A Game Most Foul, page 3
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Me too.”
I felt a flood of relief as everyone’s attention moved on to Percy next. He’d barely opened his mouth to speak before Suruthi threw a hand in the air, announcing, “I’d like to go next, Professor!”
Professor Watson gave her the same gesture to continue. “Please do.”
Suruthi dived right in. “I’m Suruthi Kaur, born and raised in London, the youngest of five kids, blah, blah, blah.” She was tapping out a beat on the cover of her notebook with the gel pen, her foot bouncing. “You can definitely expect some of the macabre from me because I happen to be an ardent fan of true crime.” She gave me a little finger wave next. “I think you and I will be partnering up on our manuscripts before too long, Jules Montgomery, because crimes are often full of the macabre, aren’t they?”
I couldn’t be sure what with my hearing aids and all, but it sounded an awful lot like Percy muttered, “God help us.”
“Sure,” I told Suruthi, mustering up a smile. “Sounds great.”
It was way too early to tell if Suruthi was being serious or not, but I was beginning to like her too.
The next hour and a half seemed to fly by as we went around the circle, my new classmates each introducing themselves. No one seemed quite as eager for their turn as Suruthi had been, but it ended up being a fun way to pass the time.
There was only one other student from North America, a girl by the name of Ashley James, who’d grown up living with her grandmother in Ontario.
“I’m going to give us a change of pace and say that my preferred genre would be historical fiction,” she told us with a grin. “There’s not a lot of historical fiction for young adults out there that focuses on the Viking Age—at least not that I’ve found—and I really want to be the one to change that.”
Professor Watson looked intrigued. “Vikings, you say?”
Ashley nodded, her grin a full-blown smile now. “Women during the Viking Age had a lot of autonomy and power despite being of the ‘lesser sex.’ So I figure there has to be a story there somewhere.”
“I imagine there is,” Professor Watson agreed. “I look forward to reading your work, Miss James.”
Suruthi leaned over to offer Ashley a high five.
I decided that I was going to like Ashley James as well. I could get behind the Vikings.
After Ashley came Willem from Belgium who I think shared with us that he was a fan of science fiction, but I’d admittedly had a hard time understanding his accent at first. Willem seemed shy; as soon as he’d finished speaking, he ducked his head, throwing himself into the folding and unfolding of the paper Professor Watson had passed out.
After Willem came Thierry, who hailed from France, and proudly declared that he’d been writing political thrillers since the age of seven.
“And political thrillers about your own charming country,” Thierry added, throwing a smile I didn’t particularly care for in my direction. “I went to the United States last summer and found my time touring your capital so very enlightening. I am sure you feel the same.”
“I’ve actually never been to Washington, DC,” I told him. “I think there’s about three thousand miles between California and the US capital.”
Thierry didn’t seem too amused by my answer.
The last to give an introduction was Percy.
“I’m from Kent, so not too far,” he started, his grip on his pen very tight. “Both my parents are in academia, and I’ve got three elder brothers. I found a flat share in the city for the summer, thankfully, and my genre of choice happens to be fantasy.”
“That is so you, Percy Bysshe,” Suruthi said with a laugh. “Princesses and dragons and whatnot.”
Percy shot her a disgruntled look. “More like Tolkien, but I appreciate the support.”
From what I’d observed so far, this seemed fitting for Percy. His pen looked even fancier than Professor Watson’s and could probably spin some epic fantasy story that could rival The Lord of the Rings.
“Thank you for those illuminating introductions,” Professor Watson said once Percy had finished. “It is helpful to put a face to the names of the submission pieces included in your applications for this seminar. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I am very much looking forward to reading each and every one of your manuscripts this summer.”
I started chewing on my lip before I could stop.
That manuscript.
“Hey, Jules. Jules?”
I gave a start at the sound of Suruthi’s singsong voice saying my name. Both she and Percy were eyeing me with curious stares as the rest of our classmates gathered up their things. Professor Watson had already retreated to his desk and looked busy jotting down more notes in his journal.
“Sorry, must’ve zoned out,” I said awkwardly.
Suruthi shrugged. “We’ve got an hour break now and we’re going to nip across the street for a coffee. You wanna come?”
“Sure,” I said, grabbing my bag as I got to my feet. “Coffee sounds great.”
As I followed Percy and Suruthi out of the classroom, I tried to look on the bright side of things.
I was pretty sure I was making friends. Friends were good. The professor seemed nice too, if not intimidating. I already knew I was going to enjoy staying with Adele for the summer. The only difficult part about all this was going to be figuring out what the heck I was going to write about. I wondered if it would seem a little suspect if I asked Suruthi or Percy how they handled writer’s block because it was undeniably a universal experience. Less appealing was asking the professor himself for some kind of guidance. Granted, it was his job, but we were barely halfway through the first day of the seminar. My first breakdown (probably one of many) could at least wait until the second day.
I snuck my wallet out of my bag as we left Chatham Hall, checking the wad of pounds I’d shoved in there before my flight yesterday.
I needed to calculate how much coffee I could afford to buy to make it through the rest of the day.
Chapter 4
Inspiration, Meet Brick Wall
You look upset. Why do you look upset?”
These were the first words my mother spoke as I answered her video call. Somehow she had timed it perfectly and called right as Professor Watson released us for the day.
“Hello to you too, Mother,” I said. “My day was great, thank you for asking.”
The connection was poor, but I could make out my mother’s trademark scowl. “Not funny, Juliet. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing,” I insisted. “Nothing’s bothering me. I think I still have some jet lag.”
My mother did not look convinced at my pathetic excuse, but she let it go with a short nod. “How was your first day?”
“It was fine,” I answered. “Great. There are some really nice people in the seminar.”
“And what about the writing? The professor?”
“The professor is nice too. The writing will be . . . a lot.”
A lot didn’t even begin to cover all of what the writing in this seminar was going to involve.
I ended the video chat after promising I would give her a detailed account of exactly how my first day had gone and a general idea of what I wanted to write about later.
And that was the problem. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to write about yet. To make matters worse, Professor Watson wanted an outline by Friday.
I found my way back to the Tube in a daze. Barely one day in and I felt like I was already treading water.
Somehow, I managed to get off at the correct stop and arrived at Dreams of Antiquity before too long. The scent of old books was strangely comforting as I stepped inside, as was Adele’s greeting as the door swung closed.
“Oh, Jules, you’re back! How was your first day?”
“It was great,” I said. I was beginning to sound like a broken record here. “I’m really excited about everything.”
Adele cocked her head, a shrewd look passing over her face.
“It’s just going to be a lot of writing,” I added quickly. “Maybe a little more than I was expecting.”
“I see.” Adele came forward to grip my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Well, it’s only the first day, so try not to panic too much.”
“Right,” I said. “No panicking here.”
Adele grinned, squeezing my shoulder again. “Have a little faith in yourself, Juliet. Obviously, your writing speaks for itself, otherwise you wouldn’t have been accepted into the program.”
She wasn’t necessarily wrong. I’d poured my heart out into the piece I sent in with my application and I was proud of it. Unfortunately, I’d written it over a year ago and hadn’t produced anything like it since.
It wasn’t for lack of trying. Every time I’d sat down with the intention to write, a buzzing in my fingers that had me itching to type, I was left feeling hopelessly frustrated. The words were there, somewhere, but it was like they were stuck behind some figurative brick wall, and I didn’t have a bulldozer handy.
“Now, go upstairs and fix yourself something to eat,” Adele said in a tone that made it clear this was nonnegotiable. “You look peckish.”
“Sure,” I said. “An afternoon snack. On it.”
Upstairs in the flat, I pulled out some fruit and yogurt from the fridge and was taking a seat at the table with Professor Watson’s reading list when my phone went off. I was expecting it to be another call from my mother, but instead it was from a long, unfamiliar phone number.
Jules from America!!!!
It’s me, your new fav writing mate! (Suruthi, that is)
Wait
Please tell me you have international messaging.
I was smiling by the time I’d finished reading the barrage of messages. I’d given Suruthi my number before Professor Watson had let us go for the day, but I didn’t think she’d start texting me so soon.
Hi, Suruthi!! It’s me, Jules from America
Luckily my stepdad set me up with an international phone plan, so we are good to go. Text away!
Suruthi’s response came a minute later—:D:D:D:D:D followed by a Good, good. So, you writing yet?
Snack first. My aunt told me I look “peckish.”
Maybe fruit and sugary yogurt would provide some inspiration.
Suruthi’s response was a simple: SAME
I was halfway through my snack when I got another text, this time a group chat from Suruthi and another long number I didn’t recognize.
So, you’re probably wondering why I have called you both here today . . .
A reply came from the unknown number a moment later.
Let me guess. This is Suruthi.
I sat back in amusement as the two chat bubbles kept going off, one after the other.
Correct!! You deserve a prize, Percy Bysshe.
Percy texted back with perfect punctuation: How did you get my number? I don’t recall giving it to you.
I’d only just met the guy today, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine Percy frowning the whole time he was texting back and forth with Suruthi.
Had my mum ask your mum for it :D Suruthi replied.
Of course you did. Percy wrote back. I really shouldn’t be surprised.
Suruthi texted back with another few smiley faces. You know me so well, Percy.
A second text popped up a beat later: You’re being awfully quiet, Jules.
Just enjoying the witty banter, I texted after taking the last bite of my yogurt.
My condolences, Jules, was Percy’s response. You’re probably frightening the poor girl, Suruthi.
Nah, I texted back. We’re writing mates now, didn’t you know?
Suruthi quickly followed up with, That includes you too, Percy. I am happy to invite you to be a part of this sacred writing circle. You’re welcome.
I can barely contain my excitement.
I slipped my laptop out of my bag, snatched the professor’s reading list off the table, and headed downstairs into the shop.
I could hear a few different voices chattering away and something that sounded like the beeping of a cash register as I navigated my way through the neat little aisles to the nook I’d designated as my official writing spot.
I got settled in the cozy armchair and booted up my laptop. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write up to two hundred pages about, but Professor Watson was going to have an outline of it by Friday one way or another.
But my brain apparently had other plans. I frowned as I stared at the blinking cursor. I felt like it was laughing at me. All I had to work with was a big, fat nothing.
Ugh.
I groaned, scrubbing my face with my hands. Was this massive brick wall looming over me at the prospect of this manuscript fate’s way of telling me I didn’t actually deserve to be here?
Or maybe I’d foolishly pinned all my hopes on my writer’s block suddenly disappearing the moment I arrived in London, and now I was going to have to face reality: I was already terrified of screwing up when I hadn’t written anything yet.
I spent the next hour or so going through the folder of short stories and assignments I’d saved from my last semester of creative writing class. Mrs. Gutierrez always seemed to have a never-ending supply of writing prompts for her students; surely I could find something in all these old files.
This was a good place to start.
I shifted around in the armchair, tucking my legs up underneath me. I was not going to move from this spot until I had at least started my outline.
***
“Jules? Juliet, dear.”
I tore my gaze from my laptop at the sound of my name. “Huh?”
Adele was standing in front of me, clipboard tucked up under her arm, and she had a knowing smile on her face. “Bit lost in thought there, are we?”
“You could say that,” I agreed, glancing back at my laptop.
The two pages I’d managed to come up with were, in short, a hot mess—but a hopefully workable hot mess.
“Well, I hate to interrupt, but I’ve just finished closing up shop and thought I’d head upstairs to get a start on tea. Would you like to join me?”
There was a loud tapping noise that had Adele pausing just as I’d been about to ask if she meant the tea you drink or the one with the meal. “What on earth?”
The tapping noise started growing louder until I figured out that the sound was actually someone knocking rapidly on the shop’s front door.
“You’re closed for the night, aren’t you?” I said to Adele.
“Yes, I am,” she said, frowning.
I followed Adele as she made her way to the door. I had no idea what I’d be able to do in the event of a break-in, but my stepdad had informed me that my scream was worthy of shattering glass (I really hate spiders).
All I could see at first through the stained glass on the shop’s front door was that there was a very large figure standing outside. I watched again as their hand raised and the knocking started up again, this time faster.
“Adele, are you really sure you want to open the door?” I asked uncertainly.
Adele was apparently a lot braver than I was; she opened the door without a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh!”
Adele’s exclamation had me rushing forward, but I was apparently worried for no reason. Adele seemed to know the unusually dressed man standing on the doorstep as she said, “William, it’s you. What a lovely surprise.”
“My apologies, madam,” the man she called William said in a weirdly formal voice. “It appears that in my haste to reach your establishment I have frightened you.”
“Not at all,” Adele said, laughing. “Think nothing of it. Unfortunately though we are shut for the day, William.”
Just from the one look, it seemed to me that this William was not the type of person you’d want to give bad news to.
The man was tall, for one, but so overwhelmingly lean that it made him seem even taller. His gaunt appearance was a little unsettling to take in at first.
“But,” Adele continued, and I could hear the smile coming into her voice, “I have no issue making an exception for my favorite customer.”
She stepped aside to let the man pass through and shut the door behind him.
Oh no, I thought. Why are we letting this man through the door, Adele?
“Thank you indeed, Ms. Duncan,” William said, perfectly polite. He seemed to have noticed me standing just a few feet away but he said nothing, his gaze moving around the shop with blatant curiosity. For as out of place as his mannerisms were, his dress, which looked like some kind of silken bathrobe, fit right in with the shop’s aesthetic. “I must say, those lab manuals on display in your window caught my eye. I have been meaning to purchase them for some time.”
“Of course, of course.” Adele laughed. “I wondered if I should’ve set those aside for you. We also have a microscope that I just picked up through another dealer, circa 1890s I’ve been told.”
William raised an eyebrow, looking momentarily interested, then shook his head. “Just the manuals today, I’m afraid. But I would take great pleasure in seeing this microscope for myself at a later date.”
“Jules, would you mind going to fetch those two red books from the window display?” Adele asked me, like she’d suddenly remembered I was present too.
“Sure,” I said slowly, shuffling back a step when William’s gaze finally moved to me. Polite he may be, but kind of creepy looking he most definitely was.
“Oh, William, this is my great-niece, Juliet,” Adele said, putting an arm around my shoulders as she introduced us. “She came all the way from California to stay here for the summer. Jules, this is William, and he’s been stopping by my humble little shop for years now.”
It looked like William was amused by this, but quickly smoothed it over with a short statement of, “How very nice.”
“Sure,” I repeated. “Loving it so far.”
I tried to telepathically ask Adele if she was going to be okay being left alone with this man, but she seemed to completely miss my concern, giving me a nudge toward the window display.
I tried to listen to their conversation as best I could as I went rummaging through the display, trying not to disturb anything. The books Adele had been referring to were actually two giant, red, leather-bound books about as thick as my forearm and quite heavy.
