring Shelby, since she had the encounter the society’s dying to hear about.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Aveda said, straightening her spine and tightening her ponytail. “And did they give us a place and time?”

  “Yup,” I said, tapping the screen. “Tomorrow night . . . oh, tomorrow’s almost here already. Tonight’s been pretty action-packed.” I glanced out the window. It was pitch black outside, creeping into the early morning hours, the wind whistling through the air and rattling against the glass.

  “Then let’s get some sleep,” Aveda said. “Do you want another pickle?”

  “Yes!” I said eagerly, my mouth watering at the thought of more salty-sweet goodness. I threw the blanket aside and leapt out of bed—and my flimsy outfit finally gave out entirely, one of the straps snapping from the sheer force of movement. One broken strap was all it took—the whole mess of lace and ribbons collapsed, the costume crumpling around my waist.

  “Oops,” I said. “Sorry. I’m totally flashing you.”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Aveda said, waving a hand. “But you might want to put on some less sexy pajamas—I know you and Nate are in a fight, but he’ll kill me if you catch pneumonia.”

  “On it,” I said, heading for the closet. “Unsexy pajamas have never sounded better.”

  * * *

  “I told you this was gonna be cold.” I gave Aveda a faux-admonishing look. It was the following evening, and we were waiting in the courtyard by Morgan Hall again—and I was studiously avoiding looking at the library build site, which still creeped me out. The temperature had plummeted as soon as dusk fell, and once again, Aveda’s cool-but-insubstantial leather jacket wasn’t really protecting her from the elements.

  “I have to look like I fit in,” Aveda protested, hugging herself and dancing around to keep warm. “I need to be hip, Evie—and a big, puffy jacket is not hip. No college kids are wearing that.”

  “Hey, guys.” Shelby strolled up just then, wearing . . . a big, puffy jacket.

  “Thank you for coming,” I said, giving her a gentle smile. “I’m sorry there’s still no word on Pippa. How are you holding up?”

  “Not great, honestly.” Shelby’s expression darkened. “I was hoping this would take my mind off it. I’ve never been to a top secret ghost-hunting society meeting.” She gazed at Morgan Hall, her eyes wandering to the one window at the very top that was lit up like a beacon—the rest were completely dark.

  I squared my shoulders, homing in on that beacon. “Let’s do this. Remember, whatever we can find out about our little bartender friend—whatever’s missing from this book . . .” I brandished the tome from the Quiet Room, which I’d brought with me. I’d filled Shelby in on what we thought we’d learned. I was hoping showing these supposed ghost hunters that we were pretty big into research would help our case. “It might help us find Pippa.”

  We trooped into the foyer of Morgan Hall. During the day, it was bright and airy, all gleaming light wood and sparkling white paint and bright “Morgan blue” accents. Those arched windows offered glorious views of the courtyard and the bell tower. You could fantasize you were the castle’s princess, surveying her kingdom.

  But nighttime was a different story. Wind slammed against the glass, making disconcerting rattling sounds. And if you tried to peer out at the courtyard, all you saw was inky darkness that looked like it was about to swallow the building whole. Even the library build site wasn’t visible from here. Though just knowing it existed still made me shiver.

  “It’s all the way at the top—that one lit-up window,” I said. “Apparently that’s the attic of Morgan Hall. Which is intriguing, because I didn’t even know that room existed.”

  “How very on brand for ghost hunters,” Aveda said. “Choose the creepiest possible location. But if this is supposed to be a secret ghost-hunting society, why don’t they meet somewhere less obvious? They should get together at a McDonald’s or something.”

  “You can give them that feedback once we’re in,” I said. “Come on.”

  We filed up the staircase in silence—the Morgan Hall staircase was more solidly built than the one in Mara Dash, and sported an ornate brass banister. Still, the sounds of our feet ascending to the top cut through the darkness in the most disconcerting way. There were, of course, no other lights on. It felt like that darkness from outside was spilling in now, slithering through every corner of Morgan Hall and enveloping it in impenetrable shadows. I held tightly to the cold metal of the banister and tried to keep my eyes trained forward—but was occasionally distracted by all the Halloween décor that had just been put up. Paper ghosts, rubber bats, and cotton ball cobwebs decorated our path, and a life-size plastic skeleton greeted us when we reached the top of the staircase. All of this created an odd effect—the decorations looked cute, almost quaint. A macabre contrast to the actually haunted-seeming environs of Morgan Hall at night.

  Just beyond the skeleton was a long hallway with three doors. A faint dusting of light spilled from under the door in the middle.

  “Okay,” Aveda whispered to me. “You know what to do, right?”

  “Yes—or at least I know what Tess told me,” I whispered back. “Let’s see if it works. And remember: we have to act like we don’t know Tess. We can’t reveal that they sent us the invite. We have to blend in.”

  We approached the middle door in silence, and even though I supposedly knew what was on the other side of it, I felt my heart beat faster, shards of tension slivering their way through my blood. The entire haunted vibe of this place was definitely getting under my skin. The plastic skeleton stared at me, ratcheting up the anticipation.

  Once we were all standing outside the door, I raised my hand and knocked once, twice, three times. Per Tess’s very detailed instructions, I made my knocks firm and rapid. Authoritative.

  Silence fell again and I leaned in, trying to hear what was happening behind the door. I could barely make out the faintest of rustlings—or maybe I was imagining it, maybe the wind against the windows was still looping through my brain.

  “Well,” Aveda sa
id, sounding trepidatious but like she was trying to cover it with her usual bravado, “this seems very—”

  Creeeeeaaaaaaaak

  The door swung open a crack, and a statuesque white woman peered out at us. She was striking—tall and weedy, with bright green eyes and a voluminous mane of hair dyed a rainbow of colors.

  “Hello,” she said. Her voice had a warm, raspy quality to it. “What have we here? Who is this tremendous trio of warriors?”

  “I’m Eliza Takahashi,” I said, mentally pulling up the script I’d crafted with some help from Tess. “This is Angelica Chin and Shelby Tran. We received an invitation from your society. We’re aficionados of all things ghostly, and we want more than anything to further our studies in—”

  “Shelby!” The woman opened the door a little wider. “Of course we know all about Shelby, who confronted a ghost and won. Truly one of the mightiest warriors Morgan College has to offer.”

  I turned to Shelby . . . and did a double take. All the blood had drained from her face and she was backing away from the door, her eyes shifting to the side.

  “What . . .” she whispered. “What are you . . .”

  “Come in,” the woman said, smiling at Shelby. “Please.”

  “She is a mighty warrior!” I said, grabbing Shelby’s arm. “And she’s ready to discuss her experience with other paranormal enthusiasts, in order to give your discussion group even more information in their continuing quest to understand all there is to understand about the afterlife.”

  “Ahhhhhhh.” The woman beamed at us and threw the door fully open. “My dearests, please enter! Though we prefer the term ‘curious society of knowledge seekers’ to ‘discussion group’ or even ‘enthusiasts.’ It’s so much more active.”

  I smiled and nodded while doing an internal fist-pump. This was what I’d been hoping for—that Shelby would be like catnip to the campus ghostbusters, and that her presence would grant us entry even if we’d received an invite that wasn’t quite legit. Luckily, Shelby had been up for it, especially if this helped us find Pippa. But was she still? Her gaze was locked on the rainbow-haired woman, apprehension emanating from her every pore.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered, squeezing her shoulder.

  “I’m just surprised by something,” she murmured. “Let’s go in, I’ll try to get it together.”

  We filed into the attic room, which was much larger than I’d expected—although the low ceiling created the illusion of a very intimate space. It was lit by a haphazard collection of mismatched lamps, which illuminated the wall-to-wall bookshelves and the colorful cushions spread out on the floor. A group of seven Morgan students was sprawled over the cushions, wrapped in sweaters and fuzzy blankets and nibbling on what appeared to be Halloween-themed Oreos with bright orange icing. Tess was among them, gamely nibbling their cookie and pretending they didn’t know us.

  It looked more like an extra cozy book club than a bunch of people obsessed with all things creepy.

  “Take a seat, warriors,” the rainbow-haired woman said, gesturing expansively. “I am Leonora Quinn, the faculty advisor for our little coterie, and—”

  “The head of the Ethnic Studies department?” I said. So this was Richard’s paramour—somehow, she was exactly what I’d expected.

  “That’s right!” she said, beaming at me. “And, Ms. Takahashi, it might interest you to know that I’m currently working on a section about the films of Kurosawa and how they relate to the current Japanese American experience—”

  Aveda interrupted her by having a massive coughing fit that I’m pretty sure started as a laugh. I gave her a look.

  “That’s so kind of you,” I said—and for once, was grateful that I’d been practicing pasting on big, fake smiles recently. Because that meant I had one all saved up for Leonora Quinn. “Do you know Professor Covington? He also has a unit on Kurosawa, maybe the two of you can cross reference.”

  “I do know him,” she said, blushing a bit. “I find his lectures very scintillating.”

  “Then it must be true love,” muttered Aveda as she, Shelby, and I settled ourselves on a cluster of empty cushions. I shoved the Quiet Room book next to my thigh and gnawed on my lower lip, surveying the scene as Leonora sat down on a cushion and smiled at her fellow ghost-hunting enthusiasts.

  “Now, then,” Leonora said. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome new people into our fold, especially since we pride ourselves on being a bit challenging to seek out.” She trained her too-bright smile on me. “Who sent you the fated invitation, young warriors?”

  “We’re not sure,” I lied—luckily Tess had prepared me for this question, too. “Shelby here received it under her door this morning. We’re guessing it has something to do with her now legendary ghost encounter.”

  “An excellent deduction,” Leonora said, nodding approvingly. “But what about you and Ms. Chin, Ms. Takahashi? Our society invitations generally do not come with a plus-one attached.”

  “Um, mine did,” Shelby said, her eyes shifting from side to side. “It said I could bring whoever I want.”

  “Did it, now?” Leonora said, the genial twinkle in her eyes fading just a bit. “Well. How very interesting.”

  She cast a look around the room, lingering on each person. They all remained silent, none of them wanting to take the blame for the haphazard invite with its sloppy provisions for plus-ones.

  “Angelica and I are extremely into all this ghost-hunting stuff,” I said, doing my best to make my face sincere. “We can’t wait to hear the latest.”

  “We hadn’t gotten to the latest in sightings just yet,” Leonora said, her attention going back to us. “We always start off with cookies and quiet time, to set the mood.”

  Several of the society members made mumbly noises and brandished their cookies.

  “But since we have such a very special guest here, perhaps we could cut cookie time short and see what she has to say,” Leonora said, smiling brightly at Shelby. “Ms. Tran, do you have a talk prepared, or will you be taking questions?”

  “Um, questions. Definitely questions,” Shelby said, sitting up a little straighter on her cushion. She still seemed to be laser-focused on Leonora, regarding her warily. I noticed Tess trying to catch her eye, perhaps to give her a nod of encouragement.

  I patted Shelby’s shoulder, attempting to give her my own comforting vibes. Being put on the spot like this, being the center of attention—I could tell these were things Shelby was very much not into. As a non-enjoyer of these things myself, I could relate.

  For a moment, there was silence, save for a few crunches from people still chewing on their cookies. Tess’s gaze shifted from side to side. They didn’t want to go first for fear of identifying themselves as the anonymous invitation sender.

  “Come, now!” Leonora enthused. “I know you’re all curious. I have to admit that I’m just dying here, so I guess I’ll start . . .”

  “Yeah?” Shelby said, her expression turning even more guarded. I guessed she was finding Leonora kind of off-putting. I couldn’t blame her.

  “Was it strange when the courtyard spirit spoke directly to you, Ms. Tran? From the sounds of it, she really wanted to communicate something. Something that was meant just for you.”

  Wait . . . what?

  Shelby had said she hadn’t shared that particular tidbit with anyone—except me, the other night. After she’d had the truth serum punch. I turned to study Leonora, trying not to show my surprise. She was smiling at Shelby in that bright-eyed way, like she was just so curious and eager to learn . . . but I swore there was something else behind it, a flicker in her expression I couldn’t quite place. Something almost triumphant, maybe?

  What was that about?

  “Um . . .” Shelby had gone white as a sheet. “How do you . . . um . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  “What I think Shelby
is trying to say is, that’s a detail she actually doesn’t like to talk about much,” I said. “So she’s probably wondering how you know that?”

  “Oh . . .” Leonora waved a hand, her beaming smile re-setting. “I don’t recall where I heard that, but people often share things with me since everyone knows of my fascination with all things ghostly. You wouldn’t believe the things that show up in my inbox.”

  “I think I might,” I murmured, sneaking a sidelong glance at Shelby. She was staring at me in the most confused way. And I realized she must think I somehow told Leonora what she’d confided in me. I gave a very slight head shake, but that just made her look more confused.

  “The ghost did talk to me,” Shelby finally said, her expression growing even more guarded. “And then I crashed into a tree. That’s all I remember.”

  She shot Leonora a borderline defiant look.

  “We’ve been speculating about what happened to the courtyard spirit after your encounter,” Tess piped up, their voice a bit hesitant. Their gaze slid to Leonora, then back to us again. “Did you know she hasn’t been seen again since then?”

  “I . . . I didn’t know that,” Shelby stammered.

  “We have some theories,” Tess said, waving a half-eaten cookie around. “Well, I have some theories. The most likely being . . .”

  Their eyes slid to Leonora again, as if asking for permission.

  “Now, Tess,” Leonora said, giving them a benevolent smile. “We don’t want to bore our mighty warrior sisters with useless speculation.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. There was something about the way Leonora talked to these kids—and the way they kept looking to her, as if they couldn’t have an idea or eat a freaking cookie without her okaying it first—that felt creepy. Like Leonora had hypnotized them into being part of a ghost-hunting cult that worshipped her. And hey, we’d dealt with that kind of thing before, so it wasn’t completely out of the question.

  “I’d like to hear any speculation, actually,” I said, giving Tess a meaningful look.