Eerie (21 page)

“Asher,” she said, smiling—mostly because she was glad to see him, but partly because it wasn't she who had emptied the Bruised Moose.

“How are you enjoying my university?” he asked in his very kind way, unfazed by the sudden emptiness of the entire café.

“It's great,” Hailey answered with zero enthusiasm, and Asher tilted his head. “Actually,” she said, looking away, “I'm an outcast—you've made—” She sighed, motioning to the emptiness. “Everyone's afraid to talk to me.”

Asher closed the distance between them and lifted Hailey's chin. “Those who look for a reason to fear will find one, and those without reason will follow,” he said. That was what Giselle had told her. Kinda. Asher put things much more eloquently. “I believe you'll feel at home once you've met my more seasoned students.”

He held Hailey's gaze, and she felt he was searching for something.

“What is it?” she said, and he broke his stare to look at her lips.

“We must talk,” he said darkly, and Hailey's smile vanished. He placed her photo of Holly into her hand, moving his thumb against her skin in a gentle caress before stepping away.

“Thank you for holding this,” she said, her voice uncertain. Then she turned to the window and wondered how she'd get it back to Eureka without ruining it in the rain.

Asher must have sensed her distress, because he gave her a knowing grin. “There's a better way than through the rain,” he told her. “I'll show you, but you must eat, Hailey. I can see you're weak with hunger.”

Whatever Asher had to say must be pretty bad if he didn't want her to hear it on an empty stomach, she figured, frowning.

“Mitch,” Asher called, and a tall, bug-eyed man tottered from the shadows. “Would you prepare your signature sandwich for Hailey?”

Mitch grabbed his spatula, twirled it in the air, and smacked it on the grill.

“You got it, boss.”

Hailey's stomach growled. It sure looked and smelled like a cheesesteak. Wrapping it in foil, Mitch handed it to a delighted Hailey.

“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 well-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.

Holding onto her gigantic pants and breathing way too loudly to sneak into the auditorium unnoticed, she snapped her mouth shut and went to all nasal huffing as she nudged open the auditorium door. The latch was silent. The hinges, however, unleashed a screech that Uncle Pix probably heard all the way in Pittsburgh.

Everyone, human and human-looking non-human alike, turned to see who dared come late to the first class of the semester.

Slinking inside with her head ducked, Hailey put her butt into the first open seat in her path, shamefaced and still panting. It wasn't until she sat down that she realized she'd stepped on a wasp, or at least that's what it felt like.

As discretely as she could, she pulled her foot onto her lap and found it bleeding through her sock. Pushing her sock down, she surveyed the damage. It looked like a pretty good gash. Hoping to stop the bleeding, she pressed her sock against it. What else was she going to do with her hands? She didn't have a pen or paper or a book to occupy them.

“Uh . . .continuing,” said Dr. Woodfork once Hailey was seated and the class once again turned their attention to the front of the auditorium.

“Over three thousand years ago, a man with no unnatural powers tore a hole in the barrier between the Earth and the Aether—no one knows how he did it, but we do know why. He, like all men, coveted power. He sought to steal the energies of the Aether and wield them as one might a nuclear weapon. What he didn't know was that the energy in the Aether was not there just floating freely, waiting to be plucked like a flower from a garden. Rather, the energies were kept by beings called Envoys.

“Now, an Envoy's purpose in the universe is to shuttle life energies out of those who die and in to those who are born—” Dr. Woodfork paused when a hand went up.

“A question. Yes, Mr. Lorn.”

“What about God? Where does God fit in?”

“Good question. Your life energy is not the same as your soul, you see.”

He slid a chalkboard out of the way to reveal a clean one behind it. There he drew three circles and connected them with lines to make a triangle.

“There are three realms,” he said, and he pointed to one of them. “One realm is the Earth, where physical things, like your body, exist. That's where we are right now, we're on Earth, obviously. The second—” he moved his hand over another circle, “—is the heavens, a home for your soul. This is where your soul comes from . . .and where your eternal soul ends up. It is God and Heaven, if you behave, or fire and brimstone if you don't. The third realm—” he moved his hand to the third circle, “—is the Aether, home of life energy—the energy which binds your soul . . .” He pointed to the Heavens with his right hand. “ . . .to your body.” With his left hand he pointed to the Earth.

“Does that answer your question? Yes? Good.”

He slid the three realms out of the way.

“When the barrier between the Earth and the Aether was breeched, energy flowed from the place of high concentration—the Aether—to the place of low concentration—the Earth. In effect, the Earth was a giant suction and the Envoys who were near the great tear, were sucked through the barrier and flung onto Earth. No one knows how many Envoys crossed over, but there were at least seven and maybe as many as a hundred.

“For the remainder of the term, we are going to talk about the history and science surrounding this phenomenal event and come up with our own theories as to how a man with no unnatural charms, did the impossible and tore the barrier. Any questions?”

A hand went up.

“Yes, Miss Watters.”

“Does my soul leave my body when I dream?”

“No. Your body and soul are bound. It's also a phenomenon, really, but try to think of it as your soul's mind wandering along the border between realms.”

Hailey's hand shot up.

“Yes, Miss Hartley.”

“What happened to all these Envoys after they came here? Where do they all . . .live?” If that's what you called it.

“Anywhere they want. Anybody else? No? Continuing, then—”

“Well, Professor,” Hailey persisted, “where are they all?”

Dr. Woodfork sighed heavily.

“A good question for your laboratory period, Miss Hartley. Continuing then . . .” Dr. Woodfork flicked the switch on what looked like a document camera.

Nothing happened.

He flipped it again. And again. Then he tapped it with his pen, and when the thing jittered, half the class cringed, with several students letting out a whimper.

Hailey giggled. This was nothing compared to life with Giselle. And the thing merely threw an image on the screen anyway.