Asylum by Madeleine Roux Page A

It’s not signed?”
    “No, it’s not signed.” Dan flashed the card at Felix, but not long enough for him to be able to read it.
    “Hm. Strange. Do you recognize the handwriting?” Felix continued browsing his current web page, the wheel on his mouse clicking softly as he spun it.
    “No, it’s calligraphy or something. Nobody writes like this anymore.…”
    “Calligraphers do.”
    “Do you know any calligraphers?” Dan snapped.
    At last, Felix turned around. He thought for a few seconds and then said calmly, “Not at this program, no. I do have a friend back at school though who’s pretty good at it.”
    “That doesn’t help me.” Sighing, Dan dropped into his chair and swiveled it around. “Sorry. Bad day.”
    “I understand, and I hope you find your mystery pen pal.”
    Sinking deeper into his chair, Dan flipped the card over and over again, studying the handwriting, trying to find some clue in the words. Hydra . There were at least fifty kids in Professor Douglas’s class who would have heard the clevernickname he had given the three of them yesterday. Dan had no way of pinning down the identity of the writer.
    What if Joe, the hall monitor who had caught them in the old wing, had placed the card on his desk? It actually made a weird kind of sense. Joe would want to keep them from snooping around again after hours, and the note was just creepy and threatening enough to make Dan think twice about a repeat of last night. Joe would also, as a hall monitor, have a master key to the rooms, which fit because Dan was positive he had locked the door that morning.
    The knot in Dan’s stomach loosened. Thinking of Joe as the author of the note made the whole thing feel explicable at the very least and perhaps even a little bit funny. Ha ha, Joe, you got me good.
    But Dan wasn’t entirely convinced. He decided he’d bring the card to dinner. If Jordan and Abby had received notes, too, they might be able to figure it out together.
    Until then, Dan knew he definitely wouldn’t be able to do any real studying. And if anything, the card only strengthened his determination to meet Sal Weathers. There wasn’t enough time left in lunch break to make it to town and back, so he decided to skip his next class. He threw his sweatshirt on again, pulled up Sal’s address on his phone, checked the directions, and then sped out the door.
    It felt good to get out of the dorm. Things had a way of feeling so heavy there.
    The weather seemed to be on his wavelength, overcast and chilly despite the fact that it was June. It looked like it might rain. Dan walked briskly, keeping his head down and following the path that led from the dorms back to the academic side and beyond. The paved path dipped, taking a wide curve down a hill. For all the hustle and bustle on campus, Camford always felt rather small and quiet. Today the streets were practically empty; a lone pick-up truck sped by as Dan made it down to the bottom of the hill.
    Three blocks, one donut shop, and a car garage later, Dan was at his destination. He snuggled down deeper into his sweatshirt, staring up the drive to a brick, dormered house set back from the road. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning above the tree line. From here, he could just make out the top of the old church steeple, and beyond that, Wilfurd Commons and Brookline’s roof.
    He fished out a notebook and pen from his backpack, wondering how best to introduce himself.
    A simple wicker cross hung in the window of the front door. Dan knocked, suddenly hoarse with nerves, already thinking it had been a mistake to come. Sure, Sal sounded talkative online, but would he be so effusive in person? Dan would have to express his own interest in a way that would get him the information he needed.
    He knocked again, with more conviction. Finally, he heard a shuffling from inside.
    A spotted, craggy face appeared in the window behind the cross, and a second later the door flew open. The