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Chapter 1
“So what’s the catch?” I can’t help the question slipping out as I stand in the small foyer of our new apartment, and it’s hard to stop myself from chewing my bottom lip as I look around this small space of our apartment.
“Hmm?” Juniper slides her backpack off her shoulders and blinks at me, confused. “What do you mean ‘the catch?’”
“I mean that, last time I checked, we aren’t in the uh, financial bracket of people that getfoyersin their apartments. It’s like a tiny little greeting hall.” I sweep a hand toward the other end of the small hallway, where a door into the rest of the apartment sits ajar. In this small, already decorated space, a long sideboard hugs the left wall, a rack on the other to hold… whatever we might come home with that we don’t want to take further inside.
“It’s considered college housing.” Juniper shrugs. “We got a bit of a discount to live here. Enough that it was still in our price range, and not even at the very top.”
I shift, slightly uncomfortable at the discussion of money. I don’t have a lot of it, and I don’t have a job lined up like she does for after the year is over. A potential one, anyway. It’s alwaysbeen Juniper’s plan to work at her mother’s company, and her entire college education plan has always revolved around that.
On the other hand, being that I’m a history major minoring in folklore and Ancient Roman Studies, I do not have a solid life plan of my own. Hopefully, at some point, I get theNight At The Museumtreatment and get whisked away by Teddy Roosevelt for nighttime shenanigans.
That or I learn how to time travel and ask my college freshman self if we’resurewe want to go through with a questionable course of study.
“Some college housing. Did someone die here? Is this part of the St. Augustine ghost tour on Saturday nights? That’s totally why there’s a foyer, right?” My voice is light, the tone playful, and even though it’s clear that I’m joking, I can’t imagine doing this with someone I don’t know as well as Juniper. After all, she’s been my best friend since freshman year, intro to roman studies. If anyone can tell when I’m joking and not take my inappropriate, nervous giggles seriously… it’s her.
“Yeah, and your bedroom is their first and last stop, Blair,” Juniper agrees, teasing. She glances at me, her dark hooded eyes solemn as she tries to keep with the joke. “Totally should’ve told you that before we picked rooms off the online pictures. Oh, well.”
“Guess I’ll die,” I reply, following her as she pushes open the door that takes us into the apartment proper. It’s a good thing she can’t see my face, or the way I’m sawing at my lip. Thisisin my budget, but when I was on my way back from Tennessee this morning on the bus, it had suddenly hit me.
I don’t have a life plan.
I don’t have a career picked out.
I don’t have a job or a huge savings account.
I’m not related to the Rockefellers or Bill Gates.
And I’m not in a relationship with a sugar daddy who takes care of all my wants and needs.
I can afford this apartment without hurting myself, honestly. Especially because of the student housing discount we’re getting. It would’ve been almost as expensive to live in a single room on campus, as there was no way in hell I was moving in with anyone other than Juniper, and she’s wantedoutof the dorm for a year.
The rest of the apartment is just as great, because of course it is. The furniture looks new, and the place smells like fresh paint and cleaning supplies. Surely we aren’t the first ones to live here, though for the life of me, I can’t see any other signs of someone having moved out a few months ago.
“Someone died here,” I assure Juniper, opening the door to the bathroom that’s more spacious than I would’ve thought it would be. There’s even a small washer and dryer stacked in the corner by the door, giving us a reason to never have to find a laundromat or do our laundry on campus two miles away. Not that I’d want to do my laundry at Wickett University of St. Augustine. No offense to the school, but some of its accommodations are a little less than inspiring. It’s one reason so many students prefer to liveoffcampus, rather than on.
My eyes flick over the square, glass-walled shower in the corner before I step back out, looking at the shiny kitchen before passing by the kitchen island to get a look at the open living room. Nothing separates the two, other than the island with three stools slid under it. A long, L-shaped couch sits in the living room, a coffee table perched on a dark blue rug on the faux-wood flooring in front of it, and on one wall a large tv hangs, screen a bright and shiny black.
It looks so much better than my dorm room that I could die.
Instead of dying, I peek out onto the balcony where two wicker chairs sit, barely noticing the view of the water I cansee a half mile away. How in theworldis this actually student housing?
Maybe a whole family was murdered here, and their bodies were used in some kind of dark summoning ritual that nearly leveled the city. It’s so cheap because every month or so theGhostbustershave to show up, with the exorcist from thePoltergeisttagging along, so that the apartment building can be made clean again.
Or something similarly displeasing and inconvenient to the tenants.
“Have you looked at your room yet?” Juniper asks, the door to hers ajar. They’re on opposite sides of the apartment, and it takes me a few seconds to stride over and open the door to my private room.
It’s been awhile since I had one. Even before living in a dorm room with Juniper, I was sharing a bedroom with my younger sister back home whenever she was at Mom’s house instead of her dad’s.
My hand finds the cold metal and I turn the knob, peeking inside like I’m going to find the grisly remains of a dead, sacrificed body. Maybe it’ll be like in13 Ghostsand a body will be rolling around in cellophane.
Maybe I should just stop watching horror movies while I fall asleep. Or at least stop letting them play on repeat, allowing them to infect my dreams.
The room is about as large as our dorm room, give or take three square feet in my novice opinion. A full size bed sits against one corner, the bedside table is white and minimalist. A desk sits in the opposite corner, and across from both the bed and the desk, set into the walls on either side of the door, are two shallow closets with shelves marching from the top to about knee-height. My bags are in here, where they’d been left by the employees who had helped us sign the last of our contracts. Istill can’t believe our apartment building basically has abellboyservice.
Had they helped the residents of the other nine apartments?
