Chapter Thirteen #3
He let go of me, and I watched him for a moment before asking, “Do you think anyone at Castle Hill has ever killed anyone? Or anything?”
My thoughts returned to the science lab that was Marigold’s dorm and to Callum Queen’s cruelty. These kids had access, and that made them dangerous.
They were raised to be cutthroat, and that made them desensitized to human life. Many of them were going to inherit empires that could only thrive on the death of innocents, on war, famine, and disease.
Wolf slowly backed away and reached for the coat he’d thrown over my bed, pulling it on.
“Maybe. I’m well aware that there are some twisted bastards at Castle Hill.
But not Ajax. He may be brash and reckless at times, but since Malakai died, he’s been pretty tolerable.
In fact, I think Malakai's death was a good thing for him.”
Wouldn’t that only prove my point further?
But alas, I’ll drop the matter. It wasn’t as if I’d be actively gaining something over Ajax. He’d already promised me his loyalty, or whatever it was he said.
“You guys really hated this kid, huh?
Wolf whistled and shook his head. “You have no idea. Just imagine someone Callum Queen would be afraid of and you’ll get the picture.”
Then, even I whistled.
I was glad I hadn’t been offered a sponsorship during his time.
I went to pull on the coat Wolf had given me and felt its warm weight settle nicely onto my shoulders. It was a perfect fit and felt like something I’d have no problem falling asleep in.
Wolf checked his watch again. “We have to get going.”
I hummed and shuffled towards the door, locking it on my way out and gesturing towards Wolf’s across the hall. “When is it your dorm’s turn to hang out in?”
Wolf shifted his arms behind his back sheepishly. “It faces the courtyard, so half the students have a full view of my window.”
He wasn’t exactly lying, because I pass the hallway leading up every day, and every day I walk past the floor-length windows showcasing the courtyard.
I noticed the windows above on multiple occasions, but I was sure that wasn’t the reason Wolf refused to let anyone inside.
I hummed and mentally concluded that I would break into his dorm when I had my free period.
The cars waiting by the road leading out of Castle Hill weren’t something I’d expected to be provided, but it definitely made things easier, and the drivers were crucial to making it there without a murder on the road.
Wolf was smart enough to take on the role of allocating riding groups, keeping Rain and Marigold separate, and Ajax and Paris separate.
Wolf, Rain, and Ajax took one car, while Paris, August, Marigold, and I took the other.
I sat next to the stoic and silent driver, as there were only three seats in the back, and I was the one who’d take up the most space.
The drive felt long in the pitch-black countryside of Scotland, the only saving grace being the headlights indicating that we were still on the road.
I made a point not to let my mind wander in the environment that was made for just that. Instead, I began recalling all of my notes, making a mental web of every subject.
Slowly, the sharp shadows of the deciduous trees turned into quiet fields with a dot of light coming from a farm, and then a few homes. The road opened wide, and buildings began to appear more frequently.
I could spot the life of the old city up ahead as we drifted farther away from the dead and vacant region of Scotland.
When we’d finally arrived in front of the restaurant, the ambiance outside the car was one that promised vibrance and a good time.
Edinburgh might be gloomy in a deeply philosophical manner, if I did say so myself, but the street The Gallery was situated on was a lively one.
Stepping out, I looked down both sides of the road until I spotted Rain walking towards us.
The trench coat she’d worn flowed in the slight, chilly breeze, and I noticed people watching as her heels, hidden under her pantsuit, clicked against the damp sidewalk in clipped authority.
She reached our party and straightened her jacket.
“I’ll go confirm our reservation. Whoever needs to get something done, do so now.
We won’t be waiting for you afterwards.”
Ajax caught my eye and raised his brows a pulse.
As we’d huddled in a circle near the curb, Paris, who’d been sending coy looks at a group of young men across the street, spoke up, “I need to go restock on some hairspray.”
Her fresh blowout lifted with her shoulders, hidden under the thick fur coat that somehow didn’t swallow her form, against the wind. “Who wants to come with?”
I spoke before Ajax could send me another indiscreet look. “I’ll go.”
“If that’s all, let’s go inside. I’m freezing,” August said through chattering teeth, despite his jacket looking strong enough against the chill.
Paris tutted as she walked away, indicating for me to follow. “No meat in those bones, the poor boy.”
I fell a step behind her as we walked, hoping to avoid a conversation as she led us both into a small shop down a few blocks, nestled between two larger stores.
From the outside looking in, it didn’t look like much.
Small and desolate. The old sign hanging above was covered in muck, making it almost impossible to read ‘Finlay’s Corner Shop’.
The bell above jingled as we entered, and if it didn’t, Paris’s heeled boots certainly indicated new customers as she walked with confidence to the aisle she was looking for, clearly having been here before.
I never really had a fully formed opinion on her, mostly because of her aloof nature.
One day she was sour, and another she was on the whimsical side.
It wasn’t something that made her unapproachable or disliked; I just preferred going into things prepared, and I never did know what to expect with someone like Paris.
I followed her to the back of the store, vacant from the hour, and waiting as she held up two different hairsprays, pondering over them for far too long. A second longer, and I stepped forward to grab both out of her hands. “Which of these do you usually get?”
Paris looked up at me with a smile still set on her perfectly symmetrical face before pointing to the red bottle in my right hand. “That one.”
I nodded. “Then that’s the one we’ll get.”
She hummed and placed her manicured finger on her chin, tapping against it. I paused at her motion and waited for what she might be thinking of. “I’ll take the other.”
She plucked the red bottle out of my hands and placed it back on the shelf. I didn’t bother getting exasperated and only shook my head before turning. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Wait!”
I turned back to her, and she shook her head at me as if I were forgetting the most important thing. “What about what you wanted to buy?”
I watched her back as if I were doing the most obvious thing. “We’re going to get it right now.”
“Oh!” She smiled, waving her hand out and wiggling her fingers in front of us. “Well then, lead the way.”
We walked from aisle to aisle, somewhere along the way I lost Paris to hair curlers, until I found what I was looking for. I didn’t bother lingering, picking up the first brown box I’d found.
“Mmm, Clairol. That's a good option.” Paris’ voice sounded from over my shoulder, and I turned to face her, having already sensed her approach seven clicks of her heels ago.
She looked up at me with a pleased smile before, for reasons beyond my comprehension, reached up to pat my cheek and continued the journey to the front counter. “Come along, Alexandr.”
I blinked after her, watching as she walked as if there were people fawning over her from one side of the wall to the other. Except, the store was empty and the poor cashier looked entirely too exhausted to focus on Paris’ glossy boots or her fresh blowout.
I eyed the packs of cigarettes behind the lady and nodded my head towards them, asking for enough to last both myself and my thieving dorm neighbour.
She rang us up and rattled off the price as Paris admired herself in the small compact mirrors they were selling at the front.
Only then did the cashier get a proper look at her, and something akin to dry sorrow, once strong and hateful, turned a shell of itself after years, twisted in her worn face.
I turned away and focused my complete attention on pulling out the cash I’d stolen a while back and had been meaning to spend, proud of the little money I’d been able to hold off on blowing. Usually, any money I’d gotten my hands on was stretched thin in fear of running out.
It felt almost exciting to drop a few bills on mundane things and not have that worried voice in the back of my head hissing about how much I’d have left to spend on bus tickets.
I mumbled my thanks and shook my head when she tried returning the change.
Upon stepping out of the shop, Paris walked with her shoulders back and the smooth strut of a feline, sending kisses to tipsy boys that egged her on from the storefronts they were posted up against. She smiled and giggled and threw her head back to laugh when someone sent a racy comment her way.
From the distance of my slow steps, she looked lovely, almost picturesque.
As if she’d been taken out of the novels I’d spent time reading, the ghost of a dead wife, her lively memories haunting the narrative.
She looked unattainable, like if I’d reached out to her, my hand would move through fog, hiding her for itself.
Her vibrant steps slowed as she turned to wait on me with a smile in her eyes, but her lips set.
When I’d caught up to her, she slipped her arm around my own and didn’t let go until we reached The Gallery.
I didn’t question it until I opened the door for her and let her go in first before turning to look over the sidewalk one last time; I was a creature of habit.