The light is getting dimmer and dimmer the farther we go down this corridor, and if I were with anyone but Flint （or Jaxon or Macy）， I’d be getting nervous. Not because I think there’s anything wrong necessarily, but because I can’t help wondering: If the walkway to the tunnels is this creepy, what are the actual tunnels going to look like?
“Okay, here we go,” Flint finally says as we come up against an old wooden door—one that’s protected by an electronic keypad that has my eyebrows lifting to my hairline. Nothing in my life has ever looked as incongruous as that keypad in the middle of this musty, dusty corridor with a door that looks to be at least a hundred years old.
He punches in a five-digit code so fast that I don’t see any number past the first three. It takes a second, but then the light above the door flashes green at the same time as the door unlocks.
Flint glances over his shoulder at me as he reaches to pull open the door. “You ready?”
“Yeah, of course.” Another glance at my phone tells me we better hustle or I’m going to be late.
Flint holds the door for me, and I smile my thanks at him, but the second I take a step over the threshold, a little voice deep inside me starts screeching—telling me not to go any farther.
Telling me to run.
Telling me to get the hell away from these tunnels and never look back.
But Flint’s waiting for me to go. Plus, if I don’t get moving, I’ll be seriously late to art. Definitely not the first impression I wanted to make on the teacher of my favorite class.
Besides, this is Flint. The guy who jumped out of a tree and took the brunt of a very nasty fall just to save me. It’s ridiculous to think that I might have to run from him of all people, no matter what Jaxon says.
Which is why I shove all the new and bizarre misgivings I’m suddenly having back down where they belong. And walk straight across the threshold.
29
With Friends
Like These,
Everyone Needs
Hard Hats
Flint follows me through, then lets the door close behind us with a solid thump.
The room is dim, even dimmer than the passageway here, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.
“What is this place?” I demand once they do. “It doesn’t look like a tunnel.”
In fact, what it looks like is a prison. Or at least the holding area of a jail. There are several cells lining the wall in front of us, each one equipped with a bed—and, more importantly, two sets of shackles. Castle or not, Alaska or not, I am not okay with what I’m seeing. At all.
“I think we should go back,” I tell him, pulling at the door handle, to no avail. “How do I get this door open?” There’s no keypad on this side, nothing I can see that will get us out of here.
“You have to open it from the other side of this room,” Flint tells me, looking amused. “Don’t worry. We’ll be through here in a second.”
“I thought we were going to the tunnels. I’ve got to get to art, Flint.”
“This is the way to the tunnels. Chill, Grace.”
“What tunnels? This is a dungeon!” Alarm is racing through me at this point, my brain warning me that I don’t know this guy that well. That anything could happen down here. That— I take a deep breath, try to shut down the panic tearing through me.
“Trust me.” He puts a hand on my lower back, starts guiding me forward. I don’t want to go, but at this point, it’s not exactly like I’ve got a dozen alternatives. I can pound on the door, hoping that someone hears me, or I can trust Flint to do what he says and get me to the tunnel I need. Considering he’s been nothing but kind to me since I got here, I let him propel me forward and pray I’m not making a mistake.
We walk all the way to the end of the room, past four separate cells, and I don’t say a word of complaint. But when Flint stops in front of the fifth cell and tries to get me to go in, my trust and patience come to an abrupt end.
“What are you doing?” I demand. Or screech, depending on your point of view. “I’m not going in there.”
He looks at me like I’m being completely irrational. “It’s where the entrance to the tunnels is.”
“I don’t see an entrance,” I snap at him. “All I see are bars. And shackles.”
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear. These are secret tunnels, and when they built the castle a hundred years ago, they did a really good job of disguising the entrance.”
“A little too good a job, in my opinion. I want to go back up, Flint. I’ll make up some excuse for my art teacher for being late, but I—”