He hears footsteps attached to a couple of bubbly voices, and he turns toward the entrance. As soon as they walk into the dining hall, the two girls notice him.
He locks eyes with one after the other and uses his powers of compulsion: “You do not want to join this club.”
Both of them spin around and leave, same as the students who came before them. William goes back to inhaling deeply, finally picking up the right scent.
Whensheenters the hall, he does not turn around. He does not even look Lorena’s way until she sits in her usual chair next to him.
“Apologies for my tardiness,” says Director Minaro, darting in a moment later and taking a seat across from them. “Looks like you two are it. Are you sure you still want to have this club with only two members?”
“Maybe not—”
“Certainly,” he says, speaking over Lorena. She looks at him like she suspects a trap.
Yet even he is not sure why he is doing this—other than that it would be enjoyable to reread the plays, especially since it comes with the bonus of getting under Lorena’s skin.
“Okay, then,” says Minaro with a sigh. “I have too much to do today tomake this a long meeting, so discuss it between yourselves and come up with how you would like to structure this club. Bring your ideas to the garden next Saturday at elevenAM, and we will make a plan then.”
She takes off, leaving the two of them alone.
“What did you find in her office?” Lorena asks as soon as Minaro’s footsteps fade out.
“The letter,” he answers. “It was in a thin metal envelope buried under some stones.”
“What did it say?”
He stands up. “You can come see it if you want. It is in my room.”
Lorena’s throat bobs as she swallows. She looks uncertain, which bothers him, so he does not wait for her. Yet as he exits the dining hall, she still has not stood up.
The fact that her hesitation vexes him means hewantsto show her the letter, which vexes him even more. When he reaches the wall-paneled billiards room, he slows to listen for her steps, but she is still not following.
His gaze drifts to one of the green felt tables, and he remembers a different life, when he would play this game at a pub near Harvard with his best friend, Roman. Loser always paid for drinks. William never spent a cent.
When he finally hears Lorena’s footfalls, he waits for her to spot him before he keeps moving. Yet a few minutes later, she stops again.
He retreats to find her in a wide-open space packed with games of various types—rectangular tables with small balls and handheld paddles, square tables with decks of playing cards, round targets with darts hanging on the wall, a miniature-sized golf course that takes up half the area, and a host of what appear to be mechanical games.
“What is this?” she asks him.
“I watched them set it up last night. The director plans to announce it at dinner, after you all have selected clubs.”
“Wow,” she says, turning to him. “Way to spoil the surprise.”
“Do try to keep up.”
He leads her past the red velvet rope cordoning off the first tower, and before they climb up, he offers his hand. She looks at it suspiciously and shakes her head.
“I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.” He starts climbing, yet rather than speed to the top, he stays only a couple of rungs ahead of her, in case she stumbles.
She manages to skip over the caved-in steps, leaping up two at a time, and when there are two broken steps in a row, she takes them at a quick stride, careful to only touch down on the outer edges. She has almost made it to the fourth story when her foot crashes through a step that was on the cusp of giving in.
“Ah!”
He catches her and pulls her up to the landing. Then he steps back to open the door. “Welcome to Thornfield Hall.”
Lorena shivers and hugs her arms around her torso. “It’s so cold!” is the first thing she says on walking in.
