This compel ed Ezekiel to take desperate measures. He had to close down al avenues of escape—my parents and Ruth—and al pathways to information about my identity. He had to remind me constantly of his presence and power by using the tricks I witnessed over the past day. He had to leave me with one choice only: him.
Yet Ezekiel unwittingly tipped his hand through these actions. By trying to shut down my access to information about my nature, he told me just how important this information was to my salvation. Why else would he go to such lengths to keep it from me? For about the mil ionth time, I wished that my parents had told me everything.
But they hadn’t. I would have to keep seeking out answers about my identity and purpose on my own—although I knew that Ezekiel would fol ow me wherever I went. Yet somehow, his actions didn’t scare me off my quest—as he undoubtedly intended—but made me more determined than ever to embark on it. Even if it meant daring to use Ezekiel’s own games against him to gain time and knowledge.
So I mustered up my courage and said, “Professor McMaster, Mr. Ezekiel, I’m so sorry to interrupt this captivating conversation. But I have to go.”
“So soon?” Ezekiel asked with that ever-present sneer. As if he knew what I was up to.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I turned to the professor. “Would you mind walking me to the door? It looks a bit like Fort Knox.”
Professor McMaster tore his eyes away from Ezekiel reluctantly and said, “Yes, yes, Miss Faneuil.”
I fol owed the now-spel bound professor to the door. Although I could feel Ezekiel’s eyes boring into my back, I didn’t risk a final glance at him.
But Ezekiel wouldn’t let me leave without a good-bye. And more. “Farewel , El speth. Give my best to Hananel and Daniel. If you risk a visit home, that is.”
I needed to get out of that room. I could feel the tentacles of Ezekiel’s evil start to wrap around me.
Slowly, so slowly I thought I would scream, the professor painstakingly undid each lock. When he finished, I touched him on the hand, seemingly out of gratitude. As I did, I looked at him directly in the eyes, and wil ed him to forget about any information he might have gathered for me.
Particularly anything he might know about this Professor Barr from Oxford that the Harvard student had mentioned. I prayed that the professor hadn’t told Ezekiel anything already.
I said, “Thank you so much for your help, Professor McMaster. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t know more about my situation. Or anyone who could assist me.”
When Professor McMaster answered, his voice sounded dazed from Ezekiel’s efforts. “Yes, it is unfortunate, Miss Faneuil. But you are a smart young woman, and I am certain you wil find your way.”
Brushing up against his hand one last time, I scanned his thoughts and saw that the professor’s mind was curiously blank. Had Ezekiel wiped it clean? Had I?
Racing down the hal away from the horror of Ezekiel, I heard Professor McMaster close his office door and then bolt al his locks. I wondered why he bothered. The professor had instal ed al those locks to keep out the malevolent creatures he studied, but now he had locked himself in with evil itself.
Chapter Forty
I ran as fast as I could down the two flights of stairs to the building’s exit. Only fear of detection by the remaining students or teachers prevented me from actual y flying down. Once I reached the main floor, I thrust open the heavy wooden doors and breathed the cold nighttime air, as if I’d been saved from drowning.
The evening sky had turned from dark to pitch-black. The neighboring buildings and businesses had closed, eliminating a major source of light. I couldn’t see a streetlamp anywhere. Even with my unusual y sharp eyesight, I found the odd, shadowy landscape hard to make out.
Stil , I was pretty sure of the route back to Harvard Square, where I could pick up the T to Logan Airport. It seemed that my next step must be meeting with this Professor Barr in London. I didn’t think I could just phone the scholar up and ask my questions without being considered a kook or a crank. Anyway, where else could I go?
If my experiment had worked on Professor McMaster, I needed to take advantage of my smal lead on Ezekiel and get the next flight to London. I had checked the schedule already and knew that a British Airways flight took off at eight P.M. If I real y hustled, I might make it.
I fol owed a serpentine pathway leading away from the professor’s building, then made a sharp left and right. By my calculations, I should have spotted Harvard Square in the distance, but I didn’t. Instead, I found myself in a quadrangle of nearly deserted science buildings. I backtracked a little and tried out another right turn I’d considered. It led me right back to that science quadrangle. How could I be so lost? Desperate, I asked one of the few students I passed, and then diligently fol owed her directions. But I found myself in the science quadrangle once again. Was this another of Ezekiel’s games? Or just another unfortunate turn of events in my nightmarish life?
I heard footsteps behind me, but didn’t make much of them at first. Then I started to notice that the footsteps were matching my stride. So I took an unexpected sharp left turn as a test. The person fol owed.
I was scared. What if it was Ezekiel or Michael? I could handle pretty much anyone else. I pivoted and started running in the other direction. I could hear the person gaining on me. I had no choice. I had to fly.
Almost instantaneously, my back expanded, and my body streamlined for flight. My feet had just started to levitate, when I felt a hand pul at my foot. I struggled to kick it off, but the person was strong. I fel down to the ground on top of my pursuer.
“El ie, it’s me. It’s Michael,” he said, as if that was supposed to be a comfort.
I shoved away his outstretched hand, and pushed myself off him and onto the hard concrete of the pathway. “I can see that. Why would I want to see you?”
“You have every right to be furious with me, El ie. But it’s me—the real Michael.” He looked at me with those familiar green eyes, and it did seem as though my Michael stared out through them. But how could I be sure?
“I thought I went to Ransom Beach with the real Michael. But unfortunately, it was Ezekiel’s underling.”
Very, very gently, he reached for me. Even though it seemed a gesture of comfort, I pul ed away. It would take a lot more convincing before I’d let him touch me. “I understand, El ie. I didn’t like what I became either. Do you know how scary it is to watch yourself say and do things you’d never imagine, and be unable to stop?”
From witnessing the transformation of Professor McMaster, I knew that Michael’s words were entirely possible. I wanted it to be true. But I stil didn’t trust him. After al , he’d seemed like my Michael when we flew down the cliff to Ransom Beach—right into Ezekiel’s waiting arms. Ezekiel must have turned him the night before.
I crossed my arms, and gave him a thorough once-over. No glazed eyes, no deadened speech, but stil , I wasn’t certain. “How did you change back to yourself?”
“Last night, your parents came over to my house—to talk to my parents. It was real y late, and they didn’t know I was stil awake. So I eavesdropped on them. For some reason, hearing them talk about you snapped the connection between me and Ezekiel.”
I wanted to know what my parents had said, but assessing Michael’s truthfulness was far more critical just now.