Chapter 7
“What the hell?”
At least, that’s what I think I’ve moaned into a mouthful of thick fabric that does not belong to me.
I grimace at the pain shooting up my side.
It takes me a few seconds to realize we’ve barreled right into the hedges lining the perimeter of Segner.
Sharp, thin branches poke through my cardigan, dead leaves clinging onto the soft material for dear life.
I remove the larger ones and brush off the gritty earth lodged into my palms.
Wincing, I gently circle my wrists. Nothing feels broken, thank god.
I roll over and push myself into a seated position, and that’s when I note a small trace of blood on my sweater.
My heart rate spikes. I hate blood, especially if this isn’t my blood.
Other people’s fluids freak me out, which is not exactly an ideal phobia when your entire life path has been careening toward a doctoral degree involving poking around in other people’s mouth fluids.
A dull sting throbs from my side. I tug my shirt up, revealing a scratch across my ribs—likely from one of the branches. It’s barely broken skin. I will, in fact, live. At the very worst, I’ll sport a bruise for a few weeks.
The guy next to me lies on his back, groaning in pain. I twist my legs out from under his to give him space.
“What were you trying to do?” I bite out, annoyed.
The floodlight clicks on. A harsh glow releases over the doorway, but it’s enough to make me do a double take.
Because this guy is dressed nice. He brushes a few stray leaves from his hair, and I notice he’s not wearing an ordinary suit.
It’s a fitted frock coat that drops about mid-thigh, something straight out of Jane Eyre.
A deep emerald cravat is secured around his neck, dipping beneath the lapels of his jacket.
What is happening?
Strands of deep golden hair fall just below his cheekbones as he maneuvers to his feet.
He looks close to my age, but I’m positive I don’t recognize him.
His tan pants are smudged with dirt, which he dusts aside before reaching around me for—I kid you not—a top hat with a curled brim.
As he secures it, I can’t help it. I laugh.
Never in my life have I seen anyone dressed like they’re ready to warn me about the ghost of Christmas past.
“Drat,” he mutters under his breath.
My side protests as I stand. When I’ve righted myself, he takes a giant step back, inspecting me as though I’m a complex linear equation and he can’t seem to find x.
“Do you—” I start as he says, “What are you doing out here?”
Only the what sounds more like wot and—oh. Oh.
He’s British.
But then I realize why he’s blocked my path like a human force field: he’s stopping me from invading Segner. Of course they have a backup plan. He’s staking out the dorm to prevent another sneak attack. God, how annoying. I’ll give it to them. They play a devious game.
Maybe we still stand a chance. This guy doesn’t know Inessa’s inside.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.
He takes in his surroundings, a concerned crease forming between his eyebrows. “Do you think it wise to be out here alone this late?”
“I—what?” Now I’m confused. “It’s wish night.”
“Wish night,” he repeats, a ring of bewilderment in his tone.
“Yeah, at the fountain?” I gesture in the general direction. “Sorry, are you new here?”
Instead of answering, he lays a hand on the stone exterior of Segner House. I’m no medical professional, but even I can tell when someone’s showing signs of weird behavior. I shouldn’t assume he’s playing the fool to stop me from going inside when something could actually be wrong with him.
Finally, he faces me. “You must allow me to escort you back to your estate.”
I chuck my thumb behind me. “I’m just going to Hyde.”
His brow furrows. “Hide where?”
Once, when we were younger, Jared, Madelene, and I were at the park near our house when Mads decided to leap from the top of the slide, only to come crashing down on the rubber mulch. She’d ended up with a sprained wrist and slight concussion, which caused her to feel out of it for a few hours.
Maybe that’s what’s happening here. It would explain his bizarre behavior.
“Look, um—” I pause.
He straightens. “Lord William Alexander Cromwell of Dunbry.”
I glance around, waiting to see if someone’s going to pop out and tell me this is all a joke.
No one does.
I extend my hand. “Delaney,” I offer, then add, “Carmichael.”
As one of his gloved hands meets mine, a gentle buzz hums through the night air. The floodlight flickers once, then twice. As it clicks off, the lampposts along the outer trail pulse as though they have a heartbeat, almost winking in an unsteady rhythm.
I release him from my grasp and wave a hand under the floodlight, but it doesn’t respond. We’re cast in shadows.
William busies himself by dusting off his lapels. My dad’s journal flew out of my pocket in the fall, so I crouch down and retrieve it.
“Are you okay?” I ask, then remember what you’re supposed to ask someone who might have a concussion. “Do you, uh…know where you are?”
Now he looks at me as though I’m the one in need of assistance. “Of course,” he says, all confidence. “London.”
I can feel the color drain from my face. “William, this”—I wave both my hands around—“is New York.”
He balks. “America?”
I wait for him to admit he’s kidding. When he doesn’t, I say, “Is it possible you hit your head when we collided?”
“I don’t think so.” He directs his attention toward the hedge. “I’m fairly certain that monstrosity absorbed most of the impact.”
I, however, do not possess this confidence, so I pull out my phone and tap on the flashlight. “We should at least see if your pupils are dilated, right?”
He squints dramatically, stepping back. “What strange lamp is this?”
“Stay still.”
He does not. “Are you quite serious? You’ll assess me?”
The nurse’s office doesn’t open until six. I don’t see what other choice we have. “Um,” I say. “Yes?”
“You,” he emphasizes, like I didn’t get it the first time. “A woman?”
He says it like I’ve just suggested a garden slug will take it from here. My immediate reaction is to release a hacking laugh of sheer disbelief before shoving my phone light in his eyes.
After Madelene crash-landed, it was Jared who stayed to calm her down while I ran to get our mom. Nothing about providing care has ever felt instinctual, but I owe it to him to try.
“What were you doing before this?” I say, as the concentrated shine moves from his right eye to his left. In the direct light, they’re an opaque shade of rich amber. No signs of pupil dilation.
“Conducting experiments,” he explains. “In the lab.”
“What—” The word is less of a question and more of a reaction. “At this hour?”
His shoulders lift in a tight shrug.
I shine the light over the rest of his face. He’s not bleeding. Nothing’s broken. There aren’t any clear signs of distress. Maybe everything’s fine?
“Wait a minute,” I say, the pieces slotting together. “You’re Sumner’s roommate, right? The overseas transfer?”
I don’t know why it didn’t register before. If Sumner hadn’t met William because he was delayed, then maybe he’s only just arrived.
William pinches his chin with his thumb and index knuckle as he drinks in the walls of Segner House. “Am I supposed to be here?”
“This is the back of Segner,” I offer. “The front is around the other side. It looks a little different at night.”
It’s getting late. I can’t just ditch him. While it’s entirely possible he’ll wake up with his short-term memory intact tomorrow, I should at least make sure he knows where he’s going.
“Here.” I step in front of the back door and use my precise jiggling method to launch it open. “Follow me.”
There’s no one in the locker room. The fluorescents dim and flicker, as if on the verge of going out. William doesn’t seem to notice. He runs a hand over the smooth metal lockers before turning to me.
“Is your stuff already in the room?”
“Stuff?” he repeats.
“Your luggage? Everything you brought with you?” I eye his top hat. “Clothes less hero-in-a-Bronte-novel and more twenty-first century?”
“I—”
“Are you doing a play or something? My sister performs, too.”
William’s eyes narrow. “No.” He straightens his posture. “And I believe this is all I have on me. I haven’t yet seen my quarters.”
“Did the airline lose your luggage or something?” I scour the area until I find what I’m looking for. A large plastic tub with a strip of duct tape on the lid, LOST AND FOUND scribbled in sharp capitals. “Do you have someone you can call?”
William lights up at the idea. “Of course.” He clears his throat before taking a breath and hollering at the top of his lungs, “Mother! Lady Caroline!”
My heart leaps into my throat. I cannot get caught in here again. Another Ellerby visit means she’ll certainly phone my mom to discuss my behavior.
I tuck myself behind a row of lockers and listen for footsteps, my ears straining to pick up an impending threat.
He waits. Turns to me. “I suppose they’re not coming.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “If this is some kind of joke, I need you to knock it off.”
His eyes flatten. “I assure you, it is not,” he says. “And though I do appreciate your assistance, I must admit your mannerisms are unbecoming.”
“I’m just trying to help,” I say, an edge of annoyance creeping in. “Or do you have someone you can text for that?”
“Text?”
“Yeah, like”—I wave my phone in front of him—“a friend? Or sibling, maybe?”
William stares at my screen for so long I think he’s malfunctioned. But then he reaches out and carefully takes the device from my hand. For several seconds he just…blinks down at it.
Without warning, he thrusts it back at me.
Okay. I guess not.
“Do you have a phone?”