Secret of McKinley Mansion

by K. F. Breene

  “Y-yes.” I started forward. “Yes, Ella. How’d you know? Did your mom tell you?”

  “My mother? What?” He shot me a confused look, tinged with exasperation.

  “Never mind.” I waved the thought away. “Do you need help?”

  “I mean, I shouldn’t, right? It’s a lock. They aren’t that complicated.” He gestured at it angrily. “But the damn thing won’t open.”

  I grimaced at the vehemence. “Maybe they gave you the wrong combination?” I asked.

  “The wrong permutation, you mean,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I opened it when they first assigned it to me, then again right before lunch. There’s no reason it shouldn’t open now, but I’ve tried it—”

  The second bell drowned out his words.

  He threw me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’ve made you late. You can go if you want. I’ll figure it out.”

  I sighed as the last red door on the left swung shut. “Too late. I’m officially tardy.” I sighed again for good measure. “It’s par for the course. I didn’t finish my homework, anyway.” I took the slip of paper from him. “Can I have the…” I huffed out a laugh, remembering his offhanded remark. “You’re right. Technically, the lock is a permutation, not a combination, since the order of the numerical sequence matters.”

  “Yeah,” he said without inflection, studying the piece of paper in my hand.

  “Right, okay.” I studied the locker assignment slip and began with step one in my personal problem-solving guide: check to make sure you’re not missing the obvious.

  He didn’t have the right locker.

  I laughed and handed the slip back to him, pointing at the locker next to the one he’d tried to kick his way into. “Remember it this way. Yours is the one with the yo mama joke written across it sparkly gold letters. This is some other poor shmuck’s locker.”

  A stubborn expression crossed his face and he opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then his eyes did their own spot check between the paper and the locker number, and a smile took over. He chuckled softly. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Hey, you not only know the difference between permutations and combinations, but can actually apply that knowledge to real life. You are certainly not an idiot.” I pointed at the dent in the bottom of the locker. “Or even-keeled.”

  “I have a small rage problem,” he said with a smile. It seemed like he was joking, but as he turned the dial on his lock, I noticed the white, jagged scars on his hands and fingers. Standing next to me, his size came into perspective. He was at least seven inches taller than me, with a robust frame coated with lean muscle. His bicep was large enough to strain his shirt as he pulled the lock open, and his stomach was flat and probably defined. He was a powerful, well-built man…and the Old Woman had pointed him in my direction.

  Cold washed over me and I stepped away. I did need to warn him about the danger he was in—or we both were in, or maybe just I was in—and try to help him shut her out, but at the moment, all I could think of was him hitting me over the head and dragging me up the street to McKinley Mansion. I needed some time and space to shrug off these heebie-jeebies and let logic take over.

  “All right, then,” I said, backing into the middle of the desolated hall. “Glad that worked out.”

  “Hey, wait. Ella.” He held up his hand. “I can walk you to your class and explain why you were late. They’ll probably give you a pass for helping the new guy.”

  I clenched my fist, because that would be totally rad for popularity points, but the shivers were still running rampant, warning me to steer clear. “Nope. I’m fine. Honestly. See ya.”

  I started walking. A book thunked in his locker before the harsh sound of metal slamming made me jump. I picked up speed, now power-walking through the hall.

  “Ella—”

  I glanced back and he was behind me, his pace much too fast for a guy who planned to let me get away.

  My heart leapt and the events of the night before replayed in my memory. The poltergeist, who’d plagued the children of town for over a century, standing beneath Braiden’s window as he looked down at her, holding a candle, the light flickering across his face and creating deep shadows in his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. Like a ghoul ordered to kidnap me.

  Did her influence on him extend into the daytime?

  My breath caught in my throat. I gasped for air. I reached the door and grabbed the handle.

  “Ella, I think we’re—”

  I pulled it open and stepped in. Mr. Williams, the calculus teacher, stopped what he was saying mid-sentence and turned to face me. Everyone’s eyes in the classroom snapped up, finding me immediately.

  A new fear washed over me, this one of the social awkwardness variety.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” Buffy leaned in her seat so she could see me better. Her pink-glossed lips twisted into a smirk. “Tardy. Doesn’t that mean another trip to the principal’s office? Detention number three, here you come.”

  A presence filled in behind me. A large hand covered my shoulder, followed by a gentle yet firm push, making me take another step into the room.

  “Sorry, Mr. Williams,” Braiden said as he followed me in. With the other hand, he gave Mr. Williams a yellow slip of paper. “I’ve been assigned to this class. Ella was just helping me with my locker and showing me around. I apologize for keeping her.”

  Buffy’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Shock quickly turned to anger and her eyes narrowed.

  “I see.” Mr. Williams glanced at the slip. “Yes, Mr. Morris mentioned you would be starting early. Have a seat. Ella, you too.”

  Three empty seats were spread out around the room, one next to Odis, where I usually sat, one at the front, and the third in the back.

  Braiden didn’t take his hand off my shoulder. “Actually, sir, since the school year is already underway, the other teachers paired me up with a classmate to get me up to speed.”

  Mr. Williams paused in turning to the chalkboard. His brow furrowed. “I was under the impression you’d be ahead of us, what with the prep school you previously attended and your high grade point average.”

  Braiden directed me past my seat, leaving a confused Odis in our wake, and headed toward the open seat at the rear. “That’s true, sir. The only thing is, the style of teaching is a little different here. It would be helpful to have a guide.” He stopped us near the open seat.

  “Fine—”

  Buffy’s hand shot up. “I can do it, Mr. Williams.”

  “—Ella, as the leading points holder, see that Mr. Rhodes gets what he needs.” Mr. Williams waved us away and finished the turn to the chalkboard.

  “And you thought you’d gotten away,” Braiden said in a deep tone, his eyes boring into mine.

  Chapter Seven

  A shiver of fear worked down my spine, softened somewhat by the glimmer in his blue eyes. He was kidding, and while I wished that would erase the danger, it didn’t.

  Had any other popular kid ordered me to take a different seat, I would have scoffed and rolled my eyes before sitting exactly where I wanted to. But I needed some one-on-one time with Braiden, and this might be my best opportunity to have a safe chat with him.

  “Fine.” I nudged the leg of the occupied chair in front of his, it being closer than the one next to him, given the spacing of the rows. Andrea was a brainy girl who could run circles around me in French and daydreaming, but wasn’t so adept at math. Her hair spread out from her head like a fuzzy halo. “I need this seat. Because of the new guy.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at Braiden.

  Her gaze found him before she looked at Mr. Williams, who was scrawling a problem across the chalkboard. Instead of landing back on me, her gaze traveled across the way to Odis. Her recently downturned smile headed in the other direction.

  Face reddening, she clutched her book to her chest and grabbed a strap of her backpack before standing. I motioned for Braiden to take the seat.

  “I’ll sit in this one.�
�� Braiden touched the back of the vacant chair behind it.

  Yeah, right. If he was hanging out with Dirk, he might get ideas. I didn’t need any more gum in my hair.

  “Nope. This one or no dice.” I nudged the chair leg again with my foot, making the recently evacuated seat/desk combo slide over a fraction.

  “Is there a problem?” Mr. Williams asked.

  Andrea paused next to the desk in front of Odis, her book still tightly clutched to her chest.

  “Does he really need someone to help him?” Odis asked, turned sideways in his seat so he could see the room at large. He gestured our way. “Anyone in their senior year can figure out how to turn in homework and write their names on tests.”

  “How do you know? Did you recently move from New York City?” Buffy shot Odis a scowl before giving Braiden the pouty sort of smile all the guys seemed to love. “Fella obviously doesn’t want to help you. I can do it. I know the ropes.”

  “What did she call you?” Braiden asked.

  “I think you need to focus on your own homework, Buffy,” Mr. Williams said. “Ella, take a seat. We’re already behind.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Williams.” I straight-armed Braiden, forcing him to step back, and then walked in front of him and swung down into the last seat in the row.

  “You too…Braiden.” Mr. Williams motioned for him to sit.

  A sexy, lopsided grin worked up Braiden’s face. “Yes, sir.” He moved slowly, taking his seat, his mischievous gaze rooted to mine for as long as possible.

  My heart went thump-thump-thump.

  My brain tried to smother my heart.

  “Now. What have I put on the board?” Mr. Williams asked the class.

  “Greek,” Sam, my locker neighbor, called out. “Or is it Sanskrit?”

  “Very humorous, Sam,” Mr. Williams drawled.

  I pulled out my book and placed it on my desk before grabbing out my binder. I flipped it open as Braiden hopped around in his seat, the metal legs chirping against the linoleum. After pulling out my incomplete homework, I took out a couple more pages for note taking and put the binder away. His plastic seat hit my desk as he turned it around, the sudden contact jolting me.

  He was shifting his desk sideways.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as Mr. Williams said, “Brandon, is there a problem?”

  “Braiden,” he corrected, reaching toward me.

  “What’s that?” Mr. Williams put a hand to his ear.

  “You have to speak up,” I muttered. “He’s notoriously hard of hearing.”

  Braiden pointed at his chest. “I’m Brai-den.”

  I edged back in my seat as he reached toward my chest. He hooked his fingers around my desk and pulled, dragging my desk/seat combo closer to his.

  “What are you doing?” I repeated in low tones.

  “I apologize. Braiden. Is there a problem?” Mr. Williams said, holding the chalk to the side as he awaited an explanation. The rest of the class had turned to look.

  “This is all new to me, Mr. Williams,” Braiden said smoothly, and something about his tone rang false. “I just want to make it easier for me to ask Ella questions in a way that won’t disturb the class or take up valuable teaching time.” He clasped his hands on his desk, a mockery of Mr. Perfect Student.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but Mr. Williams didn’t seem to hear or see the same things I did. He blinked for a moment, considering the request, and then nodded. “Good thinking, Brandon. Now, class, let’s turn our attention to what I have on the board.”

  Realizing I had no dog in this fight, I took a pencil out of my front flap before placing it in the little groove at the top of the desk. I tucked my papers under my book and then opened it to last night’s problems. As expected, a quarter of the page was covered in hard green wax.

  I picked at the edge with my nail, trying to pry it off. It pulled at the paper before a small rip made me pause. The best-case scenario was that the wax would peel off all of the text, as I’d already discovered. The worst, and more likely, possibility was that the whole page would rip out.

  “Crap,” I muttered. Maybe I could appeal to the state’s historic society for the money to replace the book, since they were the psychos who owned McKinley Mansion…

  “Do you do your homework by candlelight?”

  Braiden’s voice wasn’t the light and teasing tone I’d grown accustomed to. This time it was deeper and rough. Plagued by the memory of the night before.

  “No. Can I borrow your book for a second? I need to finish up my homework really quick. I can use your excuse for making me tardy as my reason for not turning it in when I got here.”

  He passed over his book without a word, swapping it for mine. I didn’t complain. He could have it. The fine would then be on him.

  “You spoke about…last night,” he said, unheard this far in the back of the room. Mr. Williams had launched into his lecture, but I hadn’t registered a word. I’d have to ask Odis for the notes. “I saw you. In your window.”

  I kept my face pointed down at the book so he wouldn’t see the flush that had infused my cheeks. Yup, that was me, staring like a creep. Twice.

  “Did you…” He leaned toward the front of the room. I couldn’t see his face, but I could read the stiffness in his shoulders. He was not processing this well.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” I whispered. Might as well start there.

  His face came around and I marveled that he could make even a constipated expression look hot. He didn’t answer.

  “Before last night, I mean.” I finished writing down the problem before meeting his wary eyes. “Before last night, did you, even a little bit, believe in ghosts? You can answer honestly. I won’t judge, either way.”

  “No. They’re fun to watch shows about, but in real life, no, I didn’t… I don’t…” Frustration crossed his face.

  I held up a hand. “I get it. More than fifty percent of people don’t believe in ghosts. One in two.” I pointed at myself. “This one does.” I pointed at him. “That one does not. We validate the statistic.”

  A grin broke through his serious expression.

  I glanced up at the board, hoping Odis was getting all this down. “The thing is.” I went back to my homework problem. “You live in a house that will start to mess with your mind. It’s one of the most haunted houses in the town, if the Johnsons could be believed. So, if I were you, I’d keep an open mind or you’ll go crazy. Like their dog. Also, prepare for a lot of barking from your dog and dirty looks from your neighbors. Including my dad. He cannot stand the racket.”

  I scratched my head, squinting down at the paper.

  “Did you see me last night?” he asked.

  “Here’s the thing.” I ran my fingers through my hair, which was a mistake, given the amount of hairspray I’d used on the elaborate tease I’d put in to give it body. I should’ve just gotten a perm with my mother. “I need to bust out this problem, then I’m all ears.”

  He leaned toward my paper, looking at the problem. A moment later, he turned and swung his arm around, barely missing my face with his elbow. He captured the book and took it back to his desk, but didn’t return mine.

  “Okay then.” I pushed Mr. Williams’s drone of a voice to the back of my head and focused on the problem. It was just like the others, so all I really had to do was apply the same framework.

  I was halfway done when a sheet of paper was slapped down at the side of my desk. As I watched his hand pull away, I realized two things. One was that both of Braiden’s hands were marked the same way, with little scars around his knuckles, and two was that he’d finished the problem I’d been working on in less than half the time.

  Eyes wide, I blinked at him. “How far ahead are you?”

  “Did you see me last night?”

  I pulled his page in front of me and looked over his problem and the half I’d finished on mine. They were identical. His was just complete.

  “Dang, you are smart.” I beg
an copying immediately while silently considering his question. I went with the information-gathering approach. “You couldn’t tell I was looking at you?”

  “I…wasn’t sure if my eyes were playing tricks.”

  “I did see you,” I said, glancing at the board again to check where Mr. Williams was in his lesson. He was like clockwork—he lectured, walked through a problem, gave notes on how to solve it, and then asked questions. I just had to make sure I was paying attention by the time the question-and-answer portion of class came around. “You were at your window with a candle in your hand.”

  He rested one of his elbows on my desk and stared at the board quietly for a moment. I wondered if he was refreshing himself on the information in Mr. Williams’s lecture.

  “My room had a bed, a couple of other pieces of furniture, and a lot of boxes in it,” he said softly, still looking at the board. “I hadn’t unpacked my clothes. This isn’t even clean.” He plucked at his shirt.

  “That’s…probably not something you want to tell girls. We’re sensitive about hygiene—”

  “Even if I had unpacked, I am nearly certain I didn’t have a candle in those boxes.”

  There it was.

  It was hard to be a nonbeliever when the unbelievable happened.

  “Firstly, you should always have candles handy. We lose power more than is probably normal. Secondly, yeah,” I continued, “the candle thing. That’s…something I need to talk to you about. But to really understand it, you need a history lesson. And honestly, you probably need to spend a few nights in your new house to open your mind some. Assuming you don’t want to go crazy.”

  Braiden shifted, and I could tell he was uncomfortable. His new life would be a shock to the system, I could tell. “The candle…thing. Why is that a thing? What’s the thing?”

  I grinned at his confusion. It was endearing for some reason—it made him less of a rich and handsome god, and more of a normal guy. More personable. “The candle wasn’t just in your room—it was lit, right?”

  The blood drained from his face.

  At the front of the room, Mr. Williams wrapped up what he was saying and put his chalk on the metal tray below the chalkboard with precise movements. He wiped off his hands and turned to the class.