Chapter 19
19
Fortunately, I have other riddles to preoccupy me. Real, literal riddles, not emotional riddles like smoldering, yearning Scott. The infuriating riddle on my West College scroll, for instance.
While Erik is hot, I’m not stupid. He knows I have one clue. He doesn’t know the clue contains an as-yet unsolvable puzzle leading to another clue. He does not know this because I have not shown it to him.
I’m planning to, really. I just need to know if I can trust him first.
It’s like the third or fourth rule of fantasy, if not the first. If an enigmatic hot guy enters your heroine’s life, he’s either an unforeseen ally…or exactly the deceiver the audience expects from such convenient hotness.
I decide I’ll evaluate him over the coming day. If he collaborates with me on leads or strategy, I’ll consider myself allied. If I catch even the faintest whiff of double-dealing, however…well, let’s just say my favorite fantasy novels have other lessons on how to deal with saboteurs.
Okay, I don’t really know what I mean by that. I’m not going to fling him off the parapet Val-style.
If I show Erik my clue, he might be trustworthy, but even then, I don’t really think he’ll be able to crack the clue I, a longtime fan, haven’t. Maybe that makes me conceited. Either way, there’s no real point to showing him the clue right now.
No, the main advantage to having an ally isn’t in code breaking. It’s that I can now partake in the “paramour” activities on the Experience schedule. Morning finds us rafting down the campus river, which, as I suspected, is lovelier when you’re not wading in it. The cicadas join with the rustling leaves in accompaniment of our clear-skied journey down to a picnic, where Laurel finds her second clue in the ice chest. I’m excited for her—or I pretend very hard to be.
Erik, for his part, doesn’t double-deal. In fact, he doesn’t deal, period. He passes the morning preoccupied with sitting up very straight and gazing out over our surroundings in flinty, Val-inspired intensity. When I mention Laurel has found a clue, watching for shrewd interest in his eyes, I only receive a smoldery nod.
Despite the discouragement of Laurel’s progress and my ally’s, frankly, uselessness, I enjoy the one welcome development of the paramour activity. Scott isn’t here.
It delights me knowing he couldn’t find a partner. The paramour requirement isn’t serious—it doesn’t necessitate any actual romantic involvement. Laurel and Brit have accompanied each other, and of course I have Erik. Nevertheless, the fact of Scott’s absence indicates he could find neither ally nor friend. How surprising!
Or perhaps Scott could find a partner and he’s avoiding me after what he admitted.
Fine. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about it, either.
Anyway, he’s absent. He noticed me with Erik during meals over the past day, which seemed to annoyed him. It was enormously satisfying—perhaps more satisfying than the meals themselves.
While walking down from our suite with my daydream guy was enjoyable, hanging out with Erik was…less so. He remained focused on catching the eye of Heather or, when she’s absent, every fan in his vicinity. Every conversation we’ve had has centered on how perfect he is for Val, and how he just has to be noticed.
I found myself wondering deep down whether Erik’s companionship really is lackluster—or whether Scott’s words have wormed into me, eating away at the fantasy I wanted to find in my roommate. Scott knows nothing of my disappointment, however. Which is what matters. As far as he’s concerned, my fantasy is everything I ever wanted, and definitely has not involved walking into our common room multiple times during one of Erik’s “mirror hours,” in which he practices facial expressions.
It certainly has never, ever involved me replaying over and over the moment where Scott reached up outside the showers to caress my face.
Never.
Not when I’m unwinding from the rafting day with a reread of the masquerade, my favorite romantic part from The Ashen Court .
Not under my obsidian covers in the darkened hush of my room.
Not even when I zone out during Erik’s self-centered monologuing over a plate of pancakes the next morning. As we walk out of the dining hall after, I patiently permit him to regale me once more with his Experience audition story, and how his haircut ruined his chances. In fairness, it was interesting the first time. Less so now. Doesn’t exactly have the rereadability of a Heather Winters book.
When we get outside, I am enormously relieved to spot Amelia heading for the gates, leaving campus. “Hey, Erik”—I interrupt him, perhaps rudely—“I think we’ll have better odds of finding the next clue if we divide and conquer. We can cover twice as much ground.”
Erik falters, surprised I’m cutting short his story. He recovers gracefully, nodding with what I know he envisions to be Val’s Queen’s Guard command.
“Good thinking, Worth,” he pronounces. With new excitement, he drops his put-on demeanor. “Can I take the tattoo booth? It would be so badass if Heather saw me with Val’s back tattoo,” he enthuses.
“Great idea.”
He pumps his fist, invigorated. “Do you think if I don’t shower for a couple days, the temporary tattoo will last through the week?”
“You know,” I say, “there’s only one way to find out.”
Erik grins dazzlingly. He marches off with purpose, leaving me to head in Amelia’s direction. Yes, I suppose I should hunt for clues, like I implied to Erik I would do. But…since the scavenger hunt started, I haven’t had a moment to hang out with my best friend. If living with an unshowered actor for the rest of the week means I can sneak away for coffee with Amelia while he searches for clues, it’s a fair price to pay.
I catch up with her right outside the gates. “Hey,” I greet her, slowing my jog. “You going for coffee?”
Amelia smiles in surprise. She pulls out her AirPods. “Yeah,” she says. She eyes me in pleased curiosity. “Are you actually going to join me instead of searching for clues?”
I shrug her off. “You can’t fault me for playing the game you literally designed.”
Grinning in concession, Amelia loops her arm through mine.
We cross the street, heading into the college town. I can enjoy the cobblestone sidewalks and towering birch trees more now that I’m not hunting for parking, late for my fantasy weekend, or in need of athletic shorts. The cute shops have uniform facades of stone with white, old-timey trim. We pass jewelry stores, sandwich places, shops with College of Hollisboro gear in the window, ready for football season when summer ends.
“How many clues have you found?” Amelia pries. “You must be close if you’re willing to step away from the hunt.”
I eye her, playfully wary. “I’m not about to tell you ,” I say. “And as for stepping away, I have my roommate on it. We’re in an alliance,” I inform her proudly.
Amelia laughs. “An alliance. I love it.” She raises her eyebrows. “An alliance with benefits, perhaps…?”
“I won’t lie. I did think about it,” I admit.
We round a corner I clocked on my drive in. Our destination waits ahead.
Coffee . This place is the only feature I could imagine improving the wonders of Elytheum. How many coffee-shop AU fics have I read? Countless. The only detail I ever have issues with is Val’s drink. While I understand fic writers’ impulse to give him something night black and uncompromising, like cold brew, I’m not convinced. Val knows how to indulge, and he secretly yearns for the sweetness life hasn’t left him.
I…feel like he might be a pumpkin-spice-latte man.
I hold the door for Amelia. The Hollisboro cafe is large, with plenty of seating for college students to camp out during finals. In the middle of summer, the shop is nearly empty. It’s almost jarring being around people who are dressed only in regular clothes, with nary a fae lord or demoness to be found.
Amid the pleasant indie pop playing from the speakers, the rattle and hiss of the counter, and the wondrous smell of coffee everywhere, we walk up to the register. The offhand familiarity of it jumbles up my emotions, the happy echo of the hundreds of coffee runs we made to the cafe on West 54th, closest to the Parthenon offices.
I’ve lost my dearest coworker and now my relationship in the past nine months. I haven’t lost our friendship, though. I have Amelia. And we’ll always have coffee.
I order my customary cinnamon dolce latte, Amelia her cold-brew concoction with oat milk and caramel. It’s very good, from the sips I curiously asked to sample. It’s just not my drink of choice. We post up in front of the wide windows, where we can people-watch the unhurried pedestrians.
“So,” Amelia prompts me impatiently, “you thought about a roommate rebound, but not feeling it?”
I sigh over my drink. “He’s hot, and I like that he’s interested in Elytheum, but he’s an actor and a little self-involved and…” I hesitate. “Well, I feel like if we were to hook up, he would treat it as character work.”
Amelia eyes me like I’ve just announced my new favorite is The Ember Court —with due respect, widely regarded as the weakest installment. “Yeah, but…for a hookup, does it matter? Shallow is sometimes better. You can fill in the depths with whatever you want.”
I smile hollowly, wishing I could do exactly what Amelia’s suggested. Wishing Scott hadn’t gotten into my head about whether I know what’s real. Somehow, though, I expect hooking up with my hot actor roommate who happens to closely resemble my favorite fictional character wouldn’t help me with such second-guessing.
“We’ll see,” I demur. Not wanting to spoil our coffee run with my romantic woes, I usher the conversation on to more welcome subjects. “I’m focused on the Experience anyway. Does working for Heather ruin Elytheum at all for you?”
Amelia sips her cold brew, considering. “It changed it, for sure,” she starts, like she’s still figuring out the answer herself. “I do sort of miss the days where Elytheum wasn’t my job. When it was just an escape from my everyday. Not…my every day . ” She laughs. “Mostly it’s just so much more work than I expected.”
Just then, Val walks in.
Except it isn’t Val, exactly. My mind works falteringly to comprehend what I’m perceiving. The actor who plays Val has just walked in, wearing…glasses, shorts, and a University of Pennsylvania Basketball shirt.
He notices us—or, notices Amelia. His eyes light up when he finds her. He waves boyishly—way more boyishly than the Lord of Night would. Amelia waves back, and after he quickly puts in his order, he comes over to us.
I watch him with fascination. He approaches us almost hesitantly. “Am I allowed to say hi or am I breaking the rules?” he asks Amelia.
“Fred, we’re not going to control your time when you’re not on the clock,” Amelia says with humorous patience, like they’ve perhaps gone over this previously. “You’re free to live.”
The actor—Fred, I guess—grins, appearing indeed very free to live. The next moment, his eyes fall on me and his expression clouds with inquisitive concern. “Does it bother you, Jennifer?” he asks. “I don’t want to break immersion for you.”
I blink, genuinely touched he knows my name. I guess I figured our…interactions this past week, while fantastical and fantastic for me, were nothing out of the ordinary for him. Forgettable, even.
Admittedly, it is a bit weird to meet him outside his Val performance. I knew it was just a performance, of course, but having the proof in front of me is different. Particularly because Fred is nothing like Val. He’s kind of a bro, honestly. A sweet one. I wrack my fan memory for Elytheum Courts referents for an earnest, youthful Val, and find nothing.
“It’s kind of you to ask, but no,” I reassure him. “You’re no more distracting than the work emails I’ve been answering on my phone at night.”
He nods in relief. Then his gaze darts to Amelia, like powerful fae magic compels him. “Amelia, I watched that episode of The Vampire Diaries you mentioned. I’m learning so much about smoldering . But also, it’s just really good,” he marvels. “I have to know what’s inside the tomb!”
I can’t help grinning. With every word Fred says, it’s easier and easier to separate him from his character. He’s definitely not the method actor Erik is.
Amelia responds accordingly. “Right? It’s such a good show!” When she eyes him seriously, I know she’s going to ask the big question. “Are you Team Damon or Team Stefan?”
Fred hesitates, considering with the depth the inquiry demands. “I mean, I get the Damon appeal,” he finally says. “But how can you not love Stefan? He’s her original love interest, and he’s just a good guy, you know?”
Fred doesn’t realize how meaningful it is when Amelia only nods in measured respect for his choice. I happen to know she had a poster of Damon framed in her first apartment.
I watch them chat, noticing how animated Amelia is—which of course she is, because The Vampire Diaries is amazing. But she’s visibly at ease talking to Fred, like they’re old friends. It makes sense, given they’ve collaborated on the Experience for months. Nevertheless, I’m glad she gets to work closely with such a kindhearted, friendly guy. His eyes light up when Amelia laughs, and he smiles when she smiles. He’s focused on her, watching her like…
And it hits me.
He’s watching her like Val watches Kethryn.
When Fred’s order is called, I don’t miss the fleeting disappointment on his chiseled features at the interruption of their conversation. “Well, I’ll see you back on campus, then,” he offers Amelia. It sounds like a promise and not a prediction. He glances at me. “Or rather, Val will, with goat horns shined,” he amends with amusement.
“I look forward to it,” I say. “But Fred is cool, too.”
“Thanks,” Fred replies, sounding genuine.
Amelia waves goodbye, then faces me when Fred has exited the shop. “What were we saying before Fred came in?”
There’s no hint of color in her cheeks. No traces of a secret grin. No final stolen looks out the window at the himbo crossing the street with his coffee. Her whole focus is just back on me.
“No way,” I say, incredulous. “We’re not just going to pretend that didn’t just happen.”
Amelia blinks. “What? Fred? I’m sorry, did it ruin the Experience to see him like that? You could have been honest when he asked you. Fred is really understanding.”
“Forget understanding! Although that’s very nice of him. Amelia, the dude is into you.” The sentence practically explodes out of me. Wasn’t she just telling me how she can’t remember the last time she went on a date? And now the perfect thespian jock with glasses has a massive crush on her!
Amelia laughs like I’ve made an incredible joke. I frown. Until—
Yes, there it is. She’s blushing.
I lean back in my chair, Cheshire-cat pleased.
“No. No way,” she protests, while her cheeks flame brighter. “I’m basically his employer. He’s just being friendly. I promise he’s not into me.”
“Excuse me. Do you not see the way he looks at you?” I fan myself dramatically.
She rolls her eyes. “You mean like a human speaking to another human?” Her voice is way too dry.
“Like he’s smitten. My god, Amelia,” I say. I’m desperate to have her match even a fraction of my enthusiasm here. This isn’t even my love life. In fact, my love life is in shambles, and still this fills me with soul-nourishing joy.
Now her expression flattens. She is unamused by my enthusiasm. “Please be serious,” she says sternly. “He’s an actor playing a part. That’s it.”
Sitting forward, I restlessly rotate the coffee sleeve around my cup. “Look, if you’re not into him, that’s different, and I’ll respect it. But if you really just don’t see what’s happening, then I have to open your eyes to it. There is no reason why an actor playing a part can’t develop real feelings for his very hot employer.”
Amelia scoffs. Her gaze darts to the window. When it returns to me, there’s something dark in her eyes, something like buried hopes.
“That’s not realistic.” Her voice is brittle in a way I’ve never heard it. “We work in romance novels. We don’t live in them. I promise you it’s not like that.” She lets out her breath, then checks the time on her phone. “I should probably head back in, speaking of. Heather and I have to talk masquerade plans.”
I fall silent. I know a conversational closed door when my best friend slams it in my face.
I just don’t understand why. Clearly, Amelia is refusing to entertain this idea, and I’m not going to press her on it. Not now anyway.
Putting on a smile, I down the rest of my drink. “Masquerade plans,” I echo. “I can’t wait.”
She shoots me a grateful look for dropping the conversation, then gets up to recycle her cup. While we walk back to campus, we return to safer subjects. Brit and Laurel’s latest fashion creation. Heather’s mysterious attendance at dinners, where the author is present yet never says much. Whether the grad students here have figured out why half the campus population is in gowns and glitter.
When she turns into the administration office she’s made her headquarters, I can’t help wondering if Amelia is so focused on building this fantasy for everyone else, she’s forgotten to hold on to any for herself. Maybe when fantasy becomes your normal, you stop being able to see what’s extraordinary.
It makes me sad for my friend. Amelia deserves to live the kind of stories she loves. She deserves to feel like the desired heroine she is.