Eerie (27 page)

Could this get any more awkward any faster?
And more importantly, why wasn't this a date? They'd spent the entire day together. And Fin wasn't even remotely afraid of Asher. Whatever his malfunction, this was starting to feel like a rejection, so she mustered the best defense she could think of—denial.

“No, Fin, I . . . I know . . . I wasn't—that never even crossed my mind,” she lied, trying not to seem as offended as she felt.

“It didn't?” He sounded either hurt or surprised.

Hailey was confused.

“No,” she said uncertainly. “I—no. I said day. That was a fun day.”

Fin stared at the road.

Hailey bit her lip.

Watching another milepost fly past, she decided she should just keep her mouth shut for the rest of the drive.

By the time they pulled up to Eureka Dorm, Hailey's stomach was in a knot. Fin was the closest thing she had to family for thousands of miles, and she managed to completely alienate him over the course of one night. He'd probably never talk to her again—the silly little girl Hailey, pining after the campus-heartthrob-muscular-captain-of-the-stupid-hockey-team, showing up naked at his door, throwing herself at him...

She couldn't wait to bury her head in her new pillow and never leave her room again.

Blinking back a few tears of embarrassment, she opened the passenger side door and hopped out on one foot.

“Wait for me to help you, Hailey!” Fin yelled, clearly annoyed as he hurriedly jumped out.

“I got it,” she told him, her voice strained.

But she didn't have it. When she tried to push the door shut, her one good foot slipped out from under her and down she went, cracking her head on the pavement and sliding almost completely under the truck.

She let out a pitiful moan, a little from the sharp pain in the back of her head, but mostly from shame.

“Why is there ice in August?” she groaned.

“Hailey!” she heard a voice yell, but it wasn't Fin's.

Someone with warm hands grabbed hers and pulled her out from under the truck and back onto her good foot with one swift tug.

Fin ran from the driver's side, rounding the front of the truck and stopping dead to stare at Asher holding onto Hailey.

“I guess you don't need me,” said Fin sourly, as Hailey clung to Asher. He unloaded her bags, and gripping them so tight his knuckles went white, he hiked toward Eureka.

“Fin!” Hailey called from Asher's arms.

Fin faced her with his jaw set.

“Thank you,” she said, her heart sinking terribly as she limped a few feet in his direction.

Fin dropped his head for a moment, and then he straightened up and threw his chest out.

“Listen,” he asserted, addressing Hailey and quite clearly only Hailey. “A lot of us are going to the hot springs this weekend. You wanna come along?”

“Oh, no . . . I—I don't think so. I don't have a bathing suit,” she said uncomfortably.

“Oh, you don't need one.” Fin raised his eyebrow at her.

“Oh! Then definitely no.”

“Come on. It'll be dark. And . . .it's not like I've never seen you naked,” he said loud enough for Asher to hear.

Hailey whipped around in time to see Asher's eyes explode.

“Um . . .that . . .I . . .” she stammered, hopping back to Asher.

“Come and sit,” he said, his tone flat, expression unreadable as he guided her to a wooden bench. Kneeling in front of her, he stroked her wounded foot.

Hailey dug her nails into the bench, anticipating an awful prod or twist or jerk or something painful, but what she got was a delightfully cooling comfort, which spread from her toes up to her knee. When Asher stood, Hailey stood next to him—her ankle healed and the swelling gone.

“That's amazing,” she said, cautiously hopping on it. Eyes shining, she tilted her head slightly. “I'm not going to be your slave forever, am I?” she asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Only if you want to be.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “These are not favors I often bestow, Hailey.”

She shook her head, all humor gone. “I wouldn't ever want that,” she whispered, pulling her shoulders up and tucking her elbows in.

“No, you wouldn't. Still . . .” Holding his hand out, palm up, Asher conjured what looked like a ball of crystalized violet light. He held it out to Hailey. “I am tempted to give you this.”

“What is it?” she said, transfixed by its beauty.

“Immortality. An eternity of youth and health. The Envoys call it a gift. But any human who has accepted it would call it a curse. If you were to take this from me, you would be a slave to the Envoys—all of us—forever. Such an infusion of energy leaves a scar, Hailey, through which any of us might see into your mind. And in some cases,” he added darkly, “even control it.”

Closing his hand, he collapsed the orb, which burst into a flash as bright as a camera's.

“As much as I want you on this Earth with me forever,” he said gazing adoringly into her eyes, “I would not curse you with this burden.”

Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers then spoke against them.

“The Envoys are changing. They no longer respect each other's possessions as they once did, and I couldn't bear it if another touched you.”

Possessions?

Hailey jerked her hand away. “I'm not your possession, Asher. I don't belong to you—I don't belong to anyone, and you need to—”

Asher stepped back, blinking as if she'd slapped him.

“I didn't . . .” Frowning, he shook his head, eyes wide as Hailey considered him, arms crossed. His lips parted, his brow wrinkled, and she couldn't stand seeing him hurt.

Finally she sighed. “You have to stop saying that,” she said gently, and when he reached a tentative hand out to her, she took it.

Relief etched his voice, but it was still a plea. “I didn't mean . . . I only meant that I protect you. And the Envoys no longer regard each other as family. You're beautiful, Hailey. I'm not the only one who sees it, and one of the others would surely stalk your mind.”

Instinctively, Hailey flicked her eyes to the ground, disarmed again as he nudged her chin up. He was so close she could feel his breath against her lips.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, planting a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I'm sorry too,” she said, and he kissed her again. Then, sighing heavily, he pulled away, and Hailey studied his eyes, trying to imagine life on Earth for hundreds or thousands of years.

“Have you ever cursed anyone?” she asked.

“Once.”

“It's Professor Woodfork, isn't it?”

Asher smiled. “He and I have known each other for a very long time. I try to stay out of his mind,” he said, looking almost mischievously at her, “although sometimes I get bored and go see what he's thinking.”

Hailey studied him. For the first time, he seemed relaxed and almost amused. “I don't really understand how any of this works.” She looked down at her healed foot then around at the campus and back to Asher. “Someone told me it was dangerous to ask you for help with . . .things . . .”

“Giselle,” he guessed. “She's always honest, but not always correct. Hailey, you're very dear to me. I healed your body, because I wanted to. I've asked for nothing in return.”

Taking his hand, Hailey pressed it to her heart.

“I would like to see you more,” he told her, using his free hand to stroke her cheek.

“You can start by showing up to lab,” she teased.

“Yes,” he said softly.

He drew an awkward breath. “Hailey, I would like to show you my observatory. This winter . . . If you'd like. I'm afraid it would have to be very dark for you to see . . .”

She watched him, smiling in awe as it dawned on her—he was asking her out, and he was nervous.

“I'd like that,” she said quickly.

“And in December . . . The university hosts a Christmas ball. May I escort you?”

“I'd be honored,” she said, though this was the first she'd heard of such an event and would have to find a dress and shoes and learn to walk in heels and figure out how to dance non-Irish and find Giselle a date, because there was no way she was doing this alone...

Hailey sighed.

“Go and rest,” Asher told her, kissing her cheek.

Fin was playing his guitar when Hailey knocked on his door to retrieve her things.

“Enter!” he shouted. As she poked into his room, he began strumming softly.

“I love that song,” she said, standing in his doorway.

“I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know everything about you,” he said, setting his guitar aside.

“Enlighten me.”

“I know that roses are your favorite flowers—”

“Typical,” she said with a flick of her hand.

“And that your favorite color is green—”

“Obvious,” she yawned.

“And that you cry more out of your right eye than your left—”

“You noticed that?”

Fin nodded. “Seen you cry a lot—I know that you're afraid of Asher, but you won't tell him.”

Hailey ducked her head.

“Listen,” he said, leaning forward, “Asher's powerful. He can protect you from harm, from bad people, from other Envoys . . . But,” he said emphatically, counting his points on his fingers, “he can't laugh.” Searching Hailey's eyes, he extended another digit. “He can't love. He can't have children. And he won't tolerate your dancing.”

Hailey furrowed her brow.

“It's the drumming,” he explained. “It's like fingernails on a chalkboard to an Envoy.”

Staring at the floor, Hailey chewed her lip. She didn't owe Fin an explanation. He wasn't even interested in her, so why did he even care? This was just his big-brother-look-after-Hailey thing, and she was sick of it.

“I put your stuff in your room already,” he told her when she didn't respond. “You're not really building a ghost trap for your term project, are you?” he asked, adjusting to a much more agreeable tone.

“Yes,” Hailey said sounding way more excited than she wanted, and he closed his eyes, tossing his head back.

“Hailey—” He sighed loudly. “You're gonna piss them off, and they're going to come after you again.”

Chapter Thirty

The Trap

“Our pleasures were simple - they included survival.”

- Dwight D. Eisenhower

For her term project, Hailey might have undertaken a jaunt into a dark tunnel, rehabilitated a needy creature, written her report, and been done in a few hours. Instead, she decided to build a better ghost trap.

And it was Giselle who'd given her an idea for how to do it. As the two walked from their ParaComm class, Giselle stepped a little too close to the Chattering Gazebo, which immediately recoiled, saying, “An acoustical nightmare as usual, Giselle. How I wish you'd keep your loathsome vibrations away. You really do know how to repel any creature, don't you? Oh, I suppose it comes naturally to a—”

Giselle jumped back before the gazebo finished.

“I hate that thing,” she muttered.

After a whole class of forced conversation with Giselle without a single accidental insult, Hailey's foot jumped in her mouth.

“So, what kind of monster are you?” she asked in an innocent voice, and Giselle slowly scowled. “Insensitive . . .” Hailey mumbled. “Was that insensitive? I'm sorry,” she said as fast as she could.

“You need a blurt filter. Maybe that should be your term project,” Giselle growled. The day's ParaComm discussion topic had been “My Term Project,” and Giselle thought redesigning a ghost trap bordered on suicidal stupidity. She hadn't been shy about sharing that opinion, either.

“Why did the gazebo say you vibrated?”

“Because I
do
.”

Hailey frowned. She figured she only had one more shot at this before her roommate clammed up for the rest of the night and tasked her every last brain cell to contemplation. Finally, and with only another minute or two before they reached Eureka Hall, Hailey's gray matter came up with a humdinger.

She bit her lip, made a curt, confident nod, drew a breath and said, “Wha—”

“Banshee,” Giselle burst out.

Hailey's mouth fell open.
No wonder she didn't have any friends.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why would you need to know? It has nothing to do with you!”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, her eyes wide. “Okay. No big deal. You're a harbinger of death, that's all.”

In trying to wrap her mind around it, Hailey imagined Uncle Pix's reaction. He would never believe it. If he did, he'd probably blow a gasket. But Giselle wasn't a murderer. Matter of fact, she could warn Hailey if there was a murderer lurking about . . .

Giselle frowned. “I can't tell when someone's going to die,” she snapped. “That's why I'm here—my family's ashamed of me, and this whole college thing is a huge joke to them.”

A silver string flew out of her eye.

“They told me to study medicine and—
quote
, ‘figure it out'.”

Another thread of silk let loose and blew away.

“That's why I look like this.” She uncrossed her arms and threw her hands up then hugged herself again.

“Don't all banshees look like you?”

“No!” Giselle yelled. “They only go ‘hag' like this when they're about to die!” She pulled a cobweb from her eye, balled it up and let it fall. “I'm just an ugly, useless abomination that nobody likes.” She cried softly as Hailey walked next to her.

“Well, I like you,” Hailey offered, stroking Giselle's hair. “And look.” She held a golden lock in her hand, staring at it with one eyebrow up. “Your hair's turning blonde.”

Giselle rolled her eyes.

“And I saw David staring at you in class today. Like, staring in a good way.”

“You're lying.”

“Don't you remember, when you almost laughed . . .after I said the thing about Professors Mum, Loon, and Starr, and the whole class turned to see who the idiot was, only you were already staring at me with daggers, like normal—that's why you didn't notice—and then you stifled a laugh and everyone looked away, except for David. He kept looking at you not me, and he even moved his head a little to see more of you.”

Giselle went silent, but at least she wasn't crying anymore.

“Anyway,” said Hailey, getting to her point, “I think someone's being a little hard on herself,” she peeped as if she were encouraging a three-year old. “You're not useless. In fact, I could sure use your help.”

“How?”

“The gazebo gave me an idea. Tell me more about these vibrations.”

Giselle shrugged. “Every creature has a death frequency, and I know it instantly—it vibrates inside me. A real banshee would know when someone was about to bite it and wail out their frequency.” She looked tentatively over at Hailey.

“Do you get a vibe on ghosts, too?”

“Yeah. Ghosts are easy. They all have the same frequency. Why?”

Hailey pressed her brow down. “If there's a frequency that repels all ghosts, could there be one that attracts them?”

“How would I know?” she yelled.

“Can you control it—you know . . .the vibrations you give off?”

Giselle whirled around. “What good is it if I can control it? I can't tell when to wail—I'm useless,” she spat. “Just ask my mother.”

“If you can control it, I can measure it,” Hailey said excitedly. “I know a friendly poltergeist we could use as a test subject. You throw different frequencies at him, and we'll observe his response . . .see if he's attracted to one. Then I could reproduce that very frequency in a crystalline matrix, so a ghost would be drawn into the trap, surrounded by vibration, stuck there forever, and there you have it—ghost trap,” she concluded, looking sunnily to her roommate. “So?” she sang. “Whaddya say? Will you help me?” she begged, lightly touching Giselle's arm.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Giselle glared at Hailey's hand for what seemed like an eternity before she sniffed loudly.

“Fine,” she snarled.

With Giselle's cooperation, it took less than a month to figure out which frequency to use for the new, Hartley Hook-a-Haunt (that was what she was calling it). Growing the crystals proved a bit more challenging, but with Asher's guidance, she was making great progress. And that progress did not escape the attention of the mostly free and healthy population of specters at Bear Towne, who quite liked the ineffective golden ghost traps currently in use.

As Hailey worked late into a chilly October night, alone inside Asher's lab at Olde Main, she got the feeling someone was watching her. More than once she got up from her work station to investigate, but the place seemed deserted.

After her third security check, Hailey threw down her goggles and rubbed her eyes, deciding it was time to call it a night.

It was just after midnight when she stood up to go. She didn't know Asher had left the campus. She didn't know the poltergeists knew that, and she sure didn't know that Asher kept in his lab no fewer than five desktop staplers and two staple guns.

But when she turned toward the door, she found, hovering in midair and blocking her path, all seven—locked, loaded, and unhinged.

She stared at them for a good three seconds as two of them flanked her left side and a roll of tape moved on her right. Poltergeists—too many to count—swooped across the ceiling, sharp wisps of wind-swept fog, and, ironically, they had her trapped.

Hailey broke for the exit, batting down one stapler as six others stung her in the back and arms.

The tape sprang to life and unwound with a shrill “ZZZZZ!” flinging itself around and around her wrist so tight it cut off her circulation. While she battled that, the six staplers hit her back and arms over and over while the seventh darted for her neck.

Hailey staggered for the door.

The tape caught her other hand, binding both together, yanking them up and away from the latch, as the staplers slapped against her with an unrelenting click-click-click-click-click and periodic ka-chonk of the staple gun.

“Tomas!” she yelled, looking desperately into the glass of the door she couldn't reach. “Help me!”

Immediately, Tomas appeared, raised his eyebrows, shot into the room, and created enough of a distraction for her to high-tail it out of there.

Hoping to find Asher, Hailey punched the out-between, and with her hands bound tightly with Scotch tape, stumbled outside and headed straight for the observatory, moving her torso as little as possible . . .trying not to think about a thousand staples lodged in her skin, especially the ones from the gun, which felt like they'd splintered bone.

Asher will help
, she told herself, but when she reached the tower door, she found it locked.

“Asher,” she called, but he didn't answer.

After shivering and bleeding for thirty seconds on his doorstep without a response, Hailey spun around stiffly and walked as gingerly as she could toward Eureka Hall. The temperature hovered around ten degrees that night, and Hailey's breath came out in curt, painful puffs.

Shaking violently and holding her arms as still as she could with her hands still painfully bound, she trudged up the stairs, trying not to disrupt her shirt, which, along with her bra, was pretty much sewn into her back and glued into place by dried, frozen blood.

At last she reached the third floor, and thankfully, Fin's door was wide open; his light flooded the hallway. When Hailey stepped onto the landing, he shot out of his room.

“Where have you been? It's past midnight—where's your coat—”

He cut himself off and rushed across the hallway, ripping the tape off her wrists and rubbing them gently. Hailey sighed as blood returned to her fingers.

“I got stapled.” She turned rigidly around to show him.

“Oh, Hailey,” he breathed. “Come in here.” He led her to the community room opposite the stairs.

“Wait here a sec,” he told her. “I'll go get the tweezers.”

Hailey stood still until he returned.

“Oh, man,” he said as he looked at her back again.

“How bad is it?”

“There's several hundred,” he estimated, and when she pivoted to look at him, he gave her a half-frown. “Surprised you didn't run to Asher.”

“I did,” she grunted as she sat on top of a table. “He wasn't home.”

Fin's face tightened, and he curled his tongue as he yanked the first staple out of her neck.

“Ouch! They're all over me,” she breathed, remembering to count to eight before she exhaled.

“ . . .lucky staples . . .” Fin muttered softly, as he removed another one from her back.

“Ouch!”

“What are you doing?” Giselle demanded, appearing in the doorway.

“Removing staples . . .?” He jerked a big one out of Hailey's arm.

“Ouch!”

“You know what I mean,” Giselle spat.

“Shouldn't you be in the lab getting your bolts tightened?” he jeered.

Huh. Giselle actually did bear a striking resemblance to Frankenstein's bride. Really. She was only a couple of black hair streaks and some stitches away from moaning, “Fire—Bad.”

Giselle glared at him for a beat before spinning on her heel and gliding out of the room. “I'm bringing the first aid kit,” she grumbled over her shoulder.

“Why are you so mean to her?” Hailey asked him.

“Because,” he said as he drew one from her scalp, “she deserves it.”

“I wish you'd be a little—ouch!—nicer. I think it hurts her feelings that everyone's so mean.”

“Clearly you don't know your roommate.” He made a third attempt at a staple that embedded itself near Hailey's underarm. “Come ‘ere,” he said under his breath as he tried to grab it again.

Hailey looked over her shoulder to see how things were going, and that was a mistake. Among the sea of bloodied staples strewn across the table, one still had a chunk of flesh attached.

“Uh-oh,” Hailey said, woozy. Darkness crept into her periphery and her ears felt like they were full of water. The whole room tipped like a canoe, and she fell forward.

“Whoa!” Fin lunged to catch her before she hit the floor. The tweezers clanged against the table, and Fin grabbed her by the shirt, ripping at least twenty staples out at once.

That was enough to put her the rest of the way out.