Eerie

  “Thanks, Mitch.”

  “Anytime, Miss Hailey,” he answered, pointing his spatula at her and winking.

  “This way,” said Asher, taking her by the hand. He led her to a stairwell, and down they went until they reached an underground landing.

  Tapping a switch on the wall, Asher lit four corridors leading away from the stairs at 90-degree angles. They were so long, Hailey couldn’t see an end to them.

  “Many of the buildings here are connected by an underground tunnel system,” he told her, and her face lit up. “It’s especially popular in the winter.”

  Carved wooden signs with arrows indicated which corridor a student should take to get to the hospital, for example. Olde Main, the Library, and Eureka showed on another sign, which pointed down the tunnel in front of them.

  After nervously walking hand-in-hand with Asher for too many quiet seconds, Hailey decided to break the ice. “Has Giselle asked you if she could have a new roommate?”

  “She hasn’t,” he said with curiosity.

  “She doesn’t like me very much . . .”

  “Yes, you have made quite an impression on her, but I don’t believe it’s negative,” he told her. “Giselle fears rejection above all else. She’s never known the sisterly affection you show her. I believe she’s rather fond of you,” said Asher, and Hailey pulled her brow together.

  “If she is fond of me, she hides it well,” she said. “What is she?”

  “When she’s ready, she’ll tell you.”

  Hailey turned her attention to an unmarked side passage, slowing her gait to peer curiously into it.

  “Dangerous things lurk in the darkness of these tunnels, Hailey,” Asher said. “Always turn on the lights, and never stray from the main corridors.”

  A low growl rumbled from the blackness inside that passage, and Hailey’s breath caught.

  “Keeping you safe requires much effort,” Asher sighed, gently tugging her hand. Then he paused to study her. “I wonder if I shouldn’t lock you away,” he said, his eyes tracing Hailey’s hairline as he ran his fingers across it. “I would put you someplace where no one could touch you.”

  Hailey yanked her hand from his.

  “Lock me away?” she said, her voice rising. “Asher, I’m not your prisoner here—and you don’t own me—I’m not your possession—I’m your . . .your student,” she said more offended than angry . . .and a little scared. Now that she was at Bear Towne and thousands of miles away from her uncles, no one would help if Asher went all Beauty and the Beast and locked her away. She gave him a good old-fashioned, angry, Irish stare.

  “You provoke many things inside me, Hailey,” he said, his eyes flashing, and she could tell he struggled to keep his voice even as he clenched his fist.

  Hailey’s heart raced, but she stood her ground, betting that despite what Giselle had told her, Asher would never hurt her no matter how she behaved. She could probably prove it.

  “I will protect you, but you mustn’t defy me,” he warned, and she met his intimidating gaze.

  “I will defy you, Asher. If I need to.”

  Asher squinted briefly, but then the fire inside his eyes died.

  Dipping her chin, Hailey studied her feet as her heart rate came down.

  “I can handle this place. I’ve already proven that I can escape a killer in-between, right?” she said, her eyes dancing around the tunnel. “I mean, I’ve survived for eighteen years. I think I can handle four more.”

  “You had five Guardians for eighteen years,” he told her.

  She furrowed her brow for a moment before realizing he must mean her uncles.

  “And now I have you,” she countered.

  That made him smile.

  “Don’t ever lock me away, Asher,” she said slowly, stealing a glance at him as they approached the stairwell to Eureka, and he seemed to be thinking about it.

  “You would forgive me in time,” he concluded without looking at her.

  Hailey shook her head. He needed to stop this. Now. There was no way she’d ever belong to anyone.

  “No, I don’t think I would,” she said, sounding appalled. She looked him up and down as she gathered her courage. “And I would never love you.”

  Nauseous, she turned on her heel and trudged up the stairs.

  Asher stared after his girl, furious, remorseful, alarmed, and altogether unsure if he would allow her the freedom to defy him again. It was as if he had had her in the palm of his hand not ten minutes ago only to let her slip from his grip.

  He wanted her back. He wanted her happy. And he had no idea how to manipulate her—she simply would not obey him.

  These circumstances—these feelings—required a keen understanding, which he did not possess. But he knew who did, and he appeared inside the office of his friend, Simeon Woodfork, hell bent on finding answers.

  “Ah, Asher,” Simeon said as soon as he noticed the Envoy standing pensively at the window inside his office. “How can I be of service?”

  “The girl is . . .” Asher struggled to choose the proper word. “ . . .difficult,” he decided.

  “Hm? Yes. All the good ones are,” Simeon remarked in an off-hand way.

  “Explain this to me.”

  Simeon straightened up. “I’m sorry, Asher, what would you like me to explain?” he asked, and Asher left the window, preferring instead to peruse the professor’s collection of books.

  “I cannot control her, Simeon,” he said flatly and his eyes found the title they’d sought. Pulling it off the shelf, he skimmed a page near the center of the book.

  Simeon clutched his chest.

  “Good Lord. Are you in love?” He pointed to The Indispensable Collection of Love Poems, which Asher held in his hands.

  “I think of little else,” he realized. “And I fear I’ve lost her affection even as others compete for her favor.”

  “Good Lord,” Simeon breathed again, holding tight to his desk as he watched Asher with bulging eyes.

  Ignoring Woodfork’s display, Asher concentrated instead on the literature in his hands. Humans had loved for thousands of years. Surely one of them had written down the methods and techniques required to win a woman’s affection.

  After several seconds of shocked silence, Simeon cleared his throat. “Tell me, Asher, why is it you believe you’ve lost the girl’s affection—I assume you mean Miss Hartley?”

  Asher looked up from his book. “She pulled her hand from mine in anger and walked away,” he recalled. “She told me she would never love me.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Simeon. “Surely something preceded this sudden departure . . .?”

  “I offered to lock her away . . .to keep her safe,” he reasoned, and Simeon raised his eyebrows.

  “Forgive me, Asher, but are you so willing to lock her away because you wish to protect her from harm? Or is it because you wish to hide her from another suitor?”

  For a moment, Asher considered this, but then he returned his attention to the book.

  “I see no difference,” he said.

  Woodfork drew a breath to speak but seemed to rethink his words and pressed his lips together.

  Asher scowled at the book.

  “There are no instructions in here,” he said with a level voice, even as he furiously flipped and scanned the pages of poetry. Stopping at one, his finger traced a passage.

  If love were what the rose is,

  And I were like the leaf,

  Our lives would grow together—

  “These are nothing more than riddles,” he concluded and slammed the book shut.

  “I’m afraid there are no great answers in any of these,” Simeon said, waving at the shelves. “Just a collection of hopes and laments . . .and some joys.”

  With that, the professor turned away and pulled from the shelf a wel
l-worn copy of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Placing it in Asher’s hands, he said, “Read this one, my friend. In it, you may find some enlightenment.”

  Asher studied the professor. “You once loved a woman who adored you, I remember her well. How did you win her heart?” he asked, squinting slightly as he searched Simeon’s mind.

  “That was long ago,” the professor sighed, turning to the candle he kept lit on his desk. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you. Besides, we both know how that ended.” Pinching the wick between his finger and thumb, he snuffed out the flame, wiping his eyes before turning again.

  “If I may be so bold,” Simeon said politely. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Hartley out. On a date.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Locked Out

  “God is the supreme humorist,

  and it is his divine sense of humor that we men call fate.”

  – Evan Esar

  As Hailey grabbed her tiny towel, soap, and shampoo (she didn’t have any fresh clothes to change into), Giselle brushed past her and glided out the door without uttering a word or even glancing in her direction.

  At least she’s a quiet snob, Hailey thought, as she stepped across the hall and claimed the corner shower.

  The stall was divided into two parts with a partition separating the actual shower from the changing section. Hailey undressed and hung her towel on the hook nearest the shower. Grabbing her soap, she turned on the water and let a high-pressure blast of warmth envelope her.

  She showered fast, but when she opened the shower door and reached for her tiny towel all she felt was an empty hook.

  Her clothes were missing, too.

  The steam from her shower lifted quickly, and Hailey shivered as droplets of water fell from the ends of her hair, trickling down her back.

  Panic-stricken, she peeked out the stall door. The whole room was empty. No sign of students or towels or clothes or shoes or anything she could use to cover herself. It took at least a minute of shivering inside the stall to work up enough courage to venture out.

  Covered in goose bumps, she wondered if she should just throw an arm over her boobs and make a run for her room.

  She poked her head into the girl’s hallway. It was empty, and her room was only a couple of steps away. Hugging one arm across her chest, she bolted across the hall and slammed against her door.

  “Giselle,” she called as she jiggled the handle. “Unlock the door!”

  She twisted the knob again, but it didn’t budge.

  Crap.

  When the door on the ground floor screeched open, Hailey pinged back to the shower room, only to find that door locked too. Feet, lots of feet were trudging into Eureka, and the laundry room door wouldn’t budge either. As the hollow chatter of at least five students entered the stairwell, Hailey felt a panic brewing and was running out of private time.

  Swimming across the ceiling and wearing Hailey’s Bear Towne sweats, a wispy, Picasso-faced female poltergeist pointed and laughed.

  “Oh, you little brat,” Hailey sputtered.

  Dripping and shivering, she made a mad, naked dash for Fin’s door and stood pressed against it, knocking frantically. He’d have a towel and the master key that would open her room.

  “Fin!” Hailey hissed against a vibrating door.

  Guitar music, so loud it reverberated in her chest, answered.

  She looked over her shoulder and tried beating his door with an open palm.

  “Fin!” she begged. “Open the door!”

  More students were coming upstairs, and they were getting closer.

  She pounded on the door with her fist.

  “Fin!”

  The music stopped abruptly.

  The latch clicked, and the door flung open just as a gaggle of students reached the third floor.

  Hailey fell into Fin’s room, head-first, buck-naked, and soaking wet. Trying to cover her body the best she could with her tiny hands, she scooted out of the doorway and pressed herself against the inside wall.

  “Well, hello, Hailey,” Fin announced in a smooth voice as he pushed the door shut.

  “Avert your eyes!”

  Stifling a laugh, he turned around. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your nakedness?”

  “A poltergeist. Little brat took my towel, locked me out of my room, and then it locked me out of the shower—could I borrow a towel, please?”

  He reached for one off of the top of his dresser, balled it up, and flung it under his arm without looking.

  “Thanks,” she said, wrapping it around herself. “May I please borrow a shirt?”

  He picked up his closest shirt and threw it. It was some sort of hockey jersey, and it had his name on it.

  She pulled it over her head and stuck her arms through the sleeves. The thing was huge on her, coming down to her knees like a dress. And it was itchy.

  Squirming inside his shirt, she cracked his door open. “How long do you think they’ll be out there?” she asked, closing it again.

  “All night?” he guessed in a way-too-hopeful voice.

  “I can’t go out there like this! They’ll think I was naked in here.” She gave him a condemning glance over her shoulder. “And from what I’ve gathered, a lot of naked girls come in your room, Fin.”

  He swallowed a laugh in his throat.

  “What?” Hailey insisted. “Oh,” she said, disapproving of him. Of course his mind went straight to the gutter. “You’re a juvenile.”

  Plopping on his recliner, he put his feet up.

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” he said, smiling widely with his hands laced behind his head.

  “Right,” she muttered, her eyes desperately searching for another way out.

  His room was huge. One of the perks of being the RA was that he lived in a suite with a private bathroom. In addition to the recliner (Fin looked extremely satisfied sitting there), there was a couch facing a giant TV. In the corner sat his bed, neatly made with a fluffy blanket on top. He had a big desk and a book shelf against the wall next to his bathroom. Another door, a closet maybe, stood closed beside the bathroom. Everything was neat, clean, and orderly. Surprisingly, he was a good housekeeper.

  “I didn’t know you played,” she said, pointing at the Fender next to his bed.

  “Yeah,” he said, “have for many, many, many years.” He was smirking and stifling yet another laugh, but at least he wasn’t looking her up and down. She hadn’t shaved her legs in months and was desperately embarrassed he’d notice. Hailey tugged the hockey shirt down as far as she could get it, but it wasn’t far enough to cover her tarantula legs. “Hand me your pants,” she said, nodding to a stack of laundry on top of his dresser.

  Jumping up, Fin popped the button on his jeans.

  “Don’t be a jerk!”

  “Relax, woman,” he said, holding his hands up, and then he lobbed a pair of sweats at her. “I was kidding.”

  Hailey caught the giant sweats with one hand and pulled at the collar of the jersey with the other. It was really itchy. And the emblem was a bear—the university’s team, maybe?

  “Why do you have this?” she asked.

  “It’s my hockey jersey.”

  “You play hockey?”

  “A little.” He looked at her as if she should already know all this.

  “You any good?”

  “I can hold my own,” he said, sounding offended.

  “You worked in the pub all spring,” Hailey brought up as she handed him back his towel. “Will they let you play this season?”

  “Uh . . .yeah.”

  “You must be pretty good.”

  “I’m phenomenal.”

  “And humble,” Hailey pointed out.

  Fin poked his tongue into his cheek, and Hailey peeked out the door again.


  Without warning, Fin grabbed the door from her grip, threw it open, and pushed her into the hallway using both hands.

  She grabbed at the sweatpants, which were way too big to stay up without help and fell off her hips as she shuffled unwillingly into a gaggle of her classmates.

  Fin lowered his chin and pointed at Hailey. “When you’re all done cuddling with my jersey,” he said loud enough for the whole floor to hear, “you can bring it back.” Then he slammed his door.

  Hailey looked around, mortified . . .and still locked out of her room.

  Curling up on the floor against her door, she hoped her roommate would reappear before morning. Class started at 0800, and it wasn’t until ten minutes before the hour that she heard footsteps approach.

  She didn’t look up as she sat with her knees pulled to her chest, head resting on them, until the feet stopped right in front of her.

  And it wasn’t Giselle. It was Fin. With Hailey sitting directly under him, he pulled a skeleton key from his pocket, shoved it in the lock, and pushed open the door. He looked down at her without backing up, and Hailey had to wrench her neck to see him.

  “I’ll have my jersey back now,” he said.

  She scooted away from him on her bum and stood slowly, unbelievably stiff after spending a very cold, very itchy night crunched up on the hard wooden floor. Hobbling into her room and without uttering a word, she closed the door in his face.

  He could wait for his impossibly itchy jersey.

  Giselle’s bed and the ceiling above it lay empty, but Tomas greeted her by urgently tapping the back of his wrist.

  “I know, I know,” said Hailey as she frantically searched her room. “Where are my books?” Not only were her books missing, but her backpack was gone too, along with her boots.

  Tomas shrugged. He flew out of the mirror and did his best to wrestle her crazy hair into a braid while she pulled on her socks. He’d only just finished pinning back a stray frizzy with a sparkly barrette when she dashed out the door in stocking feet, using both hands to hold up Fin’s sweat pants.

  Bounding down the stairs three at a time, she slapped the switch in the tunnels and sprinted across the rough-cut stone floor toward Olde Maine, arriving only a minute or two late and just as Professor Woodfork was writing “Envoy History” on the blackboard.