Waysider (The Voyants Book 1)

Chapter 36

Dusk filled the chapel.

Dying light streamed through the tall windows on either side of where Cass sat, casting the pews and wooden floorboards in pink and shadow. She occupied a pew near the back, tucked in one of those pockets of darkness. She didn’t want to be noticed if anyone else came in.

Now that Karen’s body had been removed and her soul was untethered, Cass felt safe here again. It was the only place on campus. No one knew about her visit to Patrick Doyle, or what had happened in that terrible cell, but everyone was buzzing about her and Professor Clemens. Speculating about the part she’d played. Cass had been seen going into the ambulance, apparently, and word had spread like wildfire. Cass had been utterly unprepared when a freshman Pennyseeker had come up to her that morning and said, “Hey, Cass. I’m so glad you’re okay. Was Professor Clemens really a serial killer?”

It wasn’t the first time. Throughout the entire day, during her classes, in the dining hall, on the walking paths, the other students looked at her or approached her. Her roommates had done their best to intervene or create a barrier around Cass—they knew she didn’t want to talk about it—but there was only so much they could do. Cass was pretty sure she’d bombed all her finals today, just like the ones yesterday.

She just didn’t know what to say to anyone, or how to explain why a professor she’d never met before had tried to butcher her with a knife. Not without talking about Karen, and Cass wasn’t sure she entirely understood that part, either. But Cal had been totally AWOL again, and so had Michael, so there was no one to talk to about it.

Now here she was, hiding. She should be saying goodbye to her roommates. Soon, Cass told herself. Once campus had cleared a little, and the coast was clear. She needed time to figure out what to say when one of them inevitably asked her questions about Christmas, or going home, or her flight.

But Cass wasn’t going home. Not anymore. She’d used the money her parents had sent for the flight to see Patrick Doyle. She hadn’t told them yet, or Teresa, either. Cass could already hear the confusion in their voices. Confusion that would be quickly followed by disappointment. Then, anger.

Just a few more minutes, she told herself, pressing harder against the pew.

There was one silver lining, at least. Now that Cass was staying, she’d be able to keep her promise to Louis about meeting him every Sunday. She’d flaked on him this week, considering she had been on a plane to Oregon at the time. Cass wondered how long Louis had waited until finally accepting that she wasn’t coming. A needle of guilt pricked her heart.

Outside, Cass could hear students calling out to each other. Laughing. But their noises were background noise to her—she’d gone back to reliving every moment of her encounter with Patrick Doyle. The memory was louder than any conversation or song. Everywhere Cass went, his words haunted her. She remembered the disbelief. The fury.

You love him already.

What did you mean? Cass wondered silently, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. It felt like the thousandth time she’d asked herself that question, and for the thousandth time, she had no answer. Frustration stirred in Cass’s veins, and her hands tightened where they rested in her lap.

Suddenly one of the chapel doors opened, the sound disturbing the perfect stillness. Cass stiffened, and her thoughts dissipated as she willed whoever it was to leave her the fuck alone. Seconds later, Sinister’s distinct scent reached her, that pleasant sandalwood teasing Cass’s senses.

But she didn’t relax. If anything, the tension in her body only heightened, until she felt like a bowstring that had been pulled too taut.

The pew creaked as Sinister settled on the bench beside her. A minute went by, marked only by the dust motes and the voices of their peers, which floated through the air alongside those bits of light. Goodbye! See you in two weeks! Merry Christmas!

Sinister kept his eyes directed toward the pews ahead of them as he said, “So you survived your first semester at EB. That’s something.”

Cass frowned, turning her face slightly so Sinister could see her mouth. “Not only are you ruining my favorite thing about you, which is your rare ability to sit in silence, you’re making small talk?”

Sinister ignored the jibe. His graceful fingers swooped and fell as he signed, and there was an insistent note in his voice Cass had never heard before when he asked, “Are you going to tell Headmistress Crane about what happened with Doyle?”

Hearing his name out loud brought images back in a rush. Florescent lights. Patrick Doyle’s stretching face, his mouth gaping with darkness and teeth. The long marks his nails left on the table as he stood.

Cass’s jaw clenched against the memory. She turned away and fixed her attention on the glass pane window behind the podium. Her eyes traced all the reds and yellows and greens. She followed the graceful curves of the lines between each pane. “No.”

Sinister’s signing became so urgent that she heard his fingers strike against each other. “She needs to know, Cass. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your years at Wayside.”

He really didn’t know her at all if he thought that was supposed to be a downside. If keeping her visit to Patrick Doyle secret was what kept her from meeting other things like him, Cass would take it to her grave. The only loose end was Sinister. Resolve turned Cass’s heart to stone. She turned back to him, once again making sure he could see her lips clearly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

His eyes flashed. “The hell you don’t. You had Doyle. For a second, I saw it—you had him. Only one kind of voyant can do that.”

“Don’t say it.” Cass couldn’t look at him now. She was afraid of what came next. Afraid of the consequences and ramifications of what this man was about to make her face.

And then he said it, because unlike her, Sinister Gray didn’t avoid monstrous things or terrifying truths.

“You’re a Shadowripper, Cass.”

END OF BOOK ONE