Chapter 24
As soon as I get back to the classroom, I text Delia.
Me:
There’s a new TA now. Apparently Julian dropped out???
Delia:
seriously?? but he was such a Professor Brown-noser. lol
Me:
I know. When I ended things with him, he was stressed about midterm reviews and applying to be Prof B’s assistant. So. Doesn’t make too much sense that he dropped out.
Also, like, a huge bird crashed into the classroom window and died. Its head was twisted nearly all the way off.
Delia:
oh dude that’s scary. now I wish I’d come, im so sorry Ro-Ro
Should I tell Delia about the Julian look-alike at Hemlock Cove?
I glance at the fractal of blood-smeared cracks on the classroom window as Abigail drones on in the background.
I feel that icy dread climb my ribs as the snowfall gets heavier, the visibility of campus being slowly swallowed in white.
The wind thrashes the trees so violently that a few skeletal branches paw at the glass.
I go with my gut.
Me:
Don’t tell Hayden this, but I’m freaked out because I swear to god I saw Julian when we were visiting Hemlock Cove the other day. I thought it was just my crazy imagination doing its dumb thing, so I brushed it off, but now that he’s missing, I’m not so sure anymore.
Conversation bubbles pop up on Delia’s end. Disappear. Pop up. Disappear.
I’m starting to get self-conscious that Delia thinks I’m making stuff up when she fires back a message.
Delia:
Ro, I really feel like I should tell Hay about this.
Ugh. Things are so good with us right now, though. This could absolutely all be in my head, and Hayden goes all distant and closed off when he’s super worried. And there’s nothing to be worried about yet.
Right?
And what am I even suggesting? That Julian followed us to Hemlock Cove? That he was watching me? Because I broke up with him? That’s absolutely ridiculous.
Me:
Please don’t say anything. It’s really not a big deal, I swear
The conversation bubble dance happens again, longer this time. I get what I’m asking her, that as far as friends go, Hayden’s basically family and I’m an acquaintance. When Delia replies, I let out a sigh of relief.
Delia:
Alright, fine. But only because when it comes to you, your boy Overreacts. Capital O. Want me to come meet you after your class?
I check the time. There are only ten minutes left.
Me:
No, we’re almost done, I’ll come straight to you. Where are you?
Delia:
Mad-Eye Broody wanted to try doing curse research. I’m at that new age bookstore on Bayshore Ave.
Just off of north campus where the tunnels spill out. The red line bus has a stop right outside the store.
I glance back out the window. The snow has only gotten worse.
Me:
Buses are always super delayed in this weather. I’ll try the tunnels.
Delia:
don’t do it. tunnels haven’t been updated since Prohibition. Don’t worry about delays, take the bus. It’s safer. I just got here. You’ve got time.
The campus bell tower rings. The chiming is eerier than normal today. I chew my lip and shoot off my last text to Delia.
Me:
Fine. Sharing my location so you know when I’m close.
I swiftly pack up my bag as the classroom dissolves into the sounds of conversation, the rattle of paintbrushes and palettes, and scraping chairs. I check the bus app in the hallway, and it’s even worse than I expected: All routes are delayed by one hour from the heavier-than-expected snowfall.
Delia would be perfectly fine if I didn’t show up for over an hour. She’s patient like that. But me?
I can’t afford to be patient.
—
Unfortunately, Delia wasn’t exaggerating: The tunnels are actually pretty creepy.
I’ve got the door propped open, and it looks pitch black inside.
I can’t even see how high the ceilings are.
It’s nearly blindingly white outside, so it’s difficult to tell if the lights are off or the contrast is just too stark to make out.
Shaking from the freezing cold, I take a deep breath, ignore the way my mouth dries up and my pulse rises, and step into the dark.
When the door slams shut behind me, the low whistling of the wind vanishes.
The silence is a physical thing, my ears ringing after the blustery roar on the walk over.
Good news, though: There are lights in here.
Sure, they’re a little dim, and there’s a creepy flickering around a corner up ahead, but I’m not gonna complain.
I’m just gonna keep walking.
The Payen tunnels are a long, low tube of graffitied concrete.
The pools of light are stingy, leaving lots of thick shadows hugging the walls.
Each one of my footsteps ricochets up and down the long hall.
Other than my echoing footfalls, the electric drone of the failing light, and a distant wet, dripping sound, there’s no other noise.
In other words: I’m the only one in this huge, long room.
Somehow, it’s colder in here than out there. It’s unnerving to see my breath right now. I try and do a breathing exercise to stay calm: breathe in for three seconds, hold for three seconds, breathe out for three seconds, then hold another three.
It actually sort of works. My heart rate ticks down a notch. But still, I can’t deny I’m jumpy. My boot nicks an empty beer can, and the metallic crash is deafening in the silent, echoey space, sending my heart rate back up. My stomach sinks when I approach another curve.
How long is this ever-loving tunnel?
You’re brave, I tell myself. You’re doing great. Look how far you’ve come. And it’s true, isn’t it? I feel like I’m doing pretty well for someone who’s visited her own grave and has found herself quite comfortable in the company of vampires.
When I round the next bend, I let out a relieved noise. There’s the door, just about a hundred feet ahead, the neon-red exit sign hanging above. Everything in me relaxes, and my pulse slows.
One of the shadows by the door shifts, and a man steps out of the dark.
I freeze. My mouth dries. The roof of my mouth feels like sandpaper. Sweat breaks out across the top of my lip and forehead, my heartbeat slamming.
He’s too far away in this poor lighting to be anything but a silhouette. I can’t even gauge how tall he is, what age. He’s not moving. Not making a sound. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps.
The man is simply standing there. Staring at me.
I could turn around and sprint now. But what if it’s just some dude? Some idiot guy playing a prank?
“Are you trying to scare me?” I try, puffing out my chest. “Cuz, um, it’s not gonna…gonna work?”
All the lights in the tunnel cut out. I’m plunged into perfect dark. I scream, immediately hyperventilating.
I hate the dark, hate, hate, hate the dark—I can feel it filling my lungs, suffocating me.
I fight to get my breaths under control.
I walk backward, away from the man. Too afraid to run and slam into a wall.
I fumble for my phone in my pocket, but I have no dexterity with my gloves.
I yank them off with my teeth, shaking so hard I drop them, lost forever in the dark.
I find my phone, pull it out, switch on the flashlight. The world shrinks to a single beam of light. My ragged breaths bounce off the dirty concrete. I listen but hear nothing else. No footsteps. No breaths.
I whirl in a full circle, strafing the phone light up and down. I reveal the tunnel one shallow foot of light at a time. There’s no one here. Just peeling graffiti. Dirty, wet ground littered with cigarette butts.
I keep moving back, shooting the light everywhere. My heart beats painfully in my throat. I can feel it throb in the meat of my tongue. My eyeballs. At the tips of my fingers.
“Rose,” I hear, a whisper that’s nothing more than a dry scrape of leaves, something I could have easily imagined. I flounder in terror, whirling around, because did I imagine it?
I’m panting raggedly, shooting my light to the ground in front of me. I shoot it to my right. My left. I shoot the light up.
Clinging to the ceiling is a body with a chalk-white face, wide, bloodstained smile, pitch-black eyes, and two sharp fangs. As soon it meets the light, the thing lunges at me.
I don’t have time to scream. I’m backhanded across the face. The impact slams me to the ground, the phone knocked from my hand. I hear it clatter down the tunnel, and the flashlight extinguishes.
I’m lying on my stomach in the dark, alone with the creature.
Now I scream. A hand wrenches in my hair, yanking my head back so hard, my entire torso lifts off the ground. Tears of pain spring into my eyes as it drags me backward.
I really should have thought of my last words.
A breeze kisses my cheek. There’s the meaty sound of impact and a male grunt of pain.
The grip on my hair disappears. I flop back on my stomach, wind knocking out of me.
Behind me, vicious snarls ricochet up and down the tunnel.
I crawl around, feeling frantically among the filth and debris for my phone.
Something slams against the wall. There’s a sharp hiss, the sound of exertion and grappling. My fingers close around my phone. I feel my way to a wall, push myself to standing. Something solid thuds to the ground. I feel the vibration of impact, followed by a deep, guttural “Oof.”
And then silence.
Arms snake around my middle. I’m yanked back against someone, and a chin hooks over my shoulder.
I scream.
“Shh, it’s me.” Delia! “He won’t be out long, and I don’t know if there’re others, so hold on tight.”
“Hold on to what—” My gasp is sucked from my lungs as I’m suddenly flying toward the exit. Air roars in my ears. We’re moving so fast I can’t catch my breath. Delia’s anchoring me at my waist, but there’s nothing to hold on to. My arms and legs flail in the air, tears soaking my cheeks.
I feel Delia hunch, and she takes the impact as we crash the door open.
I recoil, squeezing my eyes shut from the scalding white light of the snowstorm.
Delia doesn’t stop flying through the storm for another few minutes.
When she finally stills, propping me against a tree, I see Coupland Hall over her shoulder.
“Fuck, Ro.” Delia’s voice is lower and rougher than normal. It’d be a little frightening if she didn’t look so worried about me. “Are you okay?” Delia’s eyes are nearly all black, and most startling of all, her fangs are out. They’re slimmer than Hayden’s, more needlelike, but noticeably longer.
They look very, very sharp.
Logically, I knew Delia was a vampire, but seeing it is something else. Her long pale-gold hair is dancing in the wind, her eyes wide with concern. If not for the daggers sticking out of her mouth, she’d look like an angel.
Maybe she still does.
“Talk to me, Ro,” she pleads, pressing a cool palm on my forehead.
“You’re bleeding,” I finally rasp.
Delia pulls back, shocked. “No way. The fucker got me?” I point at her forehead, where there’s a huge gash, and when she puts her fingers into the split skin, her face contorts. “Oh. Oh. That little…”
She drops her hand to the ground, palm up, and crooks her index finger once. A field mouse pops out of the snow and scampers into her palm. Glaring distractedly over my shoulder, she raises the mouse to her mouth like an apple. I’m ashamed of how I jerk my eyes away when she bites into it.
“Haven’t you, like, held your own intestines in your dreams?” Delia says wryly, tossing the drained corpse over her shoulder. Fascinated, I watch the wound on her forehead knit and seal. When she wipes the blood away, the skin is smooth. Flawless. I start to tremble violently.
“Jeez, if I’d known a little mouse was gonna make you freak…”
It’s not just the mouse. It’s the fact that Delia, who taught me how to blend eye shadows and painted my nails, is sort of an insanely badass superhero, and if it weren’t for her, I’d be dead.
I saw a raven’s twisted neck and a vampire almost killed me today.
It’s feeling less likely I’ll make it to nineteen.
“It’s j-just been a lot,” I say, teeth chattering. Delia’s eyes soften. Her teeth are nearly retracted now, I see.
“Sorry, Ro. Sorry, come here.” She helps me to my feet and half carries me toward Coupland Hall.
“You recognize him?” I whisper.
Delia shoots me an anxious look. “Yeah. You?”
I nod.
Julian.
Delia lets out a low whistle.
“Hayden’s gonna be pissed,” she mutters, yanking open the front door.