Page 23 of First Snow
He turns a corner and the B&B comes into view. Arttu stops dead in his tracks. Leaning against a vintage Aston Martin parked incorrectly right in front of the hotel, is Faeling. Arttu’s mouth goes dry, and Emily’s words turn into a distant buzzing.
“What are you doing here?” Arttu hisses at Faeling after he manages to get his legs to cooperate again.
“I’m here to pick you up. As I said, you shouldn’t have to carry your stuff all the way.”
“That’s invasive, you know?”
Faeling just smiles at him in a nonchalant way that makes Arttu’s knees go weak.
“Oh my god, is that him?” Emily screeches into his ear.
Faeling arches an amused eyebrow.
“Yeah, it’s him,” Arttu says saltily. “You know what, why don’t you two sort out our evening plans?” Arttu pushes the phone into Faeling’s hands, reveling in his surprise. “I’ll fetch my stuff.”
Arttu leaves Faeling and hurries inside the B&B. Handing over his phone to his target is a calculated risk. He’s brought a new one, equipped with just enough fake contacts and social media to make it seem credible should someone decide to check. He hopes that the display of trust will dispel any doubts Faeling might have about his person. Not that Faeling seems very suspicious in the first place. After all, he invited Arttu to his personal quarters in the club.
Arttu hurriedly picks up his stuff. Better to not leave Faeling and Emily to scheme together for too long.
Turns out that Arttu shouldn’t have left the two to speak for even a second as they end up spending their evening with a flock of students from Emily’s queer university group in some kind of bizarre escape game. Arttu feels ridiculously out of place between the bubbly kids. He must look like a pervy professor trying to hook up with one of his barely legal students. Faeling stands out just as much in his black jeans and equally black button down, but he at least manages to look dignified. It doesn’t help that Emily smirks knowingly at them all the time, and wriggles her eyebrows when she thinks Faeling isn’t looking. It’s a nightmare.
Their little group has gathered in the hall of a Victorian townhouse where they’re waiting to be granted entry intoLondon Haunted Escape.The hallway is crowded with other groups of people chatting and laughing, waiting their turn. Arttu eyes the promotion for their evening activity with distaste; the ‘toughest horror escape experience in London’.
“Are you nervous?” Emily teases.
“No,” Arttu says. It’s not a lie. He isn’t afraid per se, but he isn’t being completely sincere either. His gaze trails over the four friends Emily brought with her. They all seem so young. Arttu isn’t particularly looking forward to guiding a children’s birthday party through a scary labyrinth.
“What about you, Mr. Faeling?” Emily asks. Arttu snorts. She’s still a bit shy around Faeling.
“You can call me Jareth,” Faeling says mildly. His voice sends a delighted shudder down Arttu’s spine. It doesn’t help that Faeling makes sure to stand close to him all the time, his fingertips brushing against Arttu’s hand now and then as if he’s a second away from taking Arttu’s hand like a good boyfriend.
Emily’s eyes light up at Faeling’s words. “Cool!”
Arttu wonders what kind of gigantic mess he brought upon himself. He realizes with horror that Faeling in boyfriend mode is just as alluring as he is when running a sex club. Trying to distract himself from the questionable preferences of his libido, he starts examining his surroundings. He has to admit that the house is a good fit for this kind of spooky escape game. Despite the commotion in the hallway, the dark paintings and sparse lighting are creating an oppressive atmosphere.
Arttu watches the group in front of them being ushered through a dark archway by a young woman wearing a staff uniform. A disturbing groaning sound drifts out of the bowels of the house as the gate opens. Arttu shudders. The noises are more sinister than any overpriced ghost train has any right to be. As soon as the counter is free, they move forward and wait for their time to enter.
“Spooky,” one of Emily’s friends comments with a nervous grin. She’s a tall girl with short, blond hair. Emily introduced her as Mel. Arttu smiles at her.
“Hello, adventurers,” a guy in a staff uniform greets them, slipping behind the desk. His eyes scan over their group, and his bored expression lights up when he takes in Faeling. Great, another fan. Not that Arttu can blame him.
“Hey, guys, I’m Toby, your game master for tonight. Welcome toLondon Haunted Escapes,London’s most blood-curdling escape event.” He sends Faeling a radiant smile. “Please mind that if you suffer from anxiety triggered by darkness, enclosed spaces, or heights, this game is not for you. We take it for granted that you have thoroughly read the waiver you all have signed.”
“Yup,” Emily says, and another one of her friends, a curvy girl in a flowery dress, nods excitedly. Her name is Martha, Arttu remembers. The other three look a little less thrilled.
“Are you guys comfortable with this?” Arttu asks quietly, and is rewarded with tentative smiles and nods. Mel gives him a thumbs up. He likes the kids.
Faeling steps even closer to him and wraps an arm around Arttu’s shoulders. “Are you ready?”
Arttu can only nod dumbly. He must’ve fallen into some kind of parallel universe without realizing it. How else could he have ended up chaperoning a bunch of kids with the suspected serial killer he tried to seduce at a sex club as if he and Faeling were their gay uncles?
“Okay, follow the instructions once you are inside the labyrinth. You can communicate with the staff via the cameras,” the instructor keeps droning on. “You always have to move forward. Going back is not allowed. If you need any hints, talk loudly and clearly to the cameras.”
Toby gives Arttu a dirty look when he sees him wrapped up in Faeling’s embrace. The man’s ire seems to spur Faeling into cozying up to Arttu even more. Worst of all, the physical closeness makes some tension bleed from Arttu’s shoulders. The darn labyrinth might not be so bad after all if he can stay nestled in Faeling’s arms while walking through it.
“Look, someone would like to trade places with you,” Faeling whispers against Arttu’s ear, his warm breath fanning over his jaw.
Arttu’s jeans get uncomfortably tight at Faeling’s words and he wills down his inappropriate reaction with some difficulty. “Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, not quite knowing what else to say.