Chapter 26
I lay my head on my pillow and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, then rubbed my tired eyes with the base of my palm before returning to my Innovation assignment that was given to us yesterday.
I had been avoiding the Warwicks over the past two days, holding myself captive in my room, so I didn’t accidentally bump into them.
If I didn’t have to leave to attend class or grab something to eat, then I’d retreat into my room.
If someone knocked on my door, I wouldn’t answer it unless it was Mila, and she would message me first to say she was coming.
Lev and Ezrah have both tried to talk to me, but I refused to listen and would run away as soon as I was able to.
They were up to no good, I could tell, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
My priority was good grades, not fooling around with the Warwicks or anyone else, for that matter.
But there was only a matter of time before they caught up with me.
I didn’t go to the gym, even though I was booked in with Ezrah Warwick for a training session, but I didn’t turn up.
But I discovered that James York was in one of my classes and tried to grab my attention, but I ignored him, too.
This was the plan until it stopped working, then I’d move onto another plan.
My eyes were tired from reading textbooks and studying the curriculum, so I decided to go for a walk in the sunshine down to Ashthorn Castle Library to search for old photographs of my stepmother.
My father sent me another reminder as her birthday drew closer.
He wanted to have the old school photograph transferred onto the cake using edible ink and paper, likely got that idea off my mother, who did that for one of his birthdays.
Ignoring the resentment swelling in my stomach, I peered through the crack in my door to ensure Lev wasn’t nearby, then I scarpered down the stairs, snuck past the kitchen and common rooms, which were empty; in fact, even several days after classes started, Morgana was still vacant.
My bag, carrying my knife, phone, keycard, and wallet, was my comfort and security, weighing down on my right shoulder, and I didn’t go anywhere without it. Even when I ran downstairs to warm a meal in the microwave oven, I still took this bag with me.
As I entered the castle's grand entrance, I immediately smelled coffee from the cafes on Dingle Street and reminded myself to get one later.
Halfway through the hall, the treacle-colored staircase spiraled upward.
As I stepped onto the red carpet, I felt that familiar sensation of being watched.
I looked behind me and saw only unfamiliar student faces, dismissed my paranoia, and hurried up to the first level.
Because I didn’t know where to begin, I approached the library admin behind the desk, and she told me that the catalogue of old university albums was in the Castlehill Heritage section on the next floor up.
This library was eerily quiet compared to the business school library, and a little shiver traveled down my spine as I climbed the wooden staircase to the next floor.
I found the heritage section but was distracted by the tall stained-glass windows of strange creatures, one with two heads and another with a horse’s head and bear’s body, which seemed to be Ashthorn’s style.
The view was of the front part of Castlehill, showing the train track weaving through the trees, the university garden to the right, and further down again the carriages where the dead body was found on the spare tracks.
I spotted a couple walking slowly, holding hands, and ignored the coil of jealousy in my stomach.
If I attended a normal college, like my last one, I would’ve loved to possibly meet a nice man, but no, I was sent here to this grim place instead.
I dragged myself away from the window and wrinkled up my nose at the scent of dusty old books that no one ever read, and started combing over the Class Year albums, sports team albums, and then stalled when I’d forgotten what years she attended here.
No. Wait.
I didn’t actually know what years she attended here, so I hunted in my bag for my phone and messaged Dad. While I waited, I found the library computer and entered her name: Leslie More.
Unsurprisingly, nothing came up because books were catalogued under author and book names, but I hoped that if she was prominent enough, something might pop up.
She gave me the impression that she was a rising star on the hockey pitch, but who’d believe anything she says?
Actually, my father does. Unfortunately, he seemed to believe quite a bit of what she says, including the far-fetched, ridiculous stuff.
Retreating to the window, I found a comfortable chair and gazed out at the fantastic view. I decided that I’ll give Dad another five minutes to message me, and then I’ll leave. It was so quiet up there, deadly quiet, so when my phone beeped, I jumped out of my skin.
I’m watching you.
Huh? My breath hitched as an icy sensation clasped the back of my neck. I read the message assuming it was Dad, but it wasn’t. The message came from Mom’s phone, but this time it didn’t seem like a mistake like the first two messages.
A shiver ran down my spine as I glanced behind me, but all I could see was the spines of a thousand books, no movement in between the shelves.
Swallowing over a lump in my throat, I left the chair to search the floor in an attempt to catch someone out.
But even as I scanned one empty aisle after another, I was seriously conflicted as to how anyone here at Castlehill had my mother’s phone number.
My steps tread slowly down the aisles as the scent of dusty books begins to stir nauseously in my stomach. The floorboards squeaked with each step as my mouth turned dry and my breath grew heavy from the nerves coiling through my body.
Pausing at the tall stained-glass windows at the opposite wall to peer out, I was baffled at how anyone could see where I was. There was no one here. No one. Who saw me? Who was watching me and from where?
My patience ran out, so I was about to leave when a solid bang against the window startled me, drawing out a sharp gasp from my mouth.
Frantic fluttering at the corner of the colorful window revealed that it was a bird, a song thrush who had flown into the window and was now shocked and disorientated.
A figure moved in the reflection, and I jumped again, plunging my hand into my bag to retrieve my knife. Lowered dark eyebrows over penetrating, curious eyes, disheveled hair as if he forgot to brush, and arms hung relaxed by his side.
He followed my glance up to where the bird had found a perch was still as if trying to catch its breath before flying off again. “It still looks alive. Didn’t break its neck.”
I swallowed over the dryness in my mouth, cleared my throat as I attempted to find my voice, but it was stuck in my throat, and all that came out was a croak.
I cleared my throat again, trying to get rid of the scent of dusty books that had lodged itself in the back of my throat, “Why are you here?”
“I saw you come up,” he replied, tilting his head to the side to look at me at a different angle.
“But,” I gasped, realizing I had been holding my breath, “I’ve been up here for at least ten minutes, maybe more, so that doesn’t make sense. Have you been here the whole time?”
His lips parted to answer me when my phone beeped again, and I jumped as my hand snatched at my chest to calm my slamming heart.
Lev screwed his face up in confusion, but the twinkle in his eye told me he was a little entertained by my overreaction to his presence.
“I was walking through the grand hall downstairs from Dingle Street when I saw you climb up the stairs,” he explained, “but I had to eat my sandwich before they’d let me up.
” He pointed to a sign on the wall that read: No food. No drink.
“Are you watching me?” I asserted aggressively, pointing my finger at his edgy face.
“I’m watching you now because my eyes are looking at your face,” he stated, shrugging, as if I was being ridiculously paranoid, accusing him of something he didn’t do.
“What do you want?” I barked, lengthening the distance between us as I checked the message on my phone to find that it was my father, not another strange message from my dead mother’s account.
Why wasn’t her phone account canceled? Who was paying to keep it active?
Previously, I came to the conclusion that it was a mistake, but I wasn’t so sure now.
Anyway, my father sent Leslie’s details, the years she attended Castlehill, but I wasn’t in the mood now to spend any more time up here. That ship had passed; besides, I had a tall, sullen metalhead to deal with.
“Ah,” he exhaled, combing his fingers through his dark hair, “I ah missed class on Monday, Digital Transformation, so I was wondering if you could lend me your notes?”
I composed myself, swallowed again, took a deep breath, and asked, “Where were you?” I didn’t actually care where he was, but I was trying to make conversation, I suppose.
Actually, I did care where he was because, although he and the Warwicks were absolute assholes, I still liked him. Stupid is as stupid does.
“Ah, police interview over the train incident,” his reply was vague, perhaps deliberately. Perhaps he was hiding something. Well…of course, he was.
“So, they didn’t arrest you for the crime, then?” I pressed, and those eyes narrowed piercingly that I had to take another step back from him, so I could breathe.
The last time we were in the same space together, he kissed me. That kiss. That wonderful kiss. I had to pull my thoughts back to the present, because he might be able to read my face as I returned to the kiss again.
“No,” he answered carefully, “he wasn’t in my carriage.”
“What?” I was slightly baffled by his reply, again vague, giving little away.