Fire Trap : A Young Adult Fantasy (Arcturus Academy Book 2) Page 15

  Trying not to skip through the corridors, I smiled at every one I passed as I made my way to Goshawk’s office. The door sat open. I knocked and stepped inside. The scent of roses filled my nose.

  On her desk sat a bouquet wrapped in brown paper, except for the long, woody stems, which sat in a curvy glass vase. A card had been taped to the paper. Tomio had been exaggerating about the size of it, but not by a lot.

  Secretary Goshawk’s head appeared from behind the monstrosity. She grimaced and gave a sniff. “Please take these away, Ms. Cagney. I can’t bear the smell of lilies.”

  “I think they’re roses, Secretary Goshawk. Are you allergic?” I picked the vase up and balanced the bouquet against my shoulder.

  “Not allergic, but the smell is giving me a headache. I don’t know why he needed to make it so big. Surely the point would have been made with a collection half that size.”

  I didn’t need to ask her to clarify who ‘he’ was. I gave her an apologetic smile. “Presentation, I guess. I’ll get them out of your way.”

  She nodded and flapped me away, still sniffing.

  Carrying the bouquet back to my room proved a challenge given that I had to press up against the walls to allow traffic by. Seeing beyond it without spilling any of the water demanded neck-stretching that tweaked muscles in my shoulders I didn’t know I had.

  Backing into my bedroom, I took it to my desk and cleared a space with one hand before setting it down. Using a pair of scissors, I cut the tape holding the card to the paper and ripped it open. My heart pooled like melting butter as I read the note.

  I heard one should give roses to one’s sweetheart, so here they are. I can’t have my twin one-upping me in romance. Watch the thorns, and don’t eat the petals. I know they look edible but they’re for smelling and gazing at while loving thoughts flit through your mind. My gift does not end here. Inside you’ll find a clue on where to find the rest. – Gage

  “Oooo, fun. A treasure hunt.”

  I set down the card and tore the paper off the bouquet. Four dozen roses sprang free, wafting a heady perfume and drawing a groan of pleasure. Eyes closed, I leaned in and took a deep inhale. Fingertips skimming over the satiny, half-open blossoms, I counted a dozen red, a dozen champagne, and two dozen (almost black) plum-colored roses.

  “Stunning.” I shook my head, amazed. No previous crush I’d had had ever matched this bouquet. I understood better now why April had been so willing to forgive Ryan. Flowers could crumble armour.

  Carefully searching the prickly stems and foliage I found a second envelope buried in the middle. Wincing as thorns grazed my skin, I pulled the envelope out. It was a small square one, but heavy, with something thin but solid inside. Dumping its contents into my hand revealed a simple brass key on a long, fine chain. Accompanying it was a bus ticket with a handwritten scrawl along its edge.

  Chalksoul Downs, The Old Mine Teahouse, 8pm. Tonight. XOXO, G

  I had never heard of The Old Mine Teahouse, but guessed it was a restaurant, or maybe doubled as one in the evenings. Teahouses in Kent were never open so late. Either way, Gage was taking me out for dinner. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. I had two and a half hours.

  Plopping on my bed, I pulled my laptop toward myself, tapping the keyboard to wake it. A quick search revealed The Old Mine Teahouse was four and a half miles away, an eighteen minute bus-ride from the stop at the top of the hill outside the academy. Next, I searched for the teahouse’s website and discovered it was a charming cottage dripping with ivy. It had been renovated into a four-star restaurant and won two Michelin stars. The food would be amazing, then. Photographs showed off elegant rooms filled with antique, candle-lit tables, charming fireplaces, and wait staff wearing black tie. The meals boasted food from their own garden and recipes handed down through generations. Lords and Ladies, Earls and Viscounts had dined there over the years.

  Heart spinning and tummy dancing, I went to my wardrobe and threw both doors open. If Gage was going to this much trouble to romance me, then I’d show up looking like a woman ready to be romanced.

  Tempted to wear the dress I’d ordered for the end-of-year party, I held it out and gazed at it, but decided to save it in the end, since it was more of a costume. The theme of the party had landed on ‘fairy-tale’ and I had nothing else even close to appropriate.

  I picked out the next nicest outfit I had: a sleeveless drop-waist dress made from shiny black satin. It was cold out, so I’d pair it with a cardigan and tall black boots, but I didn’t have a dress coat so my parka would have to do. I would leave my hair down and wear a pretty set of chandelier earrings made from black beads.

  Humming, I set out the bits and pieces which made up the outfit and then stepped in the shower for a luxurious scrub, deciding I would get up early and tackle my homework then.

  At seven-thirty-five I stood at the bus stop wearing black eye-liner, berry lip stain, and smelling of jasmine and vanilla. I’d fastened the key around my neck and let it lay outside my dress like a pendant. Covering my artfully arranged curls with a black beret, I then layered myself up to the chin with a soft scarf. When the bus pulled up I stood back from the curb as its wheels splashed water over the pavement. Getting on board, I took a seat near the front. I took my phone from my purse, put in my earbuds, and selected an album by Edith Piaf to get in the mood.

  As we pulled away from the academy, the sky was a deep bruise of purples and indigos. When the bus came to a halt at the Chalksoul Downs stop eighteen minutes later, the sky had transformed into a soft, starless black.

  Stepping onto the sidewalk, I glanced down the main street of the quaint village of Chalksoul. Charming English houses and a couple of churches stretched out to the north. Pulling out my phone, I checked my GPS. It was a five minute walk.

  Tucking my phone away, I began to walk out of Chalksoul, the heels of my boots clicking on the sidewalk. The houses thinned and yards became large and more farm-like the closer I got to the teahouse. The rough and pitted pavement wound its way through trees, the orange glow of the occasional street lamp lighting my way. The air smelled fresh and clean.

  A decorative sign proclaimed that The Old Mine Teahouse lay to my left down a gravel double-track. Careful not to turn my ankles on the stones, I made my way down the road. Five minutes later a well-tended yard and a large parking lot opened before me. Beyond that was the brick, ivy-encrusted building I recognized as The Old Mine Teahouse. I stopped.

  All the windows were dark.

  Spotting a notice on the front door, I picked my way down the curving front path to read it. The hand-painted sign told me, in elegant curlicues, that The Old Mine Teahouse was closed on Mondays. Beside the sign, stuck to the glass, was another handwritten note.

  This one said: Saxony, go around to the back. Bring this note with you. – Gage

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” I murmured, unsticking the note from the glass. Following flat stones set in the ground and leading around the side of the building, I caught sight of a large white sign at the edge of the parking lot. Taking a detour, I went over to read it.

  The Chalk Mines of Chalksoul Downs, closed since 1962, are nonetheless an icon of our history and a quintessential part of our island nation. The chalk here is the same which makes up our famous cliffs, extending deep underground all the way to Northwood Hills. Thanks to a layer of puddingstone beneath the soil—acting as a roof to stabilize the chalk—this site remains a monument and testament to the generations of men who worked beneath these hills. While visitors are no longer permitted to explore the abandoned mines, we hope you will enjoy the museum collection which occupies the second floor of the teahouse.

  Turning away from the sign, I continued around to the rear of the house, tempted to call for Gage. I half expected him to leap out from behind one of the bushes, yell ‘Hah!’, and bare a set of plastic vampire teeth, then dissolve into laughter when I collapsed from a heart attack.

  The rear of the house had a lovely back garden
behind a low stone wall. Next to the house was a stone terrace with patio furniture and an outdoor pizza oven. A few tiki torches had been stuck in the ground and lit. Cute. But where was my date? Something was off.

  Heading for the rear door of the house, meaning to peer in through the glass, my eye caught on a scattering of something pale on the grass. Crouching to pick one up, I realized they were white rose petals. My heart skipped again, but this time with anxiety. This was not romantic, even if there were rose petals involved.

  Following the trail, I continued around the house to find an old fashioned cellar door, the kind that lies almost parallel to the ground. The doors were not antique, they were made of metal and had a brass keyhole beneath the handle. The rose petals led up to this door, stopping in the grass beside the frame.

  I stood there contemplating this scenario, excitement about the date now totally evaporated. Here I stood in the back yard of someone’s property during off-hours, all by myself, with a key to their cellar. It was dark, I was alone, and was clearly not going to be getting dinner from the basement. For this to make sense, Gage would have had to have convinced the owners to give him the key, then lured me into the building, to... what? Surprise me with dinner in one of the pretty renovated rooms? Why go in through the basement like a burglar?

  Nerves twanging, I let out a long breath and stooped to put the key in the lock. The bolt slid back smoothly. Lifting the door open, I propped both sides against the frame. Uncertain if I should leave the key, I removed it. The bolt sprang out. It was an automatic lock.

  White petals led down the stairs into the basement of the house, but it wasn’t dark. Flickering candles had been set on every other step. I couldn’t see beyond the open door at the bottom of the stairs, but I could see the glow of more light coming from within.

  “Hello?” I called into the hole. The only answer was from night insects.

  I muttered epithets under my breath as I took the stairs down. A musty smell drifted up the stairs. I didn’t know whether to expect Gage and a butler with a hot meal amidst shelves of canned pickles or for a policeman to appear and arrest me for trespassing.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a storage room. Sure enough, dusty cellar shelves filled with canned goods, boxes and other things you’d expect to find beneath a restaurant lined the walls. An old, cracked sink deep enough to bathe a toddler in sat beneath a high window.

  But there was something I didn’t expect. Fat candles sat on the floor encircling another kind of thick metal door. A manhole cover had been lifted off the circular hole and set aside.

  With fear growing heavy in my belly, I stepped closer to the hole and looked down. Metal rungs embedded in the cement served as a ladder. The hole itself was barely wide enough to accommodate a man’s shoulders.

  Some forty feet straight down sat a single candle, its flickering light a mere speck surrounded by darkness.

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Four Hour Candles

  My heart exploded into a headlong sprint as I registered what was happening. I had to move fast. Even so, I could still be too late. Scrambling to open my clutch and almost dropping it, I grabbed my phone and found Gage’s number with trembling hands. Holding the cell up to my ear resulted in dead air. Cursing, I took the steps out of the basement two at a time, using small detonations in my hips, knees and ankles.

  Pacing a circle in the lawn near the open cellar hatch, I tried again. This time it rang. It would take too long to explain everything so when I got his voicemail, I said simply and with urgency: “Gage, call Basil the moment you get this. It’s an emergency.”

  Hanging up, I selected the headmaster’s office number. Basil had never given me the number for his mobile. Maybe it was a breach of school rules for a teacher to exchange personal numbers with a student, still, I wish I’d at least asked him for it. The worst that would have happened is he would have said no and I would have blushed. Tilting my head back and squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed for him to answer. Eventually his voicemail picked up, but I knew he’d check it far too late so I hung up, cursing.

  Fingers shaking, I tried Tomio next, uttering a string please, please, please under my breath.

  “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” he drawled into my ear.

  “Tomio, shut up and listen,” I snapped. “Do you know where Gage is?”

  His voice was suddenly as serious as the grave. “I thought he was with you. Why? What’s happened?”

  “Please find him. Listen to me carefully. I’m just outside of Chalksoul, at a place called The Old Mine Teahouse. I’ve been lured here by Ryan.”

  “What?” He sounded frightened now. “Why? How do you know it was Ryan? Is he there with you?”

  “Gage is afraid of the dark, plus there are twenty-four hour candles that have been burning since sometime late this morning. Plus, this is way too creepy to be—”

  “Candles?” Poor Tomio was so confused.

  I bit off the desire to explain further, shaking my head with impatience. “Just find Basil and Gage. They’ll know what to do. There’s an entrance to the basement at the back of the teahouse. I’ll leave it open. Ryan’s gone underground and I have to go after him. I can’t wait.” My voice shook. My fire spat and hissed. I’d been trapped. My mind screamed, how dare you!?!

  “Saxony, no. I’ll find the headmaster asap. Wait for us, we’ll go after him together. It’s not safe.” I could hear Tomio breathing faster now, and rapid footfalls in the background as he ran down a corridor.

  “He’s dying, there’s no time.” Some small, irreverent voice added: and good riddance.

  “Saxony—”

  I cut the connection and dumped my phone into my clutch. Taking the steps into the cellar, I ripped off my jacket and scarf. Scanning the room for anything useful, I spotted a row of dusty old-fashioned glass jars with snap-top lids. Some of them held nuts and bolts, some old coins, others random junk. Near a coil of rope in the corner sat an empty one of these jars, it looked relatively clean. Grabbing it, I popped the lid open and dashed to the industrial sink.

  “Please, still work,” I chanted at the faucet as I twisted the single tap open. It squeaked in protest but water sprayed out in a messy gush. I didn’t know if it was drinkable but there was no time for anything else. Filling the jar, I snapped the lid closed.

  My boots had a good three-inch heel and would be more of a hindrance than help, so I sat on one of the dirty steps and unzipped them. Setting them next to the bottom step with my clutch, I took out my earrings because they were tickling my cheeks and annoying me. Dropping the earrings into one of my boots, I ripped off the black hose I was wearing and left them in the other boot.

  Toes curling in the dust, I went to the black hole and peered down. Fear wrapped an icy fist around my heart as I tucked the jar under one arm and stepped down into the hole. Cold metal pressed into the soles of my feet as I descended into the earth. The sound of my breathing echoed off the close walls and grew loud in my ears. I couldn’t yet feel the faint warmth from the single candle directly below me.

  “Ryan?” I called past my feet as I slid deeper into the ground. No response. “If you’re not already dead when I find you, I’m going to kill you,” I yelled, not entirely sure I was joking.

  Foot under foot, hand under hand, I descended, trying not to think about how close the walls were, how far above my head fresh air was. The air grew warm and smelled like wet minerals. My skin already felt coated with something thick and slimy. I finally felt the heat from the candle which increased as I journeyed down.

  I counted thirty-seven rungs before my foot reached out and touched nothing. Less than a five foot drop to where the candle sat on the surface below.

  Taking my weight with my empty hand, I used slow-burn in my shoulders and back to lower myself. Dropping to the ground, I cushioned the impact with a low-grade detonation in my joints and landed in a crouch, one foot either side of the candle. I moved off it with a quick step to the side and look
ed around.

  More half-melted fat candles threw enough light to illuminate a cavernous space of rough walls and uneven floor. Broken bits of chalk lay scattered everywhere. Five more candles could be seen in the distance but they were few and far between. Of course they became fewer in number, how many of them could Ryan carry?

  I imagined him slinking along in the dark, lighting candles with a finger as he rationed them along his path. Maybe he was cackling with glee at how easy it would be to dupe me into coming here. I hope he had a good laugh about it because the idiot would probably pay with his life.

  With a sound like sudden wind, my hand burst into flame, throwing light down the shaft. Clutching the jar of water tightly in my other hand, I began to jog, following the candles as the spaces between them grew.

  A mine, I discovered, is not a friendly place for jogging, even for a supernatural. Rough, uneven ground speckled with small, hard bits of chalk and flint had me yelping. Within minutes I had slowed to a fast limp, eyes glued to the floor, watching for anything I could wrench an ankle on or that might puncture the sensitive skin of my feet. But urgency pressed me to accept a level of pain.

  The mine zig-zagged, climbed, plummeted and curved. Its ceiling dropped and rose, at times dramatically. Its walls were sometimes smooth and as wide as a double-lane road, only to close in tightly on either side a few steps later, but always scarred with jagged marks left by mining tools. Old wheelbarrow tracks worn into the floor were filled with chalk dust and rubble. Dark seams of flint ran along fault lines and marbled through the walls.

  Black shapes I recognized as letters nearly stopped me more than once as I craned my neck to see where men of a distant past used candle flames to sear their names and the date into the ceiling. Soot forever marking the moment and the person’s presence there.

  I continued on, pushing my hair out of my face where it stuck to my sweaty forehead.