Chapter Five #2
Footsteps crunch over shattered glass toward the exit, and there’s a curse of annoyance from Dawes as he must get tangled in the ivy, but then all sounds fade and Evander is left in the thickening gloom of the empty greenhouse.
He breathes out slowly, relaxing against the potting mix sacks.
His weight on them causes a ripple of dirt peppered with white balls of perlite to tumble free, and he stares as the glistening beads roll away.
Silence throbs in his ears.
A beat passes, two.
His arm feels like an alien thing, detached from his shivering body as his hand dips into the potting mix.
It’s in his mouth, his fingers stuffing more dirt between his lips. He’s chewing. Not thinking, not thinking. Compost is on his tongue, between his teeth. His jaw works up and down. Foul, wet clumps of soil stick in the back of his throat.
He is horrified, he is elated; he is so, so hungry.
what are you doing what what what are you—
He is a thing most foul. He is uncontrolled. He swallows.
His hand is in the bag again, his fingers bone white and shaking as he scoops up another fistful, but his knuckles brush against something hard.
The distraction jolts him and for a minute he feels ill.
Then he forces himself to use the trowel to dig into the sack and claw free a small rectangular object.
A fat green journal bound with strips of rawhide sits in his hand. The title is obscured by dried bits of compost and he scrapes it clean with his thumbnail.
Hazelthorn Field Guide
“Hi.”
Evander screams.
He hurls the trowel on instinct and it bounces off Laurie’s shoulder as he’s crouching down. He yelps, nearly overbalancing as his hands go up in surrender.
“The hell—Calm down!” Laurie glares down at the dirt now speckling his white shirt. “You need to come inside.”
“No.” Evander tries to worm backward, but he’s already up against the wall of the greenhouse. He decides to pretend the high-pitched scream did not come from him and instead folds his arms tight over the field guide and hunkers down. “Leave me alone.”
“You can’t be out here.” Laurie pauses. “Dawes is gone, by the way. It’s just us.”
This could be a threat. It feels like a threat.
Evander’s heart rabbits into his throat. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m not—Jesus, I do not want to deal with you.
” Laurie pinches the bridge of his nose and actually sounds tired.
“I just want you to go inside before you hurt yourself out here. It’s getting dark and Dawes still needs to talk to you—by the way, it would be real useful if you spoke to him and proved you’re somewhat functional. ”
It stings like a paper cut, though Evander can’t explain why. Somewhat functional. He hates those words. Hates how they degrade.
His disquiet must show on his face, because something flickers in Laurie’s eyes that almost looks like shame. Then it’s gone.
“What are you holding?” Laurie’s eyes are half-lidded, his voice a dull drawl, and he barely seems interested in the answer—except Evander has a feeling that’s a facade.
Back in the study, Laurie had been split apart with anger, his neck flushed, his voice rising. Now that fury is gone, wholly and utterly gone. Anyone who can turn off their emotions like that has to be placing them somewhere dark to grow even more brittle and toxic.
Whatever Laurie truly feels, he makes a habit of not showing it.
This is dangerous—he is dangerous—but all Evander feels is electricity running along his skin.
“It’s mine.” He doesn’t know where this boldness comes from. “Actually, all of this is mine according to your attorney. So stop … stop telling me what to do.”
Laurie’s mouth is a flat line. “Wow. You’re a natural at this whole inheriting-a-fortune thing. Good job taking it so well.”
Except Evander isn’t taking it well. He wants to blurt out that he doesn’t understand why he would be named heir by the man who all but kept him on a high shelf like a porcelain doll and didn’t bother to visit him most of the time.
He wants to say this is a mistake. He can’t run an estate this old, this large.
He’s sick. Everything is so very, very wrong.
But all he does is sit there, muscles quivering as he holds himself stiff.
“Now that you’re finished saying ‘mine’ like a toddler,” Laurie says, “can you please—for the love of god—come inside before I have to force you? Which I don’t want to do, since you’ll mess up my shirt even more.”
“I’ll fight,” Evander hisses.
Laurie sighs. “And I’ll fold you up like an envelope and literally carry you in. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
The field guide, Evander thinks, could be used to hit Laurie’s pretty face.
“I’m not coming out,” he says, “until you back off.”
“Fine.” Laurie stands and makes a show of stomping off to slouch against the doorframe to wait.
Evander squeezes out from between the potting mix sacks and carefully tucks the field guide under his sweater, because it will annoy Laurie to not see what it is. Then he tries to edge through the doorway, but Laurie puts his arm out to block the way. Damp leaves cling to his brace.
Their eyes meet, Evander’s scowl indignant and Laurie’s mouth tilting in that insufferable smirk again.
Evander’s teeth clench. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m not,” Laurie says.
“Then move out of my way.”
“You can get past.”
“Do you want me to go back inside or not?!” Evander’s voice tips high and furious. “Why are you even like this?”
Laurie starts to say something, catches himself, and just gives the thinnest smile.
“What were you going to say?” Evander knows he’s unraveling into flustered indignation, but he can’t stop.
“Oh,” says Laurie, “you are not ready for all the things I want to say.”
Evander has had enough. He starts to duck under Laurie’s arm, except Laurie cuts quickly in front of him.
“Wait. Only touching you once, I swear.” He catches Evander’s chin, gentle and swift, and then tilts his face upward.
Evander doesn’t have time to wrench free before Laurie places his thumb at the corner of Evander’s mouth. He brushes it across skin and Evander tastes the smear of dirt before it’s gone.
“There.” Laurie releases him, his lips quirked. “So Dawes doesn’t have a stroke over what you’ve been up to.”
He knows what Evander ate. He probably watched.
Heat surges up Evander’s cheeks and he looks away. “Why did you wait till he was gone to talk to me?”
“No reason,” Laurie says, and it is so obviously a lie.
Evander doesn’t understand Laurie, doesn’t understand his wicked smiles and his silver tongue and his lazy entitlement.
But worse is the way Evander has forgotten to be scared, standing here in the garden with the boy who once tried to kill him and has twice as much reason to try again.
At any second, Laurie could crush his fingers around the arch of Evander’s slender throat.
Evander almost wants it to happen.
This time, he’ll bite back.