“Oh yeah? With Kaufman?” Lia looks interested.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Me too.” She gives Flint a cool glance. “I’ll take it from here.”

“No need for that,” he answers. “I’m going that way, too.”

“You don’t have to bother.”

“No bother. Right, Grace?” He grins at me, but this time he sure seems to be showing a lot of teeth.

Then again, who can blame him? He was trying to help me, and I freaked out on him for no reason. “If you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He loops an arm through mine. “I would love to escort you ladies to class.”

“Lucky us.” Lia’s own smile is saccharin sweet as she takes hold of my other arm and starts to walk us back toward the end of the room. As we move—both of them holding on to me—I can’t help but feel a little like a ping-pong ball caught between them.

Lia doesn’t let go until we reach the final cell. She marches inside and grabs hold of one of the arm shackles—exactly as Flint was aiming to do when I freaked out—and then pulls, hard.

The portion of the stone wall the shackles are attached to opens wide. She glances back at us, eyebrows raised. “Ready?”

Flint looks at me, tilts his head questioningly.

I feel myself blushing yet again, this time out of shame. “Sorry. I freaked out when I shouldn’t have.”

He shrugs. “No worries. I guess I come down here so often, I forget how creepy it looks.”

“So creepy,” I tell him as we move into the cell. “And when you reached for that shackle—”

He laughs. “You didn’t really think I was going to chain you up down here, did you?”

“Of course she did,” Lia tells him as we walk through the trick door and she pulls it closed behind us. “I wouldn’t trust you, either. You look like exactly the kind of pervert she should never be alone with.”

“And what kind of pervert is that exactly?” he demands, glancing between the two of us.

Suddenly, I remember what Macy said about Jaxon when she was trying to warn me off him, and I can’t resist. “You know, the kind who starves a girl so he can make a dress out of her skin.”

They both stare at me like I’ve lost my mind completely. Lia looks taken aback but amused, and Flint…Flint looks more offended than anyone ever. It’s totally inappropriate, but I can’t help laughing. Because, come on. Who hasn’t seen that movie—or at least heard of it?

“Excuse me?” he says after a second, more ice in those words than in the entire school grounds outside.

“From Silence of the Lambs? That’s what the serial killer Jodie Foster is trying to catch does to his victims. It’s why she needs Hannibal Lecter.”

“Never saw the movie.”

“Oh, well, he would kidnap girls and—”

“Yeah, I got it.” He lets go of my arm for the first time since Lia showed up. “For the record, clothes made of skin, not so much my style.”

“Obviously. That’s why I made the joke.” When he doesn’t respond, I bump my shoulder against his. “Come on, Flint. Don’t be mad. I was just playing.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Lia tells me as we make our way farther into the tunnels. “He’s a total drag—”

“Bite me,” Flint growls.

She eyes him scornfully. “You wish.”

“I wish you’d try.” He returns her look with interest.

Wow, this devolved quickly.

“Don’t we need to get to class?” I ask, determined to interrupt whatever this is before it gets even worse. “The bell’s going to ring in a minute.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lia tells me. “Kaufman knows it’s a pain to get to her class, so she doesn’t sweat it.”

But she does pick up the pace—after giving Flint one last look that’s a cross between a snarl and a smirk.

I follow her, leaving Flint to bring up the rear, as I figure we’ll all do better with me as a buffer between them. For the first time since last night, when Macy tried to explain that I can’t be friends with both Jaxon and Flint, I actually start to believe her. Lia’s obviously Team Jaxon despite whatever I witnessed between them the other day, and look how well this little excursion is going.

We’re moving fast through the tunnels now, so I don’t get to check them out the way I really want to. Still, the recessed lighting, dim as it might be, gives me at least a decent view of where I’m walking. And I have to say, terrifying entrance notwithstanding, these things are freaking cool.

The walls are made entirely of different-colored stones—mostly white and black, but there are colored stones, too. They gleam red and blue and green even in the faint light, and I can’t help reaching out to touch one of the bigger ones, just to see what it feels like. Cool, obviously, but also smooth, polished, like a gemstone. For a second, I wonder if that’s what they are. But then I dismiss it as ridiculous, because what school (even a fancy, rich one like Katmere Academy) has the money to embed gemstones in the walls?

The floor is made of white brick, as are a bunch of the columns we pass as we walk. But what really gets me is the art that is down here—bone-like sculptures embedded in the walls, hanging from the ceiling, even resting on pedestals in various alcoves along the way.

It’s an obvious homage to the Paris catacombs, where seven million skeletons are laid to rest—or used for macabre decorations throughout. And I can’t help wondering if the school’s art classes added the “bone” sculptures to the tunnels here. I also want to know what art supplies the bones are really made of.

But trying to figure that out has to wait, too, if I have any hope of making it to art class even close to on time.

As we follow the tunnel, we get to a kind of rotunda-type room that pretty much has my eyes bugging out of my head. It’s obviously a main hub for the tunnels, because eleven other tunnels feed into it as well. But that’s not what has my eyes going wide, even though I have no idea which of the other tunnels we should take.

No, what has my mouth falling open and my eyes pretty much bugging out of my head is the giant chandelier hanging in the center of the room, unlit candles at the end of each arm. But it’s not the size of the chandelier or the fact that there are actual candles in it that catches my attention (although, fire code, anyone?). It’s the fact that the chandelier, like so many of the other decorations down here, looks to be made entirely of human bones.

I know it’s just art, and the bones are made of plastic or whatever, but they sure look realistic hanging off the chandelier—so much so that a chill creeps down my spine. This is more than an homage to the catacombs. It’s like someone actually tried to re-create them.

“Why are you stopping?” Flint asks, following my gaze.

“This is bizarre. You know that, right?”

He grins. “A little bit. But it’s also cool, isn’t it?”

“Totally cool.” I step farther into the room to get a better look. “I wonder how long it took. I mean, it had to be a class art project, right? Not just one student.”

“Art project?” Flint looks confused.

“We don’t know,” Lia interjects. “It was done years before we got here—years before your uncle or any of the other current teachers got here, too. But yeah, it had to be a class project. No way one artist could do all this in a semester or even a year.”

“It’s amazing. I mean, so elaborate and lifelike. Or…you know what I mean.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

There are more bones above each of the tunnels, as well as plaques bearing inscriptions in a language I don’t recognize. One of the Alaskan languages, I’m sure, but I want to know which one. So I take out my phone and snap a pic of the closest plaque, figuring I’ll google it along with the cottage names.

“We need to go,” Flint says as I start to take a second pic. “Class is starting.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I glance around as I shove my phone back in my blazer pocket. “Which tunnel are we taking?”

“The third one to the left,” Lia says.

We head that way, but just as we’re about to reach it, a low-grade tremor rips through the room. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but as the bones in the chandelier start to clink together in the eeriest sound imaginable, I realize there’s nothing imaginary about it.

We’re standing in the middle of a musty, crumbling old tunnel just as the earth begins to shake for real this time.

30

You Make

the Earth Shake

Under My Feet…

and Everywhere Else, Too

Lia’s eyes go wide as the chandelier sways above us. “We need to get out of this room.”

“We need to get out of these tunnels!” I answer. “How sturdy do you think they are?”

“They won’t collapse,” she assures me, but she starts moving toward the tunnel that’s supposed to lead to the art studio pretty damn quickly.

Not that I blame her—Flint and I are moving fast, too.

It’s not a big earthquake, at least not the kind that Alaska is known for. But it’s not like the small tremors that I’ve felt since coming here, either. Based on what I’ve experienced back home, this one is an easy seven on the Richter scale.

Lia and Flint must realize that at the same time I do, because once we hit the new tunnel, our fast walk becomes a run.

“How far to the exit?” I demand. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, a series of texts coming in fast and furious. I ignore them as the ground continues to move.

“Maybe another couple hundred yards,” Flint tells me.

“Are we going to make it?”

“Absolutely. We—” He breaks off as a loud rumbling sound comes from the ground, followed closely by a violent shift that turns the quake from rolling to shaking.