Misty
I flip a page in my journal, squinting at the terrible handwriting I’d scribbled down last night when I’d woken from my latest dream. I can’t comprehend what I’d been trying to say. Dark? Hurt? Silver? Those words look somewhat clear. I can’t even remember writing them down.
I close the journal with a sigh and slip it back in my purse, hanging the bag over the back of my chair in the common room of my dormitory. It’s a massive building with a pitched roof, several towers, and spooky, darkened alcoves, but it’s home, and right now, I’m sure I’d be able to hear Georgia singing her heart out in the shower if the nagging, incessant voice in my head would shut up for a single, blissful second.
I’ve come to the conclusion after two years of hearing what I can only describe as white noise and the occasional static screech, like I have a radio fixed inside my skull, that the voice isn’t my internal dialogue. No, that’s a separate entity in itself, and I’m constantly at odds with the unfamiliar, genderless, and distorted whisper I hear from time to time. It’s like someone’s trying to talk to me underwater or by using a crappy walkie-talkie that only works well if you’re within a few feet of the other unit, which totally defeats the purpose. I think this might be some new power developing. It would make perfect sense, given that I’ll be coming into my wolf soon.
Still, I can’t stop the voice from breaking through my daydreams and moments of strict focus. Right now, I can hear someone talking, maybe to a group, but static blurs their words. Earlier today, I heard the voice loud and clear for the first time. Do not go to the party.
Other times, usually in the dead of night when I’m unable to sleep, I’ll hear whispers. Like prayers, they’re soft and personal. I can’t tell what the voice is trying to say, but I feel like… it’s asking for something. Begging for something just out of reach, and in those quiet moments, I empathize with it.
Mostly because I’ve been begging for it to shut the hell up for two years.
I rub my temples, which causes one of my curlers to come undone. I curse under my breath as I roll the curl back in place and check my watch again. I came down here to pass some time before I needed to finish getting ready for the party, but I need to get dressed soon. I start packing up my things when familiar footsteps come up behind me, and then more foam curlers are coming undone, and Nathan is pressing a sloppy kiss to my cheek, smudging my carefully crafted makeup.
“What’s on your head?” he asks, hovering beside me and preventing me from rising from my chair. He flicks one of the curlers, which immediately comes loose and bounces several feet away, rolling to a stop under a sofa.
I glare at him. “Do you mind? It takes forever to set my curls after a blowout.”
He arches a brow, his mind probably settling on the word blow, like I’m about to get on my knees in public. “I went upstairs, but your door was locked.”
“It normally is,” I reply, a little peeved by the teasing glint in his brown eyes. I look him up and down. He obviously just came from practice. He’s a bit sweaty and wearing joggers and a gray shirt that hugs his muscled frame. “What brings you here?”
“I came to see my girlfriend for a minute.”
“Just a minute?”
“I have plans tonight–with the guys. It’s Rodney’s birthday tomorrow, but we have a track meet, so we’re going out for drinks tonight instead.”
I purse my lips, looking at him. “Drinks the night before a track meet?”
He waves me off, not bothering to sit down in the chair beside me, obviously not planning to stay long. “I just wanted to pop by and tell you that, in case you were planning to come over tonight, seeing as you got all dressed up for something.”
“I have plans tonight, actually. Georgia and I–”
He presses another kiss to my face. “That’s great, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow night–probably, okay?”
“Oh–”
He turns on his heel and walks away, just like that. I frown at the place where his body faded into the shadowed hallway outside the common room entrance and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms under my breasts. I’ve come to the conclusion that, while Nathan is handsome and… has a nice body, and is comfortable to sleep on… he’s not that smart. He just… doesn’t have much going on upstairs, which are words directly from my grandpa Maddox’s mouth after I brought him all the way to Maatua to meet some of my family for the first time over spring break.
I’d scoffed at Grandpa when he said that to me, but now I’m wondering if he might have been onto something. It could be worse. Nathan could be a meathead like Ryan. He could be strict and bossy like Sydney. He could be all-powerful and scary as fuck like my uncle Ryatt.
I don’t mind having a dumb boyfriend. I’m smart enough for the two of us, I guess.
But now I’m heavily suspicious, and this is one of those times I wish phones worked out here in Eastonia. I’d be looking up not only him on social media, but his friends, confirming it is, in fact, Rodney’s birthday tomorrow and they are, in fact, going to get drinks later. Then, I’d look up the sports schedule and confirm there was, in fact, a track meet tomorrow.
If the dots didn’t line up, I’d guess Nathan would be going to the Arcane Umbra party tonight just like I think he is.
I roll my lip between my teeth and let it go with a pop before rolling my eyes, shrugging my shoulders, and walking through the narrow, darkened hallways toward my dorm room. Four flights of stairs later, my thighs burning, I test the door and find it unlocked, and Georgia isn’t in our room. She’s still singing in the communal shower down the hall, which means Nathan lied.
“What do you need me to do?”
I whirl back into the hallway. “Hello?”
The hallway is totally empty, only Georgia’s beautiful singing echoing off the walls. A chill runs up my spine as I glance around and step into the room, shutting the door and my eyes as the voice echoes through my head again, loud and clear.
“It’s too late.” Static. Static and the beating of a heart.
“Too late for what?” I say as if I’m using the mind-link, and I swear I feel a pause like the voice heard me, too.
The voice doesn’t answer. Instead, my mind goes blissfully quiet.
Georgia bursts through the door, which nearly hits me in the back, carrying the scent of sweet pea and violet body wash and coconut lotion with her. “Oh, shit! What are you doing standing against the door?”
“I thought I heard…. Nothing.”
She tightens her towel around her chest and reaches up to pull off her shower cap, her perfectly dry, bouncy ringlets falling free over her shoulders. “You’re not freaked out already, are you? We can’t chicken out now.”
“I’m not chickening out.” I sniff indignantly and cross the room to my desk, switching on my lamp, and pulling my makeup bag out of a drawer to fix the damage Nathan’s mouth caused to my perfectly executed bronzer.
Georgia continues to sing as she gets ready. I zip up the black bodycon dress she picked out for the party which hugs her curves and makes her look like we had to sew it on. She looks like she just walked out of a magazine as she checks herself out in the mirror while the sounds of campus nightlife starts to sizzle through the air outside our single, open window.
“Are you really wearing… that?” she asks, looking me up and down as I step into a pair of heels that make me six inches taller than I am.
She’s not talking about the shoes, however.
I run my hands down the length of black satin that rests mid-calf. The dress is simple, borderline elegant, nothing like what I imagine people are wearing to this party. I pull a black cloak over the strapless dress, which is tight around my breasts and shows off just enough cleavage to make it seem like I’m dressing to impress and have a good time.
But I’m planning to do a lot more than that. I’m going to find out everything I can about the Arcane Umbra. I will leave no stone unturned.
Georgia wiggles her fingers at me. “You look like a sexy witch. Are you going to put a hex on me, Misty?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I giggle, following her out of our dorm. We keep our masks tucked under our arms as we cross the campus square. The bell tower rises above us as we close in on the entrance, which I expected to be teeming with party goers, but it’s empty.
Georgia clutches the invitation and looks around, confused. “Is this right?”
“It said the bell tower, nine P.M.” I try the main door, which is little more than a service entrance. “It’s locked.”
“Maybe someone pulled a prank on us.” She pouts, her mouth sagging with disappointment.
“I bet each invitation has a different location,” I mumble, trying the handle again, frowning in frustration. “Different locations so the invitees don’t meet or see each other coming into the party.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if my catacomb theory is correct,” I whisper, yanking on the handle with all of my strength.
“Catacomb–oh!” Georgia shrieks as the door flies open, and a cloaked figure darkens the already shadowed doorway. A sleek black mask covers the upper half of his face, and his head is shielded by a hood made of the same pitch-black fabric.
His mask doesn’t even have eye holes, but I can feel him looking at us–at me–as he turns his head from side to side.
Georgia hands him the crumbled invitation with a trembling hand. He plucks it from her fingers and turns back into the shadows without so much as beckoning us to follow.
I’m absolutely buzzing with excitement as I firmly take Georgia’s hand and drag her inside. The door shuts with a snap behind us, and a lock clicks into place. I feel a second presence in the darkness–another man, judging by the strong scent of aftershave–but I don’t turn to look. I don my mask and pull my hood over my head, covering my perfect blowout, hiding my perfect makeup.
A door opens somewhere nearby, and faint light spills over our feet. Georgia gasps as we’re led into a tight corridor of ancient gray stone.
“You were right–”
I clap my hand over her mouth as my vision clears enough to see the narrow stone staircase leading down into the darkness, into the tunnels I knew–I just knew–lay deep underneath the university, possibly stretching all over Tarsian, connecting ancient temple to ancient temple, castle to castle, fortress to fortress.
I shush Georgia, but she’s already forgotten she was about to give away my secret–that I’ve spent two years trying to research this secret society in an attempt to gain entrance to their world and unearth their secrets. The why of it is what’s keeping me going as the air starts to cool the further we travel underground and the stairwell becomes increasingly narrower until my shoulders brush each wall.
But my eyes are wide when we finally reach the bottom level of the hallway, and the first thrums of music reach us.
“Oh. My. Goddess,” Georgia gasps, and I smile.