The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a small circular landing, with hallways spoking off to either side, the stairway to the third floor directly ahead. The corridors were lined with gleaming wood molding, shaded wall sconces, rows of closed doors. No one seemed to be around.
He'd try the library first. His presence there would be easier to explain.
The hallway to the left was lined with classrooms, with the library at the far end. Fortunately, the heavy wooden door was unlocked. He glanced over his shoulder, stepped inside, and pulled it shut behind him.
The library smelled like Genevieve's attic: of dust and mildew and disintegrating paper. He stifled a sneeze. The books on the first set of shelves appeared to be quite old, with dark leather covers and stamped gold lettering. Curious, Seph pulled a volume from the shelf, tilting it so the title caught the light. It seemed to be in Latin. Transformare. The next one was entitled, Extracten Poysoun 1291. Not Latin, exactly. He'd studied Latin with the Jesuits. But close. Middle English? He moved on into the room, hoping to find what he was looking for at the rear.
He worked his way toward the back wall. More old books and some new ones. He pulled out one of the newer ones. Spellbinding: The Art of Influencing Others. Here was the reading he should have been doing. Rows and rows of large volumes were shelved together, books that looked somewhat alike. Their titles were similar, too. Weir Smy the John Artur. Weir Thompson Harold Franklin. Weir Huntingdon Bru Amfeld.
Weirbooks. They must be. Seph lifted one down and leafed through it. The first part was taken up with a family tree, all handwritten, going back centuries, illuminated in bright colors. Another section of the book was entitled “Charms and Incantations.” Something about the books struck a chord with Seph, stirring up a memory he couldn't quite capture. Reluctantly, he returned the book to its place on the shelf.
He finally found what he was looking for under the windows at the back of the room. There were six computers lined up on tables and networked to a cable plugged into the wall. They shared a common printer.
Seph couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his arms prickled with gooseflesh. The building creaked and complained under the assault of the wind. He peered over his shoulder, seeing only books and dust and narrow aisleways. Shrugging, he hit the power button on one of the PCs. It sounded jarringly loud in the stillness as it booted up.
The computer hadn't even made it through its startup routine when he heard running feet. Swearing softly, Seph hit the power button again and the screen went dark. The door slammed open, and the lights overhead nickered, then kindled into brilliance.
“I saw someone moving around in here,” someone said breathlessly.
“You stay by the door,” the other replied. “I'll check it out.”
Seph slipped between the rows of shelves and cat-footed up the aisle along the wall toward the exit. Peter Conroy waited by the door, nervously scanning the aisles, forehead gleaming in the overhead light.
“You sure you're not seeing things again?” The other voice was familiar and startlingly close at hand. “You'd better not have dragged me up here for nothing.” Seph could hear the sound of feet moving toward him. He was trapped.
Someone clapped a hand over his mouth and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back against the wall. “Be quiet!” a voice hissed in his ear. It said something else Seph couldn't make out.
At that moment, Warren Barber came around the corner and walked toward them. He still looked a bit green from last night's drinking. Seph didn't struggle. He stood quietly, wondering what the penalty for breaking into the alumni library would be.
To his amazement, Barber walked right past them toward the front of the library. “Nobody's back here now.”
“I swear I saw someone on the monitor.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe he flew out the window. As if someone would break into a freaking library.”
“Keep still!” the voice whispered again. Seph turned his head slightly so he could see who had hold of him. To his shock, he saw nothing but the shelves of books behind him. There was no one there. The hand over his mouth tightened, smothering his exclamation of surprise.
He felt sick. He was hallucinating again. He must be. His palms went clammy with sweat, and he wiped them on his jeans.
Barber and Conroy met up at the front of the room, then walked up and down the stacks again, passing within inches of Seph and his invisible captor. Barber still reeked of beer.
“You're delirious, Conroy,” Barber said, shaking his head. “You must've blundered onto the Sci-Fi Channel.” Conroy was still protesting as they walked out and closed the door behind them.
“Just be cool a minute,” Seph's captor instructed him. “Make sure they're really gone.” Seph stood as still as he could, although he was beginning to tremble, his heart pounding wildly. After a minute, the hand was removed from his mouth.
“Come on,” the disembodied voice said. Someone shoved Seph up the aisle to the front of the room, then to the right, toward a door marked AV Storage. “In there,” the voice said, and Seph pushed the door open. It was a large closet, lined with projection equipment, AV carts, and a couple of old computers. Seph stepped inside and the door was pulled shut behind him.
“No cameras in here,” the voice explained, following with something that sounded like Latin. Suddenly, as if assembled out of the air, he could see the body that went with the voice.
He looked to be seventeen or eighteen, slightly built, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was dark, but had been bleached out at the tips and spiked, an amateur job. He had two earrings in one ear and one in the other. He was grinning as if delighted.
“So you're the newbie,” he said. “I heard you were here. Not that anyone offered to introduce us, of course.” He swept an arm toward an audiovisual cart. “Welcome to the catacombs,” he said gravely. “Have a seat.”
Seph sat down on the cart with a bump and put his head in his hands. He'd thought he was clearheaded after two nights of sleep. Apparently he'd thought wrong.
“Are you all right?”
Seph looked up to find the stranger staring at him. “I … I'm not sure,” Seph replied cautiously. “I … ah … I haven't been well.”
The boy leaned against the wall. “Allow me to offer you a belated welcome to the Havens—where all your dreams turn into nightmares.”
Seph laughed in spite of himself. It struck him that it had been forever since he'd laughed, forever since he'd actually heard anyone make a joke. “I'm Seph McCauley.” He hesitated. “How'd you do that? Are you one of the alumni? I don't remember you from Christmas dinner.”
The stranger rolled his eyes. “No, I'm not planning to join that particular club. I'm just the poltergeist in this haunted house. I'm Jason Haley.”
Jason. According to Trevor, he was the one who'd instigated the ill-fated rebellion. Who'd gotten Sam killed.
“You're gifted, but you're not one of them?”
“Nope.”
“That's not what I heard.”
“Well, you heard wrong. By the way, if you're going to be sneaking around in here, you ought to know that they have cameras just about everywhere. Matter of fact, I wouldn't do or say anything in your room that you don't want to share.”
“Then you're a student?” Seph persisted.
“So to speak,” Jason said dryly. “I'm not supposed to be up here, either, but I'm doing a little independent research.”
“So what'd you do in there? It was like we were invisible.”
“Oh, we were better than invisible,” Jason replied. “We were unnoticeable.” He laughed as if this were a fine joke. “How long have you been here, Seph?”
“Since September.”
“You've been here almost four months, and you haven't given in?” A note of respect crept into Jason's voice. “And they've been doing you?” He touched his head with his fingertips.
“Almost every night now.” Seph laced his fingers together and stared at the floor.
“You must be damn tough,” Jason said. “But they're getting to you, aren't they?”
Seph nodded, without looking up.
“And you're clueless about what's going on.” It was not a question.
“It's like they're trying to make me crazy.”
“If you think they're trying to make you crazy, it's because they are. Crazy enough to join them.” Jason pushed away from the wall and came and sat next to Seph on the cart. He stared at him for a long minute at close range. “Can't your family get you out?”
Seph shook his head. “I don't really have any family. Only a guardian. A lawyer in London.”
“What were you doing in the library?”
“I'm trying to reach my guardian. Dr. Leicester won't let me call him. I've been sending letters, but no response. So I thought I'd email him from the computers out there.”
Jason shook his head. “Won't work. They batch everything and go through all the messages before they go out, even in the Alumni House. You'd need to use one of the machines in administration. And you can forget about your letters. If they didn't go straight to the shredder, Leicester's been reading them in bed.”
Seph blinked. Jason Haley was matter-of-fact, authoritative, convincing. “What about you? Why haven't you joined?”
Jason stood. “Look, I've been warned against having any contact with you. If they find out we've been together, there'll be hell to pay.”
“You're saying I might end up like Sam?”
Jason nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if it hurt. “Yeah. Or I might.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Nice meeting you, Seph. Good luck.” He turned away.
Seph slid between Jason and the door and put his back against it. “No. Tell me what's going on. I can't fight them if I don't know what I'm fighting. If I stay here much longer, I will be crazy.” He cast about for a weapon. “If you don't help me, I'll tell them about the invisibility thing. I've got nothing to lose.”