Entangled: A Novel of Romantic Fantasy (Wanderlust Academy Book 1)

by Lori Wilde

  Massive display cabinets flanking the entrance doors were lined with group art projects. I stared at the designs, one after another. They felt more like one-upmanship than collaborative art. But what did I know.

  I was a loner who preferred the solitude of my sculptures over colliding with the egos of others. Maybe the need to collide stemmed from a desperate need to belong. It took confidence to stand alone. At least I’d convinced myself it did.

  They were checking me out with as much curious speculation and judgment as I had. I fidgeted, wishing I was in my favorite black sweatshirt, so I could tug the hood up over my head and hide from what was sure to be yet another epic fail moment.

  Silver trays of sandwiches and wraps of every variety were delivered to the long table under the window by one of the wonder twins from the front doors. At one end was organic coffee, herbal tea, and bottles of imported water. Nothing but the best, apparently.

  My stomach made a rude gurgling noise, and I realized I was starving. But no one else was eating, so I held off for a full five minutes before deciding the noise my stomach was making was worse than being the first one in the food line.

  After loading a plate, I sat down to eat, staring at my e-reader and glancing up periodically as one name after another was called. Some, like Kenzie, were ushered into another room, farther down the hall. And others were escorted back out the main doors, where I imagined the wonder twins would show them to their cars and see them safely off the property.

  When I got bored scanning the selection of novels loaded on my e-reader, I switched to the pamphlets and brochures about the school that lined the tables. I flipped over one that featured a picture of a group of children wearing hand-painted t-shirts. ‘Wanderlust Academy... Magic happens when you let your mind wander.’ Catchy.

  I scanned the rest of the info. The school had a rich and eclectic history and had changed ownership a year ago. Every type of creative and artistic class imaginable was offered, including puppetry.

  How was that even a class?

  But if the newest CEO, Troy Bellisaro, hadn’t insisted on expanding the curriculum, creating more teaching positions, I’d still be back in my apartment, fighting off the mice…instead of being served gourmet sandwiches while waiting to be interviewed.

  Part of me started to want this job in a way that made me uncomfortable. I’d gotten used to not getting what I wanted. So a new desire springing to life was not a welcome feeling. Stay detached, I self-lectured as I helped myself to a fourth rice paper veggie wrap. Everyone else had been called, and I was completely alone in the vast waiting area now.

  I sat in the crimson leather wing chair and browsed another brochure while munching on my wrap. This Troy guy was from my area. He’d taken over running the school when he heard its previous owner had fallen ill.

  So he was the savior type. Nice.

  That had to have been his motivation because none of his credits indicated anything even remotely related to working with kids. He’d taught a few semesters of college in New York and studied past-life regression and paranormal studies in the UK.

  Wow, talk about eclectic. Plus, he’d traveled to India to volunteer for Doctors Without Borders. What was this guy, a hundred? That’s a lot to accomplish in one lifetime.

  The massive grandfather clock ticked by the minutes, lulling me into a trance. I was so engrossed in reading the owner’s accomplishments that I didn’t hear the door open and the redhead call out my name.

  “Last call for a Nora Dultry,” she said with her faint British accent, almost a second after the clock chime blared, resonating in my chest.

  I jumped up, sending an avalanche of brochures to the floor. “Here. Sorry,” I mumbled around a mouthful. I chewed fast, trying not to choke while collecting my mess. I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that I was the only person this woman had called for personally.

  Peering over the top of her square, polka-dot-framed bifocals, she was again looking at me as though she knew me. “Follow me please, Ms. Dultry.”

  I did, and we entered a room at the end of a long hall.

  “Good afternoon. I am Miss Strange, and I’m here to delve into whether or not you would be a suitable fit for our academy.”

  Her spiel sounded like she’d recited it a dozen times already. She gestured to a wooden chair with a tall back. “Please. Sit.”

  Swallowing back the ball of nerves climbing up my throat, I did as I was told.

  Miss Strange didn’t bother to sit but continued to wander around the office. My gaze shifted to the plaques and framed diplomas lining the dark paneled walls. Grace Eleanor Strange, Psychiatrist. Grace Strange, Psychotherapist. Grace Strange, Clinical Hypnotist and NLP Practitioner.

  Nowhere did it say anything about her arts training or her position at the academy. Like the current owner’s qualifications, they glaringly lacked an art focus.

  “So, please tell me why you would like to work here, Ms. Dultry.” She didn’t turn to look at me when she asked the question.

  I straightened in my chair. “Well, I’ve always loved working with kids—I mean, children,” I said.

  Her pacing stopped, but she didn’t respond.

  “I took sculpting classes at the community college for a year, and I received an arts scholarship to return to college.”

  “You took a year off? Why?”

  “My grandfather got sick. I had to stay home to look after him.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, now...” I shifted uncomfortably. “He’s in the hospital full time, so...” Were these questions allowed? What did my personal life have to do with getting a summer school job?

  There was a long silent pause. For a second I started to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. And since I could only see the back of her, it was a very real possibility.

  Finally, she turned abruptly and marched to her desk. She slid into her chair and flipped open the manila file folder in front of her.

  “Well, let’s go over your documentation. I see here you have a few recommendations from,” she glanced up, “your friend Kenzie? And your art teacher. Hmm.”

  I nibbled my thumbnail, expecting the worst. It was like being sent to the principal’s office for something you didn’t do, hoping you don’t get caught for the thing you did do that they didn’t know about yet.

  “No real experience teaching.” She flipped through a few more pages and peered at me over the top of her bifocals. “Or working with children.”

  I cleared my throat. “I, um, well, I used to babysit,” I lied.

  Then I mentally smacked myself in the forehead. What happened to all of the coaching Kenzie had given me. It was like all the right answers had jumped overboard, leaving me with nothing but one stupid reply after another. I pressed my clammy palms onto my thighs.

  “I think you’ll find everything else is intact. My diploma, schooling, college acceptance, criminal reference check, um... oh yeah, first aid,” I added.

  “We are not only focused on the connection between art and psychology, but also art and our dreams. Does that resonate with you?”

  At just the mention of the word dreams, my mind went straight to Darcy. And crazy as it seems, it was almost as if she could tell. Sitting forward, I wiped my palms on my skirt and pushed thoughts of him aside. “It all sounds fascinating,” I managed to say.

  She pursed her lips and flipped the folder shut. Pushing back her chair, she rose then paced a few steps, her hands locked behind her back. “The thing is, Ms. Dultry, the students who come to our summer school are...special. You might say they are gifted.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She paused to gaze through the window. “I don’t think that you do,” she said, then turned to look at me. “But you will.”

  I forced a smile because well, I didn’t know what to say to that really. Just as I was wondering what her next question would be, she crossed the room to shake my hand.

  “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Dultry.” She ge
stured toward the door.

  Interview over, I guess? I walked toward the door, then paused to look back. “Thank you for your time,” I said, then quickly made my escape.

  Okay, wow. Strangest. Interview. Ever.

  Chapter Four

  In the hall outside the room, I stood frozen in place. Still sweating. And confused. What was that? I hadn’t been to many interviews before, but honestly—what the hell.

  She basically implied I had no experience and no business being anywhere near their precious students. Yet she hadn’t bothered to have me escorted out of the building, like so many others who’d exited their interviews with their tail between their legs. I stood rooted in place, staring at the backside of her closed office door.

  “Nora, over here,” Kenzie half whispered, half shouted.

  I looked around to make sure no one was watching before I darted down the hall in her direction. The direction that less than a quarter of the people who’d been interviewed today had gone. The direction I was fairly certain I was not supposed to go.

  Kenzie grabbed my arm and dragged me to the side of the hall, near a bay window.

  “Well, did you see him?” She was still doing the half-whispering, half-shouting thing.

  “Him? Him who?”

  “Holy hell. Just wait till you meet him. He looks exactly like Theo James.” She gasped a breath of air. “Ohmygod, maybe it was Theo James!”

  Distracted by my really odd interview, it took me a moment to finally register the epic level of excitement on her face.

  “Who?”

  “You know, the crazy-sexy guy from that movie,” she said.

  “Crazy and sexy?” I frowned. “Which movie was that—nah, never mind.” I massaged my temples. “I’m not getting sucked into your fantasy world this time, Miss Drama-major. You always think someone is someone famous.”

  “Okay, fine. He looks like Theo James’ twin brother. Happy?” She shook my arm when I didn’t respond. “The point is he’s mind-meltingly hot.”

  I sighed and pulled away. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  It wasn’t like I was going to get a chance to set eyes on him anyway. Nothing about the meeting I’d just had indicated I had a snowball’s chance in Hades of moving on to the next interview. The one held by Theo’s imaginary twin. I told myself it didn’t matter.

  Maybe he wasn’t a hundred, but I still pictured him in an Armani suit, next to his Ferrari convertible, name-dropping supermodels and rock stars, waiting for me to go all weak-kneed and doe-eyed. Not. Gonna. Happen. Never had. Never would. I just don’t do gaga over guys. Except for one.

  The carved wooden door that Kenzie had escaped from opened, and I was called again, only this time over a paging system, filling the hall with the sound of my name. “Nora Dultry. Please enter.”

  I glanced at Kenzie before I headed into part two of the weirdest interview ever.

  This room was the complete opposite of the previous one. There was another massive desk with a chair on either side, but behind it was a wall-sized window overlooking the forest. The top of the window was arched and filled with a stained-glass scene.

  The center held an emblem that seemed familiar. A tree, but not just any tree. Its branches and roots seemed to reach beyond itself into the past and the future simultaneously.

  I wandered through the room, unable to help myself. The space was so alive with color, full of tropical plants and antique collectibles. A vintage typewriter, an old phonograph, an antique paint box, a first edition copy of Ulysses, not kept under glass.

  The bookshelves were lined with titles like Dreamwalking, Parallel Universes and Alternate Realities by authors I couldn’t pronounce, and The Game of Life and How to Play It by Florence Scovel Shinn, circa 1925. I slid the books back in place and roamed the mausoleum until I heard voices outside the door I’d entered.

  Phase two begins, I muttered to myself and dutifully took a seat in the white leather armchair across from the glass-top desk.

  Fatigue started to sink in, probably from the stress, and because another sleepless night dreaming of Darcy had kept me up way too late. It always felt as though I was dreaming-awake…like sleeping, but not walking up rested at all. I stifled a yawn just as Miss Strange stepped into the room, looking less than impressed to see me.

  I sprang back to my feet. Should I run? Make an excuse that I was waiting for Kenzie? Lie down and play dead?

  Which one of the three would keep me from being tossed over the iron gates and banned from the premises? She would inevitably insist there’d been some mistake and that I was not supposed to be here. And I’d be out on my butt, which is where I figured I’d end up.

  But they had called my name, and this was the only door open, so not totally my fault if I was in the wrong place.

  Contrary to my fears, she didn’t call security to have her guards throw me out the main doors. That was a good sign. I think. Instead, she perched on the edge of the desk.

  “Normally you would be speaking with Troy Bellisaro, who conducts the final portion of the interview process.” She cleared her throat and continued. “However, he is…indisposed at the moment.”

  It was evident by the way she said “indisposed” that she didn’t approve of whatever task he was indisposed with. I let it go...not my circus, not my monkeys. I was just relieved she hadn’t railed on me for not leaving the premises.

  I relaxed a bit after that, even tried for casual conversation.

  “So, there’s an interesting selection of books here.” I stood up and moved toward the shelves. “Though, I’d expect to find books on Monet or Shakespearean plays instead of,” I grabbed the closest book from the shelf and read the title, “Quantum Dreaming, A Journey Through the Unknowable.” I slid it back in place.

  Miss Strange didn’t flinch or even respond to my observation. “Please sit down, Ms. Dultry.”

  She waited for me to settle back in the armchair across from hers. That feeling of being relaxed was fleeting…cue the stomach butterflies again.

  “My function here at the school is to monitor the physiological and psychological well-being of those who come to Wanderlust Academy. On occasion, that extends to the staff as well.” She paused briefly before continuing. “We have a certain profile to uphold, and we pride ourselves on our holistic approach to everything that we do. One cannot perform one’s duties with the same rigor and attention to detail when one is suffering in mind, body, or spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Dultry?”

  Sure. I guess. I think. I actually have no idea what you’re even talking about. I nodded my head.

  “Based on your psychological profile, you have suffered some severe trauma in your life.”

  “Hasn’t everyone?”

  “Not to the same degree. Nor do all of us handle or mishandle things the same way.” She squinted at me over her bifocals.

  Every impulse in my cells wanted to get up and leave. Who did this woman think she was? Leave it to the secretary-slash-guidance counselor of a summer school for overindulgent rich kids to make me feel like I didn’t deserve to sweep up the crumbs from under their table.

  “I have some questions to ask you of a rather personal nature, Ms. Dultry. Are you willing to answer these questions?”

  My fingers dug into the seat of the chair. Did I have a choice? I shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Good. Because your mental and emotional state matter to us here at the school, and we thoroughly investigate all of our candidates. What if you were to awaken in the middle of the night from a nightmare or perhaps begin sleepwalking?” she said. “It is our policy to unearth every piece of relevant information pertaining to our applicants, and we pay them handsomely for the perceived invasion of privacy.”

  Perceived invasion of privacy?

  What were they, CIA?

  I had serious reservations about all of this. Even with only going though one interview, I was pretty sure this one broke every anti-discriminatory and human rights codes out there
. Yet, somehow, I’d been given the interview by sheer luck, and when I thought about the handsome pay she’d referred to, with all of those zeros... Well, if I had to sell my soul to the devil by opening up to a few uncomfortable questions, it was worth it…wasn’t it?

  Chapter Five

  Dr. Strange leaned back in her chair. “Please, indulge me, Nora. Tell me about your dreams at night.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to force myself to stay calm. My dreams of Darcy weren’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone, this woman least of all. But she seemed to be expecting me to give some sort of an answer.

  Shifting in my seat, I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, when I was younger, I remember dreaming of a boy with a blue bike, who saved me. They lasted a long time. Then I guess that boy grew up when I did and became, well, a man. Sort of.” I shrugged awkwardly. “It was almost more like a past memory than a dream.”

  “And you remember living in this past life?”

  I blinked at her directness. “No, of course not.” I wanted to say yes, but that would sound crazy. And no one hired crazy.

  I shifted in my seat and stole a furtive glance around the office. Aside from the gothic décor, it seemed normal enough. Except there was nothing normal about any of this.

  This wasn’t just any arts school, I was discovering. And I wasn’t a student, receiving much-needed guidance to help me on my path. I was here for a coveted teaching position, yet the questions I was being asked seemed to have a different intent entirely.

  “I’m sorry...” I leaned forward, and my chair squeaked under me. “Who did you say you were exactly? I mean, your relationship to the school?”

  She looked back at me with cool eyes and stared for a beat. And then another before folding her long fingers under her chin. “I’m here to perform psychoanalysis on all of our staff. This is a very unusual school, with demands placed upon its staff that are very different from most academic institutions. It takes a special individual to fit in here.”