Eerie (22 page)

Woodfork cleared his throat.

“There is a theory,” he began, “that if a man had a sufficient amount of energy, from a very large stick of dynamite, for example, he could force the flow of energy to reverse in case of another tear in the barrier, so that an Envoy might escape the pull of the Earth and return to his home in the Aether.”

He drew a picture of a crude cartoon explosion, and some of the students snickered, but Woodfork continued unabashed.

“Over the centuries, many of the Envoys have attempted to tear the barrier to get back home, but none have succeeded. In fact, this university was founded with the express intent of piercing the veil between the realms.”

Woodfork clapped his hands together and turned on the lights. “Now then, let's hear some of your theories on how a man did the impossible and tore the barrier in the first place. Who wants to start?”

The room went dead silent.

Looking at his watch, he sighed his disappointment. “We're almost out of time anyway. Questions anybody? Yes. Miss Hartley.”

She couldn't believe nobody'd asked the obvious and winced slightly as she shifted her foot.

“Dr. Woodfork, could the tear still exist?”

The professor blinked. “What did you say?”

“The original tear in the barrier—you said it's impossible to tear the barrier. Could it be that nobody
tore
it? Is it possible that this man simply found a flap or a . . .a door that already existed? And if so, wouldn't there still be a flap in that very spot? Maybe it's more a matter of precision than explosive force . . .”

Dr. Woodfork's jaw opened, and he stared at her thoughtfully for several uncomfortable seconds.

Hailey shifted in her seat.

“Now, well, that's very interesting . . .” his voice trailed off as he gazed into the distance.

“Ah, here they are,” he said, blinking rapidly as four gentlemen made their way to the front of the auditorium. Woodfork nodded to them.

“I would like to introduce your Section Leads. Overseeing Section Two's practical lab is Rakesh.”

Looking far too young to be a grad student, a man with jet black hair and flawless bronze skin waved unenthusiastically from the aisle.

Behind him, walking with a familiar swagger and holding his metal coffee cup, Fin turned to face the class when he reached the front of the room.

“Of course, this is Pádraig, who will head up Section Three.”

An excited murmur rose from the audience with some students clapping and others proudly gushing that they were in his section.

There were five sections in all with a stern-looking Boris standing to represent Section Four and a smiling Zhang Wei heading up Section Five. Professor Woodfork didn't introduce Asher, who had somehow snuck in and was sitting in the front row, stock-still with his head down.

“ParaScience 110 will teach you the theory and history you'll need to complete your experiments and write your reports on paranormal observations. Rest assured that these five gentlemen will ensure you survive your first year, and they will prepare you for your second year responsibilities.”

He held up an instructive finger.

“Now, I'd like for you to spend the remainder of today's class divided into groups and meeting with your section leads. They will help you choose your term project and prepare you for your first lab tomorrow morning . . . I believe Boris will be conducting a field trip and extraction exercise into an in-between, for example, and Rakesh will be leading a journey through the White Forest,” he said as four of the gentlemen dispersed to separate corners of the auditorium.

Deeply engrossed in reading a book, Asher remained seated.

A flurry of auditorium seats swung up, and students sorted themselves into their respective corners, while Hailey and only Hailey made her way toward Asher, limping slowly down the stairs on her right heel, each step a red-hot nail through her foot. Half-way down the stairs, she met Professor Woodfork.

“Miss Hartley, you're limping—are you hurt,” he asked, adjusting his glasses, and Hailey shook her head dismissively.

“It's—it's just—it's just a tiny cut,” she lied. “I stepped on something sharp.”

“Where are your shoes?”

Hailey looked at her feet and sighed.

“They—uh . . .they're gone. Along with my books. And my clothes,” she added. “That's why I was late, Sir, I'm really sorry.”

“The joys of living with poltergeists,” he said, smiling kindly. He patted Hailey on the head, re-gripped his briefcase, and continued up the stairs.

Hailey continued hobbling down the stairs. Asher never looked up from his book.

“Where's the rest of our group?” she asked, nervously sitting on the edge of the seat next to him, idly wondering whether her first lab with him would involve a set of bars and a sturdy lock.

Asher flipped the page of his book.

Biting her lip, Hailey tucked an invisible strand of hair behind her ear.

“Asher?” she said, her heart racing.

When she quietly cleared her throat, Asher's jaw tightened.

“Leave now, Hailey,” he said in a condescending voice, still staring at his book. “I don't want to see you.”

She blinked, her stomach twisting as she stared at his back in disbelief...wondering if he was mad at her because she didn't want to be his prisoner.

“But . . .” she said hesitantly. “We're supposed to discuss tomorrow's lab...”

When the gash in her foot sent a bolt of pain straight into her bone, she drew a sharp breath, which provoked an equally sharp tone out of her section lead.

“Go to the hospital—your foot requires attention.”

She tilted her head to see his eyes, hoping he'd at least look at her, but he didn't.

“Leave now, Hailey,” he repeated, barely opening his mouth.

She stood up with her head down, biting her lip, her eyes stinging as much as her foot. Very gingerly, she hobbled up the stairs, frowning and trying not to grunt as her foot screamed with each step. Thankfully, everyone else in the room seemed absorbed by their lab preparations and didn't notice when Asher kicked her out. Her lip trembled, but she made it up the stairs without the pressure of a hundred eyeballs following her, and that was the only reason she didn't cry.

In fact, she made it all the way to the door in stealth mode and was about to sneak out when Fin decided to humiliate her.

“Hailey!” he yelled, causing the whole place to turn and look as she froze next to the door.

Fin bounded up the stairs.

“You alright?” he asked, but Hailey knew if she tried to talk, she'd just cry, so she stared at the door with wide, misty eyes and shook her head.

Fin sighed in disapproval.

“Asher's an ass. Lemme see your foot.” Stooping down, he pulled her shin, lifting her foot as if he were shoeing a horse. Balanced on one leg, Hailey looked back at him then to the center of the room where Asher had been sitting. He'd left . . .thankfully.

Fin peeled her sock back and scrunched his face. “You need to go to the hospital right away,” he told her. “This looks really bad.”

“It's just a cut,” she said, able to speak now that Asher was gone.

“It's not just a cut,” Fin scolded, giving her back her foot. “And where are your shoes, Hailey? You can't tramp around Bear Towne in your stocking feet.”

“My shoes are gone,” she told him, her voice wavering horribly. “My books are gone. My clothes are gone . . .”

Fin hugged her tight. “Go get your foot fixed, knucklehead.”

She rested her head against his chest. “Thanks,” she breathed.

When he let her go, he tilted her chin up and gave her an encouraging smile. Then he headed back to his lab group, who behaved more like groupies than students. They smiled and swooned and watched every move Fin made. As did Hailey.

“By the way,” he called over his shoulder as he bounded down the stairs, “you look good in my jersey.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Splinter

“Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen,

few in pursuit of the goal.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Hailey had no intention of going to the hospital, partly because it was just a cut and only needed a Band–Aid; partly because she didn't want to contract flesh-eating Zombitis; but mostly because Asher had ordered her to go there, and she had no intention of doing anything he said.

So, instead of heading directly to the hospital like a good little Envoy's possession, she headed to room 210 for her next class in weights and measurements, walking stubbornly on her heel so she didn't leave bloody footprints in her wake.

Room 210 had a wall of windows, and she found a seat next to one of them, watching as the scenery swayed with the wind. Olde Main leaned and tilted under her feet, but something about the in-between made it feel as if it weren't moving at all . . .most of the time. Every now and then a piece of chalk would slide off the tray under the board at the front of the room. For the entire class, Hailey watched the chalk slide back and forth, trying and failing to will the throbbing pain out of her foot. In fact, the only thing she succeeded in doing was missing the lecture as the ache spread to her ankle.

Hopping into her third class of the day several minutes early, she was delighted to see the un-friendliest face she knew. She limped directly over to Giselle and collapsed in the chair next to her.

“You look like hell,” Giselle said, her hands folded on the table they shared. “Where're your shoes?”

Hailey shook her head, feeling too sluggish to answer, and Giselle stared at Fin's jersey.

“Tell me you did
not
spend the night with Pádraig.” She grabbed Hailey's shoulder. “I told you, he's an asshole.”

“I didn't,” she almost yelled. Then she rolled her eyes. “I got locked out of our room, locked out of the laundry room, and a poltergeist stole all my clothes and all my books and my boots.” Hailey huffed loudly. “Plus, I think Asher's peeved at me, and nothing is going right today.”

Giselle's jaw fell open in jagged-toothed disbelief. “You did
not
see Asher wearing those clothes.” Her head pulsated; her nostrils flared. She grabbed a fistful of Fin's jersey. “He thinks you woke up with Pádraig, you idiot. Why else would you be wearing his clothes—his JERSEY.” She flung the jersey away. ”You better go explain this to him like five minutes ago. I'm surprised he hasn't had you removed already—or worse.”

Hailey dropped her head into her hands and moaned.
Of course! That's why he didn't want to look at her.

“Ouch!” Hailey yelped unintentionally. It was like a hot knife pushed through her foot.

“Are you hurt?” Giselle asked incredulously.

“I—no—it's just a scratch,” Hailey breathed, shifting her foot to hide her bloody sock.

“Let me see that.” She bent down and snatched Hailey's foot up, ripping the sock off, and pulling the wound open.

“Ahhhh!” Hailey yelled.

“Shut up.” Dropping Hailey's foot on the desk, Giselle ran to the corner of the room, grabbed an Indispensable first aid kit, and returned looking like a woman on a mission.

“You have a carnivorous splinter,” she said as she pulled a lighter and a large pair of tweezers from the kit. “You have to get it out before it takes root around your bone, or else you'll lose your entire leg.”

“What? Well, get it out!”

“I will. Hold still,” she said grabbing Hailey's foot again. “It's already burrowed pretty deep.” Giselle looked up. “You need to go to the hospital—you need a painkiller,” she said, slamming the tweezers on the desk and crossing her arms.

“I am not going to the hospital.”

“Whatever. It's your leg.”

“Giselle,” Hailey pleaded irritably. She shoved the tweezers back into her roommate's hand. “Just yank it out.”

Giselle studied her for a moment.

“Fine. Hold still. It'll probably latch onto a chunk of muscle, and they usually spaz and barb when they're threatened. This is going to hurt. Don't pass out.”

Holding the tweezers in one hand and Hailey's foot with the other, Giselle went to work. First, she ripped Hailey's foot in two—at least that's what it felt like, and Hailey let out a screech that made the whole class stare. Then Giselle plunged the tweezers through her foot until they hit her bone, whereupon she clamped onto the bone and ripped it out along with a tendon that broke loose from the back of Hailey's heel, rolled up like a blind and dragged the arch of her foot out with it.

Holding the teeny wooden stake up triumphantly, Giselle whizzed a roll of gauze at Hailey.

“Hold pressure on your foot—I have to burn this thing.” She held a lighter to the carnivorous splinter, which screamed like a boiled lobster.

Hailey held her breath to stop the agony inside her foot. It didn't work. And as she lost consciousness, she heard Giselle cussing her out.

“Oh no you don't, I told you—shit!”

“ . . .why you won't just heal her foot . . .” A familiar voice trailed in and out as Hailey opened her eyes.

“She must ask for such a favor,” Asher answered sharply, and Hailey blinked, recognizing the naked bed under her as her own.

“Well, you're a real gentleman, Asher,” Fin said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. And then he proceeded to mock the Envoy in an overly dramatic and holier-than-thou voice. “
Beg for forgiveness, and I shall heal you.
You're such a romantic. Make sure you tell her she'll be your slave for eternity.”

The next thing Hailey heard was a choking noise, and she turned her head to see Asher holding Fin up by his throat, pinning him against her closet.

“It's nice to see you two getting along,” she mumbled.

Dropping Fin, Asher turned to face her.

Fin stood up and cleared his throat.

They both glared at her.

“I told you to go to the hospital!” they yelled in unison, one pointing at her foot, and the other in a southern direction.

Looking from one angry face to the other, Hailey scooted back from them in her bed. Then she surveyed her foot, which was still attached and nicely bandaged.

“I didn't need the hospital,” she shrugged. “Giselle got the splinter out just fine.”

She looked at her roommate's bed and the ceiling above it then the floor in front of it, but Giselle wasn't home.

Asher stepped toward her, looking angrier than she'd ever seen him, his eyes letting off flashes of dark violet.

Looking up at him, Hailey frowned as she imagined his smooth voice full of scorn. But he said nothing. Instead, he simply turned and walked out, leaving Hailey with all of the guilt and none of the balancing anger she would've had if he had chewed her out.

Fin sat on the bed, and Hailey scooted next to him.

“He's going to lock me up,” she said objectively, “or expel me.”

Fin patted her leg. “I don't think so.” He nodded at her desk. There, in a neat tower, sat all of her books, a box of vibrating crystals, a pair of Indispensable Magnoggles, a vial of gold dust and next to that, a stack of Bear Towne sweats. A new pair of wellies stood on the floor in front of it all.

“Did you find my books?” she asked excitedly.

“No,” he answered in a long, drawn-out monotone. “Asher brought you new ones.” Fin threw his arm out, looking thoroughly one-upped. “Tell you what,” he said turning his charming smile to her. “I'll drive you into town on Thursday after your music class, and you can do some shopping.”

Closing her eyes, Hailey smiled and threw her arms around him.

He held her close, resting his forehead gently against hers for a long moment.

“Try to be more careful, okay?” he whispered, and then he kissed her cheek, got up, and left.

After the door closed, Hailey clutched her chest and stared at the floor.

He's an asshole
. Giselle's voice grated inside her head, abruptly ending her swoon.

Rubbing her forehead, Hailey turned her attention to the pile of goodies on her desk and hobbled over to check them out.

Not only had Asher replaced all of her class materials, he'd added a book on mountaineering in Columbia with a note:

Take this with you to the Library. Mrs. Spitz will like it.

He'd also left an Indispensable flashlight, a first aid kit, and a vase full of wildflowers. Hailey shook her head at all of it, smiling sadly as she puzzled over Asher's quirks.

Why was he so . . .so . . .grumpy? Clearly he cared about her, she thought as she gently touched some thistle in the bouquet.

For the second night in a row, Giselle didn't come home, and Hailey had no idea if she should be worried as she got ready for bed. There was nothing normal about Giselle. There was nothing normal about Bear Towne.

Unhooking the ghost trap from her window, Hailey carried it into the shower, hoping to snag the little brat that had stolen her clothes. With her foot wrapped in a plastic bag and her senses on high alert, she moved her head under the faucet, and just as the spray hit her face, a slight vibration disturbed the air.

Pivoting on her bad heel, Hailey lunged into the changing stall, ghost trap in hand and clobbered the would-be brat over the head with it—which did absolutely nothing. In fact, the poltergeist paused only momentarily to point and laugh, and then it grabbed Hailey's sweat pants and took off.

“Tomas!” she yelled, limping as fast as she could out of the stall. She didn't care that she was naked—she was going to catch that little trouble-maker.

Tomas appeared in the mirrors, looking confused.

Hailey pointed to the brat on the ceiling, which taunted her by waving her sweat pants. “That urchin stole my pants again. Can you get them back?”

“Jawohl” materialized on the mirror, and Tomas flew to the ceiling. A polter-scuffle took place there, which looked cartoonish, and after a few seconds, her sweat pants popped out and fell to the floor. The brat wailed and flew away, and Tomas reappeared in the mirror, smiling victoriously.

“Great work, Tomas,” she told him, holding up her pants. “Listen, I'm designing a new ghost trap, and I'll need a test subject. Wanna help me?”

Tomas tapped his chin thoughtfully then nodded, saluted, and disappeared.

That night, Hailey made it half-way through her new copy of
Balance and the Aether: The Lessons of the Seven Envoys
, before she fell asleep with Asher on her mind (one of the seven mentioned in her textbook). She had a thousand questions and found him waiting for her in the Aether.