She liked Mason and thought Grimsby wasn’t so bad, after all.
Suddenly, there was a gurgling sound, as if someone were coughing up blood. Mason started making frantic movements inside his truck, but he wasn’t hurt; he was trying to keep his truck cranked up. It didn’t work. It died, silent.
Mason cursed. “Sorry,” he apologized to Edie. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I just had it serviced.”
Edie gave Lockhart Manor a wary glance. The ground’s cursed, I know it.
“No signal,” Mason said, checking his cell phone. “What about you?”
Edie checked hers. The signal was strong. “Do you want me to call someone?” she asked. “A tow truck?”
Mason sighed and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, thinking. “Well…if you don’t mind, you could drive me back to school. I’ll show you the way. Later, I’ll have someone come by and get the truck.”
Edie smiled. “So now I’m rescuing you?”
Mason chuckled. “It seems that way.”
He got out of his truck and shut the door, not bothering to lock it, and then he came toward her car. Edie moved her backpack behind her, so Mason could sit in the passenger’s seat.
“Ooh, nice,” he commented, sliding in. “But hot.” He closed the vents in front of him.
“Sorry, I’m not used to the cold,” Edie reminded him.
Edie adjusted the fire that she’d started, turning down the knob, just a little.
She couldn’t drive shivering. They’d never make it to school, but a ditch instead.
Mason said, “I bet if you were to stay here long enough, you’d adapt to the cold.” He seemed anxious. “Are you planning on staying in Grimsby for a while?”
Edie shrugged. “Well, I’m a senior and I guess I’ll be going off to college after graduation. I don’t know where but probably somewhere down south.”
Mason’s face fell, disappointed. “Oh, well, maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“Maybe,” she said, not committing either way.
At her “maybe,” his face lit up. He smiled. “Yeah, think about it. So why’d you move here if you don’t like the cold?” he asked.
Edie hesitated, and then said, “My…my parents died and I came here to live with my uncle. I had nowhere else to go.”
Mason was wearing a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry about your parents.” Then his frown turned up into a smile. “I’m a fan of your uncle,” he said, explaining his abrupt change in mood. “I’ve got all his books: The Demon’s Bride; A Vampire’s Vengeance; Washington’s Werewolf; I, Ghoul; The Ghosts of San Jose...”
Edie let Mason go on, not really listening, just staring at his face, so handsome.
“Edie?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
Mason smiled again. “I said: which story of your uncle’s is your favorite?”
She bit her lip, and then said, “Well, I’ve never read any of his books. My parents never let me, said they’d give me nightmares.”
“Well, you could borrow mine sometime, if you want. I mean, unless your uncle has copies around.”
Edie shrugged again. “I’ve never thought to ask, but if I were to go looking for one, I’d probably be buried under a pile of garbage.” She smiled crookedly, embarrassed. “My uncle’s kind of messy.”
That was an understatement. Her bedroom had been the only clean room in the house when she’d arrived. Everywhere else had papers, books, unopened mail, empty cigarette packs and spilled coffee stains. So…on her first day in Grimsby, she’d cleaned. Her uncle never said if he’d appreciated it or hated it. They lived on opposite sides of the house. Her side was very bright, welcoming. His side was very dark, oppressive. She guessed that he needed a dark environment to work in. You couldn’t be a successful horror writer if you sat in the sun all day.
Mason reached over for Edie’s cell phone. “May I?”
“Okay,” Edie said, handing it to him.
She leaned over and watched as he entered his name and number in her contacts list.
“There,” he said, after he’d finished, and handed the phone back to her.
The device was hot in her gloved hand. “What’d you do that for?” Edie asked.
Mason let out a chuckle. “A guy has never given you his number before?”
Edie blushed. “No.”
“Well…I’ll be your first, then. No pressure. Just call if you want to come over, grab a book. Or talk, whatever.”
Edie smiled. “Is everyone in Grimsby as welcoming as you?”
He smiled back, but then immediately frowned. “Unfortunately, no, but you have your bad apples everywhere, right?”
Edie could see in his hazel eyes that he was thinking of someone nasty in particular. She nodded in agreement and didn’t probe about this mystery person.
“So…I guess Principal Jennings must’ve really trusted you to come and get me.”
Mason smiled. “Yeah, she knows I’ll come back.”
“I’m sorry about your truck. If I hadn’t gotten lost—”
Mason cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry. It’s an old truck, bound to happen. So…” He thumbed at the mansion in the distance. “How’d you end up here?”
“Do you know this place?” Edie asked instead, feeling curious, despite her fear.
Mason shook his head. “I mean, I knew it was here, but this is an old part of town and no one really travels down this way. It’s just the woods and…nothing.”
Edie felt a cold finger travel up her spine and shivered.
Mason’s wrong. There was definitely something here.
“Do you know anything about the people who used to live here?” Edie asked Mason. “The Lockharts?”
“Nope. The house has always been vacant.”
“No one’s bought it?”
“It’s never been for sale, as far as I know.” He gave Edie a concerned look. “Why? What happened?”
Edie shook her head, not wanting to scare away the one good person she’d found in Grimsby. “Nothing. It just…looks creepy, don’t you think?”
Mason appraised the house, the grounds, the woods, and then turned back toward her. “Yeah, I guess if you were out here alone. At night,” he added, and she knew from his relaxed tone that he wasn’t as scared as she was.
Or maybe I’m just one big scaredy-cat. Edie’s cell phone rang, causing her to jump. Yep, she was definitely one big scaredy-cat. She looked at the display and noticed it was the same number that’d called her before.
“Hey, Principal Jennings,” Edie said. “We’re on our way now.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I was starting to get worried. I feel better now. See you soon.”
After Edie had said goodbye, she ended the call and turned toward Mason. “Does she treat all new students this way?”
Mason shook his head. “I think it’s because you’re famous.”
Edie grimaced. “Me? Famous?”
“Well, the niece of a famous uncle,” he amended. “Grimsby’s nothing to boast about, but we have an international bestselling author, who’s made this town his home. Puts us on the map, I guess.”
“Does…does everyone at school know who I am?” Edie asked nervously.
Mason nodded. When Edie groaned, he clasped her hand, and said, “Don’t worry.” He massaged her gloved hand; his was hot to the touch. “Jeez, you’re cold.” He let go of her to open up the vents that he’d closed earlier, and then turned them in her direction.
“Thanks,” Edie said. “I can never seem to get warm enough.”
“Well, the winter won’t last long. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Thanks,” Edie said, again.
He seemed confused. “For what?”
Edie blushed and felt a bit warmer. “For being so nice.”
Smiling, he reached out to clasp her hand again, but then he jerked his hand back, smile gone. He held his hand in his other, massaging an invisible wound.
Edie gasped. “Are you okay?”
He seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, I don’t know what happened. It was like…static electricity or something, a shock.” He flexed his fingers. “I’m fine now, but I could’ve sworn…”
“Sworn what?” she prodded.
He hesitated, and then said, “I could’ve sworn someone struck me. I felt…fingers…grabbing my hand, violent, trying to push me away.” He shook his head, dismissive. “That’s too weird, right? If there’s one thing about Grimsby, nothing weird ever happens here.”
Edie opened her mouth to speak, to dispute his belief, but she was speechless, her tongue frozen.
You’re wrong. You’re so very wrong, Mason.
Chapter 4
Halfway through their journey to Grimsby High School, Edie’s tongue thawed, and she was able to speak again.
She tried to get him to admit that yes, in fact, weird things, strange things, unexplainable things do happen. He conceded her point, but shook off any suggestion that fingers—unseen fingers—had touched him.
“I must’ve imagined it, that’s all,” he said, and flashed his dimpled smile, persuading her to give it a rest.
And she did. She didn’t want to push Mason away with her conspiracy theories. Perhaps he was right. He’d imagined being touched, just as she’d imagined being locked inside Lockhart Manor. It seemed as if their imaginations were running wild. Edie just hoped their demented minds were the only wild things in Grimsby.
They finally arrived and Edie parked in the student lot.
Grimsby High School wasn’t much to boast about: a two-story, charcoal-colored building that looked like it’d been built in the fifties.
“It looks better on the inside,” Mason said, reading her face.
“Oh, yeah?” She believed him, but need more proof.
“Yeah, fresh coat of paint,” he informed. “It used to be white. Now it’s cloud white,” he said dramatically.
Edie was confused. “What’s the difference?”
Mason chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing. It looks exactly the same. But it probably cost ten times more,” he added.
They walked side by side, as they entered the school through the front door. Mason had offered to carry her backpack, and she’d let him, even though it was light as a feather.
He handed it back to her when they arrived at the main office. She could still smell the paint fumes, overwhelming her senses. He’d been right. The walls were white, almost snowy-looking, and a bit depressing, but Edie was biased against any representation of cold weather.
“Well, this is where I leave you,” he said, focusing her attention back on him.
Edie tried not to let her depression show and forced a smile. “Thanks.”
He smiled back, genuine. “There you go again, thanking me, and I haven’t done anything.”
Edie shrugged. “It’s a southern thing.”
Mason smiled again, flashing his dimples. “I like it. I’m glad you’re here, Edie.” He walked away, then stopped, and turned around to face her, waving his cell phone in the air. “Call me.”
Edie gave him a promising smile. “I will.”
****
Principal Jennings had cranked up the heat inside her office, and Edie had been able to remove her gloves, scarf, and cap without dying of frostbite.
“Welcome,” she said, again, for the umpteenth time.
Edie just smiled back.
“So…do you want be a writer like your uncle?”
Edie stifled a grimace, finding the occupation dull. “Not really.”
Principal Jennings raised a black eyebrow. It was sharp like her bob and didn’t suit her cheerful personality. “Oh? Well, you’re a senior, Edie. College will be here before you know it. Have you given any thought to what you want to do after graduation?”
“I want to go to college, but I don’t know what I want to major in.”
“What are your interests?”
“Well, I like history, I think, and psychology too.”
Principal Jennings smiled. “Essentially, a study of people, I love it!” Then she frowned. “But you might want to consider math and computers. That’s where all the jobs are,” she whispered, as if she’d turned traitor and chosen one side of the curriculum over the other. She smiled again and raised her voice to a normal level, continuing, “We’re advancing, Edie, and if we aren’t one step ahead, we’ll fall two steps behind.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Edie wasn’t going to argue with her. She hated math as much as the next person. Computers were good for playing games and surfing the web, but Edie didn’t want to know the code that it’d taken to accomplish all that. Edie preferred to be kept in the dark about some things—things she didn’t understand—things like what’d happened to her and Mason back at Lockhart Manor. Edie reckoned that considering neither of them could explain what’d happened, it was just best to forget about the whole thing.
And this feeling that she wasn’t alone? Paranoia. Hallucinations, even. She was just going through a lot right now. It was understandable that she’d imagine things.
But…what was Mason’s excuse?
“Edie?”
Edie focused on Principal Jennings. “Huh?”
She smiled. “I said: would you like a tour?”
Edie glanced at the clock. It was well past ten, and Edie had probably missed two classes already.
“No, thanks, ma’am, I’d like to go on to class now. Can I have my schedule?”
Principal Jennings slumped into her seat, obviously disappointed that she couldn’t show Edie off to the school. “I understand.” She forced a smile that gradually became sincere. “It’s great knowing that students these days want to go to their classes.” She searched her desk and exclaimed “Ah-ha!” when she found a manila folder with Edie’s name on it. She opened it, retrieved a piece of paper, and then handed it to Edie. “There you go.”
Edie scanned it and noticed that she’d only missed math.
Yay! This day was starting to turn around.
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“Do you need a map, Edie?”
Edie smiled politely. “I think I can manage. Thanks, anyway.”
Edie felt better once she’d left the main office, despite the chill inside the student lobby. Jeez, do they only have heating in the principal’s office? She resisted the urge to bundle up again. She didn’t want the students to think she was weird, walking around in gloves, a scarf, and a wool cap.
She didn’t need a tour. Grimsby High wasn’t that big and everything was clearly labeled. She made her way upstairs to second period English and was greeted by Mrs. Featherstone when she opened the door.
“Welcome, Edwina!”
Everyone turned around in their seats to look at her, wide-eyed, as if she were an alien—and not a welcomed one at that. Edie heard a few girls chuckle, whispering “Edwina?”
“It’s Edie,” a familiar voice corrected Mrs. Featherstone.
Mason.
He was smiling, waving Edie over to sit in a vacant desk in front of him. Edie looked at Mrs. Featherstone for approval, and when the teacher gave her a nod, Edie took her seat.
“Hey,” Mason greeted.
“Hey,” Edie greeted back, grinning like an idiot.
Mrs. Featherstone handed her a heavy textbook. “It’s brand new,” she whispered.
“Okay,” Edie whispered back, confused.
Then louder, she said, “How’s your uncle, Landon St. John?”
The students behind Edie were whispering, recognizing who she was.
“Good,” Edie told Mrs. Featherstone.
If he weren’t, Edie would’ve said the same thing. She wasn’t going to give anyone dirt on her uncle. Not that she knew any, and as far as what she did know, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes wasn’t illegal—at least not in Grimsby.
“That’s great,” Mrs. Featherstone said, beaming. “Maybe he can come by one morning? Talk to t
he class? Share his wisdom?”
Uncle Landon didn’t seem the sharing type, but Edie said, “I’ll ask him.” Her tone implied that she wasn’t making any promises.
“That’s great,” Mrs. Featherstone said again, as if it were a done deal. Then she clapped her hands together. “We’re discussing Shakespeare this morning, but you can just sit and relax, if you wish.”
Edie shook her head, not wanting any special treatment. “No, I’m fine, really.”
A guy next to her with wavy, brown hair raised his hand. “Can I sit and relax too?”
Mrs. Featherstone turned toward him, scowling, and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been sitting and relaxing ever since school’s started, Quinn. Now start paying attention, or it’s no more football for you.”
Quinn—who was built like a football player, muscular and broad-shouldered—just grunted and lowered his head over his textbook. It seemed that Edie was the only one receiving the red-carpet treatment, but she just wanted to be treated like everyone else.
Edie mentally sighed. Guess that’s never going to happen.
****
Mrs. Featherstone was talking and Edie was trying to listen and participate. She’d told the teacher that she would, but Edie couldn’t pay attention. She was shivering, but she’d refused to bundle up, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself.
Edie’s hand closed around her pendant, as she’d done in Lockhart Manor when she’d wanted to feel safe. She should feel safe, in school, and especially near Mason, but she felt this horrible chill, this recognition of something or someone following her, hiding in the shadows, and she was never alone.
She let go of her pendant and rested her hand on the desk. She barely had time to enjoy her rest when she felt cold fingertips, trailing across her palm. She clenched her hand tight, denying whoever was touching her, the chance to do it again. Yet…she knew this presence wouldn’t leave her on its own. It clung to her like a lifeline, and she didn’t know how to cut it loose.
Coldhearted (9781311888433) Page 2
