Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  Nicholas had come up with elaborate requirements for every character: each knight had specific powers and could only move at certain times in certain ways. And the sorceress kept changing her appearance, sometimes even appearing as a knight.

  Honestly, I’d played less complicated games of chess with my dad.

  –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

  Sure you want to do that? Dad asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  I hesitated, them moved my rook back and squinted at the board. He’d already taken all my pawns, and had my queen cornered. If I didn’t do something . . .

  I sucked in a breath as I saw the perfect move. Quickly moving my queen, I sat back and said, And that’s check! Boom!

  Dad held up his hand for a high five. Yes! I was wondering if you were going to pick up on that . . .

  –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

  “Janie, silly, she can't go there!” Nicholas exclaimed.

  I started, abruptly pulled back to the present. “Oh, sorry.” I moved the sorceress out of the moat and back onto the parapet. “Better?”

  He scrutinized the castle. “Not really. If she stays there, the red knight won’t be able to fight her.”

  “Okay,” I said. We were an hour into the game, and I still didn’t understand it. I grabbed the red knight, set him back on his horse, and let out a loud neigh.

  Nicholas collapsed in giggles. Despite my other weaknesses, he was a big fan of my ability to make horse noises.

  “You’re getting better,” he said. “I bet next time we play you’ll win.”

  There’s a way to win? I thought, but just said, “Thanks. You know, I’m actually a real princess.”

  Nicholas’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  I hesitated; this kid obviously lived in a dream world, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to fuel that. Still, I nodded sagely and said, “You may call me Princess Janie.”

  “Wow,” he said. “A real live princess. I can’t wait to tell Eliza!”

  Without warning, the knight in his hand went flying. I jerked sideways as it flashed past, missing me by inches. I turned back to face Nicholas. He’d gone pale.

  “Nicholas,” I snapped. “Did you throw that at me?”

  “No,” he said in a small voice.

  I hesitated. He looked scared. The knight was small, but made of cast iron. It could have gouged out my eye. “You’re not supposed to throw things, Nicholas.”

  “I know,” he said miserably. “I’m sorry. Eliza gets angry sometimes, no matter how hard I try to keep her happy.” His shoulders started to shake, and tears poured down his cheeks.

  I hesitated, then pulled him onto my lap. Nicholas buried his head against my shoulder as he sobbed; I stroked his back lightly, trying to calm him down. I played the incident over in my mind: had his hand drawn back? I was pretty sure it hadn’t, but the knight had flown halfway across the room. I shivered; the room was freezing. I could practically see my breath.

  Wasn’t it supposed to get cold when a ghost was around? I repressed a shudder.

  You’re being ridiculous, I told myself firmly. Nicholas was just acting out. Pretending that Eliza was still talking to him was a coping mechanism, like Richard said.

  Still, as Nicholas cried into my shoulder, it was hard to shake the sense that we were being watched. When I finally led him sniffling down to dinner, I was relieved to find Alma ensconced at the kitchen table. I deduced from her grunted responses that the other Rochesters had gone out again.

  Nicholas and I sat side by side at the table, eating silently. I wondered how often we’d be left alone like this. I couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. As I watched Nicholas chew his steak with the same seriousness he applied to everything else, I flashed again on the soldier flying at me. What was going on?

  Chapter III

  There were but eight; yet somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall; many were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return, the others only stared at me.

  Despite the hideous uniforms, it quickly became apparent that at least in terms of academics, Hamill was light-years ahead of my little island school. I’d always been near the top of my class, but here I felt like the village idiot. I was determined to catch up; I might not be able to change my social pariah status, but I could do something about passing chem.

  Not that I was completely alone. I’d found Helen again on Wednesday, and she’d shared something that was key to maintaining my sanity: it was okay to eat lunch in the library. So every day at noon, we hung out for twenty minutes. Not a lot of time to get to know each other, but so far I’d discovered that Helen was a fourth generation San Franciscan whose mother and grandmother had both attended Hamill. She had an older sister and a younger brother, spent most weekends at a house they owned in Napa, and she was a huge gamer. She had a tendency to go on and on about Skyrim, some video game that apparently involved giants, cheese wheels, and a Dragonborn, whatever that was.

  I’d never even owned a console; the thought of sitting in front of a screen made me twitchy. But I was short on friends, so I made approving noises as she prattled on about it. Frankly, I was mystified that she managed to find the time to do anything extracurricular. I was barely getting through my homework every night as it was.

  “You could come over sometime and play,” she offered. “I bet you’d really love it.”

  “Um, maybe,” I said, picking at the remains of my sandwich. The tuna melt was pretty much the best thing about Hamill, as far as I was concerned. “I’m not very good at games.”

  “Oh, you’ll like this one. Even though I should warn you, it’s got a tough learning curve.” Helen grew increasingly animated as she continued, “It’s so worth it, though. Your avatar can be any gender, any race, and the women are just as strong as the men. Building a great avatar is really the key.”

  “I’ll bet.” I nodded mechanically. “So how do you win?”

  Helen laughed. “Oh, it’s not really about winning. I mean, the cool thing about it is that there’s this whole world to explore, you know? Maybe I could show you this weekend!”

  “Maybe. My surfboard arrived yesterday, though, and I was actually thinking—”

  “There you are!” Someone cried from the doorway behind me.

  Helen was staring past me in disbelief, as if a unicorn had suddenly strolled into the library. I turned to see Georgina approaching. As always, she held her phone in one hand, and her eyes flicked back and forth from it to me. She casually perched on the edge of our table, hardly seeming to notice Helen.

  “Um, hi,” I said. My interactions with Georgina had been limited to breakfast and the drive to school. We’d still barely spoken. According to Nicholas, she’d been deemed old enough to attend society functions with her parents. And those seemed to occur every single night; Mr. Rochester must have an entire closet full of tuxedos. In this case, I was grateful to be excluded. I’d rather give up surfing forever than be forced to put on a dress and make small talk with a bunch of stuck-up strangers.

  Taking in my half-eaten sandwich, Georgina wrinkled her nose. “You’re eating in here? Really?”

  “Sure,” I said, fighting to sound casual. “It’s nice and quiet.”

  Georgina’s eyebrows shot up. I could practically see the snarky reply forming in her head.

  Helen stood. “I’ve got to get to class. See you later, Janie.”

  “Bye,” I said.

  Georgina’s eyes narrowed as she watched Helen leave. “Is
that Blanche Leaven’s little sister?”

  “Her name’s Helen,” I muttered.

  “Hm. Well, Blanche got all the looks.” She smirked. “Not that there were many to start with.”

  “Yeah, well, looks aren’t everything,” I snapped, hearing an echo of my mom’s voice in mine. I realized belatedly that this wasn’t exactly supportive of Helen, either, and added, “Besides, she’s cute. And super smart, and nice . . .”

  Georgina was tapping furiously on her phone again. She glanced up and said, “Sorry, what?”

  Fuming, I asked, “What do you want, Georgina?”

  “Well, you of course.” She tossed her hair. “We’re going shopping after school. You know, for the dance.”

  “The what?” I asked, mystified.

  “The dance, silly,” Georgina said with exaggerated patience. “There’s a mixer with Country Day tonight, and I need something to wear. You do, too.”

  I wanted to protest that I had plenty of things to wear. But she was right, my dresses were mainly suited for a day at the beach. “Wait, tonight? Like, in six hours?”

  She sniffed. “Well, no one actually gets there on time.”

  “Um, okay.” My mind was still spinning. “Is the dance mandatory?”

  At that, she laughed. Georgina had a surprisingly nice laugh, louder and rougher than expected. “Oh my God, Janie, you are too much! Of course it’s not mandatory. But it kind of is, too. You know?”

  “No,” I muttered.

  She brushed away my confusion with one hand. “Bob will pick us up at three-thirty.”

  And with that, she was gone.

  I sat there for a few more minutes, trying to decide what was more shocking: the fact that Georgina wanted to take me shopping, or that I was expected to go to some sort of fancy dance with her. I suspected that Richard was behind Georgina’s sudden invitation; she certainly didn’t seem to want to spend any more time with me than was absolutely necessary.

  Still, I could use a shopping trip. I needed warmer clothing. I’d also love to replace what I’d privately nicknamed “the blistering loafers of death” with a more comfortable option.

  The bell rang, and I scrambled to gather up my books.

  As promised, Georgina dragged me along on a shopping “mission,” as she called it. To Saks Fifth Avenue, no less. And when they say Fifth Avenue, they’re not kidding; the first price tag I checked almost made me choke. I’d never spent more than fifty dollars on a single item of clothing in my life. Our high school dances were basically beach parties; shorts and a T-shirt were the standard attire, maybe a sundress if you were trying to impress someone.

  But I realized quickly that this mixer was going to be something else entirely. In the changing room Georgina scrutinized me, then sighed and said, “Well, at least you’re skinny.”

  Then she proceeded to order around a slew of beleaguered sales girls.

  By the end of the first hour, the level of excess had me feeling drained and slightly nauseated. I tried to feign interest as Georgina executed a twirl in a stunning silver lamé dress. I could practically hear my mom commenting, “Good luck sitting down in that.”

  “So?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s great.” Just like the other twenty, I added silently. Georgina made the world’s most heinous school uniform look chic; what she did to designer clothing shouldn’t be legal.

  “I know,” she said, frowning over her shoulder at her reflection. “But still not quite right.”

  I groaned inwardly. I was still half-heartedly trying on dresses, but I couldn’t even afford the straps for one of these, never mind the whole thing.

  “We might have to go to Barney’s after all,” she complained. “I swear, the buyer here should be shot.”

  “That seems fair,” I mumbled sardonically, checking my watch. It was almost six o’clock; the dance was supposed to start soon. Maybe Georgina wouldn’t find anything and we could both skip it. I tried to picture us sharing a pint of ice cream in front of a cheesy movie, the way Kaila and I spent most Friday nights. Somehow, that seemed like a stretch.

  “Now this is more like it.”

  Looking up, I had to admit she was right. The deep red halter dress swooped low in the back, with a hem that hovered a few inches above her knees. It showed just enough skin to be sexy without pushing it.

  “Definitely,” I said, relieved. “That’s the one.” Now can we get out here?

  “So you’re getting the periwinkle Marchesa, right?” Georgina was giving me her best innocent, wide-eyed stare.

  I scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Why not?” Her brow furrowed with genuine puzzlement.

  Was she for real? “It’s eight hundred dollars,” I said, enunciating each word. “As in, money I don’t have.”

  Georgina stared at me for a minute, then burst into laughter.

  “What?” I demanded. If she’d only brought me here to mock how poor I was, it was time to storm out.

  “Um, hello?” Georgina pulled a black credit card out of her purse and waggled it in front of me. “This is on Daddy Dearest.”

  “Oh, I can’t—” I protested.

  “Please. It’s not like he ever even sees the bill. We’ve got people who handle all that.”

  “I really can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Georgina’s eyes narrowed, making the resemblance to Marion even more striking. “Of course you can.” Her voice hardened as she continued, “You’re family now, right?”

  “I guess,” I murmured reluctantly.

  “Good. This is how our family does things, so get used to it.” Her face brightened as she added, “Now let’s go check out the shoes!”

  "I'm glad to see you and Georgina getting along so well.”

  Startled, I nearly dropped the dress I was holding up in front of the full-length mirror.

  Richard Rochester was standing in my bedroom doorway. He smiled wanly at me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump. Okay if I come in?”

  “Sure,” I said, suddenly self-conscious about my unmade bed. I spread the dress across the foot of it, then surreptitiously straightened the covers. I turned to find him scanning the room with a slight frown.

  “A little grim, isn’t it?”

  I laughed, surprised. “A little, yeah. Red’s not really my favorite color.”

  “Well, you’ll have to let us know what you’d prefer. I’ll call the painters as soon as you decide.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, uncomfortable again. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, complaining about this huge space they’d given me. “I don’t mind it so much.”

  “Nonsense,” Richard said with forced cheer. “This is your home now. It should be arranged the way you like it.”

  “Um, okay.” I gestured toward one of the chairs beside the fireplace. “Do you want to have a seat?”

  His face lit up. For a brief moment, he looked like an older version of Nicholas. “I would, thanks.” He settled down in the chair and crossed his legs. It was ridiculously small, making him look like a giant at a tea party. “So how do you like Hamill?”

  “It’s fine, I guess.” I leaned against the bed. It felt weird, talking to him like this. We’d managed a few strained conversations over breakfast, but that was the entirety of our interaction. This wasn’t the sort of family that pulled out a board game after dinner or piled on the couch to watch TV. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around how weirdly formal and stilted they were with each other. They acted more like the victims of a shipwreck, unexpectedly stranded on an island together, than blood relatives.

  “I know it must be hard for you,” he said sympathetically. “I can only imagine how different this all is.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll get used to it.”

  “I hope so. And really, Janie. Anything you need, don’t he
sitate to ask.”

  He got up, straightening his jacket. He was nearly at the door when I screwed up my courage enough to say, “Excuse me, Mr. Rochester?”

  “Richard, please,” he replied in a pained voice, turning back around to face me.

  “Okay, Richard.” I drew in a deep breath, then said, “I was just wondering if you knew . . . I mean, the lawyer said my parents chose you to be my backup guardian. Did they ever tell you why?”

  His features softened. “Honestly? The phone call from Mr. Briggs came out of the blue. I was more than a little astonished, myself.”

  “Huh. That’s . . . interesting.” I sank onto the bed, feeling another flare of frustration. I was old enough to have been asked where I wanted to live. Why hadn’t my parents trusted me?

  “Janie,” he said gently.

  I looked back up. “Yeah?”

  Richard rocked slightly back and forth on his heels as he spoke, again reminding me of Nicholas. “Your father was my best friend, all the way through college. We were roommates at boarding school; did he ever tell you about that?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t even known he went to boarding school.

  Richard continued, “Your dad was something else. People always liked him.”

  “My mom used to joke that he was the unofficial mayor of our town,” I said, remembering. It seemed like the entire island had turned out for their funeral. At the service, so many people got up to tell funny stories about my dad, the priest finally had to cut them off with a request to share anecdotes on the memorial website instead.

  “Mayor, huh?” He flashed a sad smile. “I’m not surprised. To be honest, it used to make me jealous. They even asked him to organize our senior prank. Somehow your dad dyed the local lake bright orange, our school color. It stayed that way for weeks.”

  I smiled, too. “Last year on April Fools’, we convinced my mom that my temporary tattoo was real. Dad said he’d gone with me to give permission. Mom was so angry.” I could still remember her raging at us while Dad rocked silently, barely able to contain his mirth. We both finally burst out laughing. He’d had to take her out to dinner that night to make up for it.