Page 68 of Roses & Ruin

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?