The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(49)

“There are no tunnels under Minerva.”

“Not according to Fenton.”

“What is a Fenton?”

“Fenton is the professor I work for in Burlington. The one writing a book about the case.”

“There are no tunnels under Minerva,” he repeated. “You think I wouldn’t notice a tunnel under Minerva?”

“Secret tunnel,” she said.

“I repeat.”

“She seems pretty sure.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure too. You haven’t said if you like my coat.”

“I like your coat.” She meant it to come out dry and unaffected, but instead her bastard throat betrayed her with a tiny croaking sound on the last syllable. The body was the enemy of the mind.

Ellingham had gone all-out for the Halloween party. The Great House was made for occasions such as this, quite literally. All the overhead lights had been turned off and illumination came in the form of hundreds of tiny flickering electric candles. They were on every surface and lined the staircase. The diffused light winked off the crystal. A fire roared in the big fireplace, where a s’mores station had been set up, manned by Kaz, who was dressed as David Bowie, with a lightning bolt across his face. Call Me Charles approached dressed as Charlie Chaplin.

“You guys ready for some fun?” he asked.

“No,” David said.

Charles let this slide and pointed toward the door of the ballroom with his costume cane.

This was not a silent party tonight. The ballroom, with its mirrored walls and its carnival mask decorations, flickered with light and was rich with sound. There were orange and white fairy lights draped from the ceiling, and hundreds more tiny electric candles flicking along the walls and floor. A table was set up with drinks and snacks. A few regular suspects were in the middle of the floor, dancing away, including Maris, who was wearing a red flapper outfit, a choice that felt inevitable to Stevie. Dash was there as well, dressed as Han Solo. Vi extended a gallant hand to Janelle, who took it. Wonder Woman and Steve began to dance.

“Hey.”

Mudge was standing next to them, dressed as Mickey Mouse. A six-foot-five Mickey Mouse, with big ears coming off his jet-black hair.

“Cool Gandalf,” he said to Nate. He looked a bit more confused by Stevie and David, but nodded politely.

“I’m a watch ad,” David said. “She’s a hipster grandpa. Together, we solve crime.”

Mudge cocked his head at this and decided his time might be better spent elsewhere. Nate also looked around the room from under the massive brim of his wizard hat and immediately decided that he was going to the s’mores station. Stevie and David were left standing on the side.

“You want to dance, Grandpa?” he asked Stevie.

“Hercule.”

“You want to dance, Hercule?”

Hercule was feeling nervous. The fine cloth of David’s shirt was soft and fitting. She could sense what it would be like to put her hands against his chest, to work them around to his back, to press against his body.

“Maybe a s’more,” she said.

He gestured for her to lead the way.

They stepped back into the main hall, where the less dance-inclined of the Ellingham student body were playing some games. There was another table of snacks out here, and David walked over to it and grabbed a few sticky balls of pretzel and marshmallow.

“A tunnel,” he said, taking a bite. “I’d know.”

This was safer, steadier ground.

“You don’t know everything about the tunnels.”

“I would know that if it was in the floor of the building I live in.”

He sat down in a crepuscular spot under the shadow of the grand stairs. A person dressed as a skeleton bopped by.

“If they wanted to have a real Halloween party, they’d let us into the basement,” she said. “It’s nuts down there. It’s like a maze.”

“Now you interest me,” David said, straightening. “How does one get to this basement?”

“No,” she said. “I promised Larry.”

“A promise is only . . .”

“I promised Larry,” she said, casting her eye in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.

“Well, this is fun. Sitting on a bench.”

“Then go dance or something,” Stevie said.

“You don’t want to dance.”

“You don’t need my permission,” she said.

“But maybe I’d rather stay with you,” he said.

David stretched out his legs a bit and tapped gently at the inside of her ankle with the toe of his shoe. He turned his eyes up to her. What was this? Flirting? Flirting was sending an unexpected text message. This was something else, something that made her feel like she did when Ellie gave her that warm champagne to drink on the first day—bubbles in the bloodstream, an air of unreality. No. This was more than that. This was like she’d gone through a stargate into the life of some parallel universe Stevie. She was used to feelings that butted up against each other, the way that anxiety brought bad excitement. She could handle that now because she knew that feeling. This was something like good nausea, which made no sense, and therefore she was back to anxiety and its bad excitement, except there was a new chemical level.

And in this case, because everything stunk of Edward King, no good move to make. There were no answers here, except to avoid, avoid, avoid.