Chapter 18
They walked the entire length of the orchard, until their basket was overflowing and Liam was wearing smudges of her lip gloss.
Now Liam tapped out a message to someone on his phone, the sun overheard creating a halo of light in his dark honey hair, and Ellory lingered a pace behind him so she could observe him.
She was unsure what she was looking for, except that she wasn’t finding it in his relaxed gait and soft smiles.
In a school year of sinister occurrences, Liam Blackwood was like a Disney prince, a happy ending waiting for her acceptance.
But his perfection only made her feel more fragmentary.
Still, as far as dates went, this hadn’t been the worst. It almost was a shame to ruin it.
“You know,” Ellory said, drawing Liam’s attention away from his phone, “when I met you, I really didn’t think I was your type.”
His smile widened. “And what do you know about my type?”
“Hudson told me the two of you used to date.”
“How did that come up in an argument?” Liam tossed her a curious look, but all she did was shrug. “Well, he told you the truth. He and I dated for about half of freshman year.” He slid his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. “But isn’t it a little early to be talking about exes?”
“I’m not on a set schedule.” Ellory picked up her pace so they walked side by side again. She kept her tone light as she continued: “He also mentioned a woman—something Mayhew, I think?”
“Farrah.”
She let the silence unspool, thick and awkward, inviting clarification.
But Liam apparently felt no need to continue.
Leaves crunched beneath their boots. His smile was gone.
Ellory could tell that if she pressed him for any information about Malcolm Mayhew, he would close faster than a clam’s shell.
Just the family name had created such a marked shift in his demeanor that it was like looking at a stranger.
Ellory adjusted the apples in her basket, arranging them so that the stems were pointing upward. “Did you somehow have a worse breakup with Farrah Mayhew than with someone like Hudson Graves?”
Liam snorted, almost as if he couldn’t help it. “Hudson isn’t as bad as you think he is. He’s…intense, yeah, but he’s loyal. Giving. Funny. A great kisser.” He paused. “Not better than me.”
“I’d sooner kiss a skunk right in the anal glands,” she said pleasantly, “but go on.”
“Our families got along really well, so it was easy with him until it wasn’t.
Farrah’s family…they were different. They were…
” Liam’s mouth twisted into a peculiar kind of frown.
It wasn’t pure sadness or anger, but there was an interred pain there.
Before Ellory could follow this lead, he shoved his basket toward her.
“I need to use the bathroom. Do you want to wait for me or—”
“I think I can find my way back to the giant barn,” Ellory said, her fingers closing around the basket handle.
The weight of the fruit strained her muscles, but it was mild enough for her to ignore for now.
It was the strain in Liam’s expression—the not-quite-smile etched onto his face—that drew most of her attention. “I’ll meet you up there?”
He saluted her with two fingers and then disappeared in the direction of the outhouse.
Ellory typed FARRAH MAYHEW into her Notes app as she picked her way through the underbrush.
Something about the Mayhew family had unnerved Liam, even to this day, and his evasiveness wouldn’t keep her from finding out what.
At least his reaction confirmed that there was something to find out.
She frowned at her screen. Her portable notes read like a grocery list of supernatural mysteries, some of which she could no longer remember the context of.
It should have reassured her, that her memory problems weren’t the result of brain degradation, but she was no closer to figuring out who was causing it.
She needed to do more research, but first she needed to get out of this orchard.
Apples rolled from the basket, each hitting the ground with a soft whump.
Ellory followed a grass path outlined by soil and apple trees that tangled together like hedges to block her view.
The morning birdsong had faded into the occasional caw or rush of wings, but even that was muted, as if the orchard existed in its own world.
Liam hadn’t gone far, and neither had she. Somehow, Ellory still felt unbearably alone.
She walked faster, ignoring the way the uneven shafts of sunlight ruptured the leaves.
Shadows formed and dissolved in her peripheral vision.
Her breaths distilled into frost clouds before her.
Every heartbeat sputtered like an engine backfiring.
Even at their leisurely pace, the walk through the orchard hadn’t taken more than an hour.
Now the path was endless, the trees identical.
Ellory stopped, hand tightening on the basket handle. “Liam, maybe—”
Behind her was nothing and no one.
She could see no sign of the tracks Liam should have made through the underbrush.
She couldn’t even see the end of the orchard or the leaf-tangled gate that had invited them to turn back.
Her heart beat faster as she realized that she was somehow trapped in this open area.
The clustered trees were the bars of her prison.
Not again. Not this again.
The unfamiliar yet symmetrical surroundings reminded her of getting lost on campus, of the sudden déjà vu that had saved her from wandering alone in the dark.
The rain and the shadows had kept her company then, but this was worse—this violent sunlight, the world still in vivid color as it distorted around her.
This way, she could see it happening and feel her own helplessness.
It wasn’t a matter of finding her way; it was a matter of not losing her mind.
Remember.
She broke into a run. Dirt and grass, trunks and leaves.
Wind iced her face, dried her throat. She bent over, gasping for air, no closer to the barn than when she’d started.
Everything looked the same, except the sky.
The sun had been high above, a white-gold eye assessing her lack of progress.
Now it had gone red orange, painting the tops of the trees the color of cinnabar.
Once periwinkle, the cloudless sky had darkened to pale lapis as the sun prepared to set.
She’d been out here for hours.
How had she been out here for hours?
“Liam!”
Liam! Liam! Liam!
The orchard echoed her voice back to her mockingly. Ellory scrambled for her phone, checking pocket after pocket. The basket slapped the ground as she checked every pocket again, this time with both hands, turning them inside out. Coins. Lint. Keys. Headphones. No phone. No phone. No phone.
Despite the chill, Ellory scrambled out of her coat and shook it. Lip gloss and a silica packet fell free, but there was still no sign of her phone. She’d used it, a second or an hour ago, and now it was gone.
Her hands shook as she replaced each item in each pocket and gathered as many apples as she was willing to carry, giving herself time to think.
The orchard closed at 5:00 p.m. The others wouldn’t leave without her.
She had a coat to keep her warm and apples to keep her fed and hydrated.
She could survive the night if it came to that.
But it wouldn’t come to that. She wouldn’t let it come to that.
She walked, and the sun set. She walked, and the moon rose.
She walked, and the stars twinkled like they knew something she didn’t.
Ellory finally collapsed in the grass, frustration building to a screaming pitch.
Someone did not want her to leave the orchard, and all she was doing was wasting energy.
She rolled onto her back, eyes clenched shut against fearful tears.
The reality of her predicament had finally caught up to her, making her shiver in the dark.
The word she’d been avoiding as she walked finally unfurled in her mind: magic.
She had been a fool to think she could have one day free of magic if she left the campus.
Now that she knew what to look for, it stalked her everywhere.
Her world was not normal. She was not normal.
Whatever force was working against her—the School for the Unseen Arts, the Lost Eight, the Old Masters—wouldn’t allow her to eke out even one wonderful day from the mess her life had become.
Now the attempt would cost her.
Inexplicably, Ellory wished that Hudson were here. She wouldn’t have to explain the impossible to him. She couldn’t bear to believe that he would have a plan, but he might piss her off enough to come up with one herself. The whetstone to her mind’s keen knife.
Her eyes popped open as the long-faded bruises on her throat began to throb.
Ellory thought of that featureless face and nondescript voice that had warned her away from her investigation.
The details were still hazy without her Word document in front of her, but they hadn’t killed her, even though they must have wanted to.
Why hadn’t they killed her? She strained to remember, but her impressions of that day were evanescent.
Even the attack itself seemed like something she had only imagined until confirmation bias made it true.
Overhead, a star twinkled in a quick flash of light. Ellory pushed herself into a sitting position, brows creasing. Light…something about light… What she wouldn’t give for some light…