“Feels like what?” Claire asked, not understanding what he was talking about.
“Feels like we just end up places.” He shrugged, turning around so they both looked at the funhouse. “We don’t know, yet here we are.”
“You didn’t plan to come here?”
The big man laughed. “No. I did not plan for the mythological invasion or that my country had no jobs, unless you wanted to work for the corrupt government. But we must do what we can. Nothing else can be asked.”
“What do you mean, do what we can?” Claire didn’t look over at him, afraid that he might stop talking to her. This felt important, although she didn’t know why.
“That building there.” He pointed at the funhouse. “It is only a building. There are things inside, yes, but it is only a building. But you are scared of it, you and your friends. You have not come back. Why?”
Claire was quiet for a second. “I don’t know. We’ve been busy. There are other things going on.”
“Yes. Yes. But Dean Pritcham, she asked me. She asked me if you beat it, and I said no. So she will not let you go where you want, right?”
Claire nodded.
“And now you are here, staring at the funhouse but not knowing how. It feels like that, yes? We just end up places without knowing how.”
“That’s what I told you,” Claire responded, a little angry at both him and herself.
“I didn’t plan the invasion, but here I am. Yet, I think I know.” He raised a hand and tapped his temple. “Deep down where it counts, I think I know. Learned how to fight, how to teach others, and now, I’m here to help save world.” He turned to her. “You know too.” He touched his finger to her temple. “Where it counts, why you came here. You have to beat the funhouse because you want to save the world too.”
Claire looked into the deep, caring eyes of a man who could break almost anyone. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d wandered out here subconsciously because this was how she knew she could help Frank.
By beating this thing.
“We must do what we can do,” the big man repeated, putting his hand down. “What you can do is train, not worry about the future, not think about the past. Train, here and now. Then…” He shrugged and pointed at the sky. “It is up to the Big Man what happens, you understand?”
Claire nodded, thinking she did. “Thanks, Dr. Kilgore.”
“Anytime.” He waved his hand toward the funhouse. “You and your friends come back when you are ready.”
“We’ll be back,” Claire told him, staring at the funhouse. “You can bet on it.”
Claire had walked back across the grounds and into the building, thinking about what Dr. Kilgore had told her.
You only think you don’t know what you’re doing. In the end, though, your instincts knew all along. You’ve got to trust in them.
She at least knew where she was headed now. Class would be out, and she imagined Dr. Byron would be in his office, so that was where she went. Claire was still angry with the agents and the dean, so she couldn’t really confide in them, and she knew she wasn’t nearly calm enough to talk to Jack and Marissa yet. Byron was the only other option.
She reached his door and knocked on it.
“Come in,” came the professor’s voice from the other side.
Claire twisted the knob and pushed open the door.
“Ah, Ms. Hinterland.” Dr. Byron looked up from the papers on his desk and grinned. “To what do I owe this annoyance?”
“You got a minute?” she asked as she shut the door behind her.
“For you?” Byron leaned back in his chair. “I may even have five. Sit down, Ms. Hinterland. What can I do for you?”
Claire walked to the chair in front of the desk and took a seat. She looked at the clock on his wall. “I’ve wasted this entire day. Missed all my classes.” She shook her head, mad at herself.
Byron nodded. “Yes, I heard they pulled you out of class, but not the reason why. I don’t think you can get in too much trouble if you were doing as the administration asked.”
She turned from the clock to the desk. “I’m not worried about being in trouble. Just, like you said. I’m mad at wasting time.”
Dr. Byron was quiet for a second, studying her. “I don’t think you’ve been to office hours before, Ms. Hinterland. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to tell you, but I also don’t really care at this point.” She nodded, assuring herself that even if she got in trouble for it, she’d be fine. “Frank went to Miami a few days ago to get us information. He volunteered to go. And we just got a message back today saying that they’ve got him—”
“Who are ‘they?’” Byron interrupted.
Claire shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. The witches who are bringing over all these ghosts, I assume. They just sent a message that couldn’t be mistaken and said there wasn’t any gold at the end of his rainbow.” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. She felt tears threatening to fall again. “Now they’ve got him and Dean Pritcham and the FBI agents all say we’re not ready and so we just have to train and wait on Mitchen before we can go. I...”
She wiped her eyes before the tears could really start flowing.
“That’s unacceptable,” Claire told him. “It’s unacceptable that we let him go, and now we’re not gonna save him.”
“Is that what they told you?” Dr. Byron asked. “That you can’t save him, or that you have to wait?”
Claire shook her head. “Does it really matter? Aren’t they both the same thing? If we have to wait, he’s going to be dead by the time we get there.”
Dr. Bryon stood up from his chair and went to the window behind his desk. Claire looked up, watching him. He was quiet for a few seconds. “We will have lessons about military strategy next year, although I’m not sure when you will get it. I’ve been picked to teach it, and it will be one of my favorites. You and your group are becoming almost like hitmen for the college, and the rest of the class turning more into the line of defense. We will send you out to kill, and we will build troops to back the rest of the world up if you fail.”
Dr. Byron put his hands behind his back, folding them over one another. “In military strategy, it’s important to understand your enemy. Perhaps as important as anything else. That’s what we do in our classes. We try to make you understand the enemy—or at least parts of them. We haven’t spoken about what these witches might be thinking, though, and that matters just as much.”
“What are they thinking?” Claire asked. “Because what they’re saying is, ‘We have Frank. Don’t come down here, we own Miami.’”
“A smart enemy is never going to tell you what they’re thinking, Ms. Hinterland. They will tell you things to deceive you, but think about what has happened.”
Claire sat up some and then leaned forward. “Frank went down there. He didn’t come back. Instead, they kidnapped him.”
“And?”
“And they sent us a note mocking us,” Claire told him harshly.
“Exactly. That’s the most crucial part here. They didn’t have to do that, did they? Frank could simply have disappeared, gone off the map and not come back. Sure, we would have had our suspicions about what happened, but no proof. He just as easily could have run off to another country and started drinking beer, perhaps even Ireland. The point is, we wouldn’t have known exactly what happened. They didn’t do that, though. They told us.” Dr. Byron turned around and looked at her. “Why?”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t thought about this earlier because she’d been too angry. At being told no, like a child, she thought. She spoke slowly as the anger subsided, being replaced by a much colder logic. “I don’t know exactly.”
“That’s not going to help either of us, Ms. Hinterland,” Dr. Byron responded. “Use your brain.”
Claire looked down at the desk in front of her, thinking. “Obviously, they want us to know they have him.” She wasn’t goin
g to say it in the past tense. She wouldn’t entertain the thought that he might be dead. “But why would they want us to know that?”
Dr. Byron nodded. “Keep going.”
“I only can think of two reasons.” She raised one finger. “The first is, they want to show us how strong they are and try to scare us into not coming to get him back.” She raised a second finger. “The other reason is they’re trying to provoke us. They want us to come down there and try to get him.”
Dr. Byron smiled. “Ms. Hinterland, I don’t care what your classmates say about you. You’re not stupid.”
Claire scowled.
Dr. Byron ignored the look. “So, out of two possibilities, which one seems the most logical?”
Claire was quiet for longer than a minute, her mind working through the details. “I think the second one,” she answered. “I think they want us to come down there.”
“Tell me why.”
She looked up, eyebrows raised. “Am I right?”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re right or not, it matters why you think that’s the case.” Dr. Byron waved his hand as if swatting away something annoying. “To be right is an idiotic goal in war. To understand your enemy is more important. You can be right in one battle, but for the wrong reasons, and then lose the war. Why do you think they want you to come down there?”
“If they wanted to scare us off, sending Frank’s body or some part of him would have been a more dramatic way to do it. They sent four-leaf clovers, so that we would know they have him, but didn’t prove he was dead.” Her brow furrowed as she thought through her reasons. “And then, the letter itself…They’re bragging. They’re laughing at us. As if they wanted to make us mad so that...” Her voice trailed off, and she looked directly at Dr. Byron.
“Bingo,” he told her with a grin. “So that you would run right down there to save him. You now see the importance of understanding your enemy, I hope. To do anything else is beneath you, Ms. Hinterland.”
Claire leaned back in her chair, slightly stunned. She was quiet as she stared at the floor, still coming to grips with how stupid she’d almost been. After a minute or so, she looked up. Dr. Byron was still smiling. “But what do we do? We can’t just leave him down there.”
The smile dropped off his face. “Don’t go back to being a dummy. You just told me what they want you to do. You should already know what you need to do.”
Claire nodded. “Train. Wait for Mitchen. Then go.” She gritted her teeth, not wanting to say the next sentence. “But what if they kill him?”
“We don’t live in a world of what-ifs. We live in the here and now. Whether or not Frank is dead doesn’t change the strategy you must undertake now that you know your enemy.” Dr. Byron stepped away from the window. “You need to train. You need your Unit trained. So get on with it, Ms. Hinterland.”
Chapter Fifteen
Frank slowly blinked his eyes as his vision returned to him. His head felt like someone had dropped an anvil on it, but not had the courtesy to make sure he died. He began gathering his senses, looking around to see where he was at.
I don’t have a freakin’ clue, he thought. It wasn’t the warehouse with the chalk circle, nor was it his hotel room. Frank didn’t need to jog his memory to understand what had happened. That black hole he jumped into stood out perfectly in his mind. He just didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious.
He groaned as he looked over his right shoulder. He didn’t see a single window in this place. He was strapped down to a chair in much the same fashion they’d secured that psychopathic doll. The room was empty, and he thought he was probably in a basement of some kind.
He pulled at the restraints, but they didn’t move.
Not like they were tied tightly and had very little give, but like they were fixed in place with a spell.
Fine, he thought, his head killing him. Just teleport.
Frank tried—twice. Nothing happened. No flashes, no movement. He simply remained sitting in the same chair.
“These crones definitely did something.” He groaned.
There was a door across the room. It was closed. He couldn’t tell if it was locked, although he thought probably not given that there wasn’t any real chance of him getting out on his own. Not with the ropes under some kind of spell.
Frank didn’t know how much time had passed, only that he thought this might be worse than actually dying. Sitting here staring at nothing, and for how long? Until Claire brought her lazy arse down here to save him?
Oh, Frank, ye’ve gotten yourself into a world of hurt this time.
The door across the room swung open and—
“Zeus help me, I don’t believe it,” Frank muttered.
He was staring at linen shorts and a linen shirt.
“Heard about Zeus, but never met ‘em,” the ghost remarked from across the room, the creepy wind still accompanying his voice. “They say he’s got a pole that don’t never go down, if you know what I mean.”
“There’s some truth to that. But right now, I need ye to come and get me out of these ropes,” Frank growled. He struggled underneath the ropes for effect. “As ye can see, they aren’t listening to me.”
The ghost walked toward Frank without bothering to shut the door behind him. “You think I’m going to be able to help? I’m a ghost. I’m no witch. Maybe a warlock or something could work on it, but I’m not one of them either.”
Frank’s brow furrowed. “So then what are you doing here?”
Al shrugged. “Figured I’d come to check on you. You did throw me in a hole, but you also gave me a beer. If you’re going to die, I might as well make sure they aren’t torturing you.”
Frank shook his head. “Ye’re as useless as tits on Medusa. I don’t need no checking up on, ye bastard. I need some freeing.”
Al moved around to the back of the chair where Frank couldn’t see him. “I mean, I would help you if I could, pal, but I just ain’t got the tools. Those witches put some serious hexes over this stuff, and from what I hear, they’ve got plans for you.”
Frank looked over his shoulder the best he could. “Plans? What plans?”
“You, my short green friend, are bait.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, and his hands turned into fists. “Bait for who?”
“That,” the ghost emphasized, “is what I’m not sure of. The other night, I did all the talking, while you made sure I had enough to drink. Perhaps if you had talked a bit more, I might know what’s going on.”
Frank stared at the door. There was only one group of people he could be bait for: Claire and her friends. “What are they planning to do, Al? Do ye know that, at least?”
The ghost walked back around to the front of the chair. “I only know what I’ve heard, and as you can imagine, most ghosts aren’t into rational conversation. More like flying around shrieking and trying to hurt whatever they come in contact with, which doesn’t make for a lot of pleasantries.”
“Ye talk more than a teenage girl, and believe me, I know. Me best friend is one.” Frank tried to wiggle the chair, but it wouldn’t move. “Tell me what they’re gonna do.”
“Frank, when you get out of there, we’ve got to work on this anger issue, ya know? That’s why I pummeled you when we first met. Just so angry, and I’m more of a happy-go-lucky type ghost.” Al chuckled, which sounded closer to a demon’s laugh than anything happy. “But to be honest, I’m not going to do anything. I can bring you some sandwiches or something, but I won’t be wiping your ass or cleaning you up. Certainly won’t be breaking you out of here. I’ll be sitting this one out, and if the witches catch on that I’m keeping you company from time to time, I’ll quit that too. One thing about witches, and I tried to tell you this earlier, is you don’t want to mess with them.”
Frank shook his head. He was angry enough to spit acid, but what could he do right now? Just spit saliva and sit here. “Okay, Al. I need ye to listen to me. I need a favor.”
“Everyone needs
something, except me,” the ghost remarked. “I don’t need anything, and I don’t go around asking people for anything, either.”
“Just listen, lad.” Frank was growing exasperated. “In Boston, there’s a bar. Ye go up there, and ye’ll be able to find it pretty easily. When ye get to that bar, ye tell them Frank sent ye, then ask them about the university. They’ll know what ye mean. I need ye to go to that university and tell a girl named Claire what’s happened. Can ye do that for me?”
The ghost laughed again, and the sound made goosebumps rise on Frank’s skin.
“No, I can’t do that for you, Betty. Didn’t you listen to a word I said? I’m sitting this out. Not taking sides. Chilling. Whatever you want to call it. I’m not going to Boston.”
Frank gripped the armrests with his fingers. “There’s no danger in this for ye. None. Ye simply get to Boston, tell them what happened and where I’m at, then ye’re done. Why can’t ye do that?”
“Mainly because I don’t want to end up like you. Sitting in this chair, waiting to die.” The ghost took a few steps back. “I like you well enough, but when you’re dead, you lose the bonds to humanity—or leprechaun-y—or whatever. I’m alone, and I like it that way. I want to keep living whatever life this is.”
Frank glared at him. “What ye don’t understand is what will happen if ye don’t listen to me. If ye don’t do me this favor. This girl I’m telling ye about, Claire. She’s going to come down here, and she’s going to kill these witches and anything else on their side. She’s not me, ye understand? I can fight, but she’s a leader. She’s bringing a group, and all three have more courage than all the people in this city combined—including them two bitches that put me here.”
Frank paused, his breath heavy from his anger. “And when they get here, Al, and they kill those witches, what do ye think will happen to ye? Those witches summoned ye, and the minute they’re dead, ye go bye-bye. Mayhap behind the Veil again, or mayhap ye disappear for good. But what I’m telling ye now is, ye have to choose a side, and the right one is with Claire. Because hell is running this place right now, but she’s going to bring the light, and it’s going to sanitize this whole fucking place.”
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