Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
T he page softly swished as I turned the page of my current fantasy read. It felt so good to have a few hours for myself to blissfully escape in my books.
The heavy black door flew open, and I jumped, nearly falling out of Lalita’s royal blue papasan chair. She launched herself at me, then curled around my body. The chair groaned lightly with the added weight, but there was plenty of room for the two of us within its bowl-like cushions.
“Oh, thank Gods you’re okay, Z. I was stuck in Eleanore’s dorm room all night.”
Fuzzy, comfortable heat bloomed in my chest, then the corners of my mouth tipped up. “L, it’s okay. I’m totally fine.”
Lalita sighed, then squeezed me tighter. “Amara,” she said sadly. “She’s dead.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
“There’s a memorial at the field on the western side of campus tonight. Should we go?”
“I doubt she would have wanted me there. It’s not like we ever got along.” I admitted. “You should go, though.” I smiled and smoothed my hand over Lalita’s hair.
“Okay. I’ll see if Eleanore wants to come with me. Will you still be here later?”
I snorted, then replied, “Is my mother still an evil bitch?”
She climbed off my lap and stood, then planted both hands on her hips. A smile slowly spread across Lalita’s face before turning into a full-blown grin.
“Oh, don’t forget the principal canceled today’s classes.”
I nodded. “Any guess on when classes will resume?”
She pursed her lips, then her gaze drifted to the side as if she was lost in thought. “I honestly have no clue. The last time a student died, they closed for a week,” she stated, then shrugged.
The memories from that time flashed through my mind.
A student who was found dead in the bathroom only an hour after he and Thomas had a heated argument in the library. It was eventually revealed that the deceased student had what appeared to be a heart attack, but one could never be certain in a school with magical students.
Before anyone knew how the death occurred, rumors circled from strangulation to stabbing to hexes. The rumors had gotten wilder and wilder, and even though his name was cleared in the end, the morbidity had attached itself to Thomas, forcing him out of his social circles and into exclusion.
I wondered how Jax was feeling. He consistently denied that he and Amara dated, but they had some kind of connection, even if it was just sex. I leaned out of the chair, nearly flipping it on top of me as I teetered on the edge. My fingers closed on one of the countless notebooks Lalita stored on the lower shelf of her short bookcase.
I flopped back into the circular chair heavily, the plush pillows and blankets surrounding me like a cocoon, then unclipped the pen attached to the cover. Light tapping sounded as I drummed the pen lightly against a fresh blank page.
Silver ink flowed from the pen tip as I wrote to Jax, then sent it into the ether.
How are you doing?
My question was unassuming, but sometimes it is the simplest questions that speak volumes. Even though I wanted to hate Jax, part of me had softened toward him. He was always there when I desperately needed help.
I didn’t wait for a reply. I doubted I’d get one after he was so cold yesterday. Instead, I got up and looked around the communal kitchen. Each dorm on campus had three master bedrooms and common spaces, like the living room and kitchen. I rarely saw Lalita’s roommates as they both had boyfriends and spent most of their time in their rooms.
A delicious smell wafted toward me from the polished butcher block counter. My eyes searched until I spotted a covered plate. I lifted the foil lid and the scent of scrambled eggs, bacon, and rye toast floated up to me. Damn, Lalita is the best .
My fingers gripped the edge of the counter as something inside my vision went black. A shard of glass flashed with moonlight as I held it shakily over my wrist. The image, or maybe memory, rippled like the surface of a lake when disturbed. As soon as the memory came, it faded.
What the fuck was that? I gulped, then rubbed my temples.
“Shit! King of Demons!” Jax’s reply manifested on the hot stove, nearly catching fire before I snatched it up. I ignored the slight burn from the blackened edges of the parchment as I read.
I had to figure some things out. We need to talk. Today. It can’t wait. Find an excuse to get out and write to me when you do.