Page 116 of Cruel Legacy

“I’ll tell you a little known secret about the campus and you’ll have to tell me something about yourself.”

I take a minute to think about it. “This secret. It can’t be something I can look up and research on my own.”

“It won’t be.”

“And I reserve the right to ask a follow up question about this secret if I need clarification.”

“One follow up question and I get the same.”

I arch a brow. This negotiation is going too smoothly. I don’t trust him. “You’ll answer honestly?”

“Only if you do.”

Fair enough. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because, Number Three, my secret will depend on your secret.”

He shakes his head and scolds, “Nice try, Pet. I know you just wanna blow me off.”

Geez. He’s just as distrustful as I am. But he has a point. Him going first leaves me a lot of wiggle room. I hold out my hand. “We’ll shake on it. I promise I’ll hold up my end of the deal.”

He slides his hand in mine and tugs me closer. “And if you break it, Pet, I promise to make your life hell.” He pulls away and starts walking again. “Parts of the campus used to be connected to the old mine.”

“That’s something I can look up. Try again.”

“The secret is that some of those tunnels are still accessible.”

I hurry to catch up to him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“And you know where they all are?”

“I know where some are. There are also ones that used to connect to town.”

I file that info away. I haven’t found a walking trail above ground. What if it’s because it’s below ground? Damn, I’ve already used up my follow up question. I’ll have to agree to another round to get Finn to give more details. I’m not ready to do that yet. He’s waiting for me to take my turn. What can I say that’s equivalent to this without giving too much about me away?

“I never learned to skate because it wasn’t something we did where I lived. Nobody had the money to go to the rink, and even if you owned your own skates, using them outside wasn’t even possible. Anything with wheels was subject to be stolen.”

Out the corner of my eye, I see his lip turn down. He asks, “Did they steal your stuff a lot?”

I pull out Clint and flick it open, waving it back and forth. “My knife is the only thing I had worth stealing, and nobody wanted to lose a finger trying to do that.”

Graffiti Warehouse is actually three warehouses right next to each other, with scaffolding erected to serve as tunnels to transit between them.

The walls inside are painted completely black. The ink from the tags glow in the dark, lighting our journey from room to room, each floor and then on to the next exhibit.

Our tour takes a little over two hours, and ends on the roof of the final building, which has been converted to a rooftop bar with a tapas menu. We sit around the gas fire pit. I’m mesmerized at the way the flames jump off the fire glass. It’s hauntingly beautiful and deadly all at the same time.

Finn tries to steal my food even though he’s got twice as much food as I do in front of him. I pull my plate away. “We just looked at the same menu. Why didn’t you just order your own?”

“Because then we’d have the same thing, and that’s no fun.”

“Yeah, but we’d have our own portions. You don’t see me trying to swipe food off your plate.”

He sips his drink, and says, “I wouldn’t mind. That’s kinda how it’s done everywhere I lived overseas. You sit at the table and big bowls of food are put out and we pass them around.”

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