Kisses from Hell

I watch as he finishes what’s left of the sausage, my gaze lingering on the way his long, dark bangs fall across his forehead and land on his cheek. Strangely unbothered by anything he’s just said, but knowing I need to reply in some way, I shrug and say, “Apparently there’s been a mist delay.” Absently picking at the folds of my dress, continuing to study him, I add, “So—what’s it like? The house, I mean. I pretty much crashed just after I arrived, and I’ve yet to even leave this room.” Cringing when I realize how I must sound to him—incredibly unadventurous, nothing like the real me, who would’ve fully investigated this place from the start. But for some reason, I just can’t seem to summon that girl. Maybe it’s the dress, the jet lag, or the sausage they keep feeding me, but the fact is, it feels so homey and comfortable right here in this room, I’ve had no desire to leave.

“Well—it’s quiet,” he says, wiping his mouth with a white linen napkin. “And appropriately creepy. My mom and her gang would totally love it.” He tosses down the napkin and rises from his seat, turning toward me as he says, “Wa

“So, is this your thing?” He motions toward my dress, tracing the line between my head and my toes and back again, calculating, appraising, though not necessarily in a bad way.

I squint, having forgotten all about how odd I must look until he mentions it. Pressing my hands into the folds of the fabric, feeling inexplicably shy, and hoping he’s not staring at the ridiculously low neckline, since I can’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses.

“Oh, no—I—my bag got lost too—and they sent my clothes somewhere to be cleaned—so I had a choice between wearing a robe all day, ru

Not daring to look at him again until he says, “It’s nice. Naked would also be nice.” He laughs, the sound of it so oddly familiar, though I’m sure I’ve never met him before. “But trust me, I didn’t mean anything by it. You look really pretty. If you ask me, more girls should dress like that. Though I guess it’s probably not very comfortable.”

“You’d be surprised,” I say, remembering how I managed to fall asleep in it with no problem. “It’s not so bad.”

“Anyway, I think you’ll find it’s pretty hard to shock me. I just came here from a goth convention in Romania, Transylvania to be exact. My mom’s band was headlining, and you can’t even imagine the stuff I saw there.”

“Your mom’s in a band?”

“Yeah.” He sighs and rubs his chin. “I try to be supportive and all, but—” He shakes his head and decides to let that one hang. “Anyway, I figured the dress was your thing. You know, art school, body as canvas and all that. Nice juxtaposition with the shoes, though.”

I look at him, watching as he moves a few steps ahead, his black Converse sneakers making their way down the rug. And I can’t help but compare him to Jake, who would never use a word like juxtaposition. Wouldn’t even know what it meant.

“And the glasses—is that your thing?” I ask, my voice a mix of nervous flirtation and unadulterated geekiness, though unfortunately veering much more toward the latter.

“No. Not a thing, more like a necessity. I have issues with the light. I’m—sensitive.” He glances over his shoulder at me.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—,” I start, feeling embarrassed for bringing it up.

But he just waves it away, waiting for me to catch up as he says, “Have you seen the library yet?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen anything yet—well, aside from the dining room and my room, but that’s about it,” I say, entering a dark, wood-paneled room filled with comfortable-looking chairs, lots of reading lamps, a large stone hearth, and, of course, rows and rows of books.

“You a reader?” he asks, reaching for an old, leather-bound tome and flipping through the pages.

“Big-time.” I nod, sca

“Then you’ll like this one.” He smiles, handing me a book with gold lettering on the front that spells Dracula. “It was written by my namesake.”

“I’ve read it,” I say, seeing the way he lifts his brow as he takes it from me and places it back on the shelf.

We continue exploring, checking out the dayroom, the sitting room, even an indoor swimming pool room I can’t wait to visit later when my luggage arrives. Both of us stealing occasional glances at each other, eyebrows quirked, shoulders raised—both of us asking the same unspoken questions—where are all the classrooms, the teachers, not to mention the other students? Making a quick stop in the kitchen, where Bram goes straight for the stove, lifts a lid off a cast-iron pan, and grabs us each another sausage we munch on as we explore some more. The two of us ultimately stumbling upon the ballroom I glimpsed earlier, though just like Violet, it doesn’t look near as aged, worn, and damaged as it did at first glance. In fact, even though there are still some visible traces of fire damage, it looks pretty good.

“This is where it started.” Bram nods, head swiveling from side to side as he takes it all in. “According to the brochure, there was an out-of-control blaze that nearly burned this place to the ground. Look—” He points toward the walls, the ultrahigh ceilings, then traces his finger all the way down to the singed stone floors. “You can still see some of the damage. Weird.” He shakes his head. “You’d think they would’ve fixed it by now.”

“Maybe they want to remember.” I shrug. “Or maybe they ran out of money and that’s where we come in. As soon as this mist clears, all the other students will arrive and they’ll hand us each a tool belt and tell us to get cracking.” I turn toward Bram, hoping to make him laugh, or at the very least, smile.

But he just stands before me, head cocked to the side, taking me in as he says, “Too bad I left my bag in your room or I’d sketch you.”

I look at him, wishing I could see his eyes so I’d know how he meant it. There’s just something about him, something so…familiar—but then I quickly look away when he catches me staring.

“Really,” he says, his voice soft, soothing. “The room, your dress, your shoes.” He smiles. “It’s just perfect. It really suits you. Maybe I should run up and get it?”

He turns to leave just as Violet comes in, takes one look at us, and turns white. And I mean white. Like just-seen-a-ghost white. Only there’s no ghost, it’s just us. And even though she quickly recovers, I can’t quite forget the look that flashed in her eyes.

She moves toward us, her fingers nervously twisting at the hem of her apron, clearly not addressing me when she says, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Bram.” He offers his hand. “One of the students.”

“But you can’t be,” she says, her voice so quiet we both lean closer to hear it.

“’Scuse me?” Bram scrunches his brow and retracts his hand as he takes her in.

“The mist—we’re invisible now—how did you find us?”

“Hard work, good luck, and a crap load of determination.” He shrugs. “But—did you just say we’re invisible now?”

Which is pretty much what I was go

But she just squints even further, so much that the blue of her eyes is obliterated by a line of pale, sparse lashes and even paler skin. “Well then.” She squares her shoulders and struggles to pull herself together. “I guess it’s time we get ye settled in.”