Chapter 1
Two Months Earlier
Sadie
The anonymous parcel is addressed to me.
While locking up after my shift, I nearly trip over the package lurking on the cobblestones like a bad omen.
My breath hitches, the suitcases in my hands suddenly leaden. Fear trickles down my spine as my eyes flit around the empty street.
A storm brews, spilling dark clouds across the afternoon sky like tar. The crisp New England air carries an unsettling tang.
Why did my stalker have to send something today, when my stomach’s already full of nerves?
The first time was flowers. The second was a switchblade knife. Going by his pattern, this latest gift could either be a cute bracelet or a block of C4 explosives.
Cursing myself for missing the drop-off, I set down my bags to pick up the black box and turn it over carefully in my hands. My co-worker saw the flick of the stalker’s long coat after he left the switchblade knife, and I had hoped to catch him the next time.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but a subtle warmth radiates from the cardboard, like the heat from his touch has lingered. Something rattles within the box, mirroring my anxious insides.
He might’ve glimpsed me through the window of Ink & Ivy Books while I shelved thrillers from a rickety stepladder. If so, I was blissfully unaware. Head always in the clouds, Mom used to say with a fond smile.
The shop has no security cameras to check. All that hangs in the corners of the ceiling are spiderwebs. My boss doesn’t strictly know I’ve been bunking in the staff nook upstairs all summer though, so I probably shouldn’t complain about the lack of security.
I stuff the parcel into the front zipper pocket of one of my suitcases and lock the door behind me. I’m running way too late for this.
The ancient bus angles into the stop on Main Street while I’m still half a block away. Gritting my teeth, I ignore my aching fingers and shoulders, and run.
The line of passengers waiting to get on quickly dwindles, the engine of the bus roaring in preparation to leave.
“Wait!” I yell.
A man wearing coveralls is last in line. When I reach the bus, he offers his hand to me.
“Let me help you,” he says. “Those bags look heavy.”
I gulp air into my searing lungs. “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t need help.”
His bushy brows lift, like he’s thinking I don’t look fine.
“Alrighty.” He shrugs. “If you say.”
I am fine, truly. Doing things myself is just easier.
After swiping my fare card, I haul my suitcases to the back of the bus and collapse into a seat.
As we pull away from the stop, the storm clouds break open to a symphony of thunder. Sheets of silver rain blur against the windows, obscuring the view of my hometown.
Darkbloom University is only a short bus ride north, but the elite college is a completely different world from working-class Briarvale where I grew up. A world I’ll need to navigate as a broke scholarship student with zero connections and questionable social skills.
Still, anything beats the dismal situation I’m leaving behind. This is my chance to build an actual life for myself, free from the shameful, clawing ghosts of my past.
Sweat prickling my forehead, I unzip the suitcase pocket to retrieve the stalker’s black box. May as well get this over with, before I have to face my future at Darkbloom.
He might even leave me alone now that I’ll only be at Ink & Ivy Books for my shifts instead of sleeping there every night. I figure he’s a customer who gets bored with life unless he’s harassing some unfortunate retail worker.
Randy’s my guess. He’s a local middle-aged realtor who spends his lunch breaks criticizing my book displays and the prose of bestselling female authors. Minimum wage means I’m forced to listen to him.
Wriggling off the lid, I peer inside the box.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
Icy bands close around my heart. I throw the box, the contents clattering onto the vibrating floor of the bus. The torrential rain mostly conceals the sound, but the closest elderly lady turns in her seat to squint at me.
Scooting my chunky-heeled Mary Jane forward, I clamp my foot over the locket to hide it before she sees it.
Pursing her lips, she turns back around.
My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I snatch up the necklace from the floor, along with the box. Once I’ve pressed myself into the far corner of the back seat, I open my fingers to inspect the stalker’s latest delivery in detail.
The locket on a chain is tarnished silver, engraved with the initials S.M., and is horribly, disturbingly familiar.
How the hell did he get this? How did anyone?
My blood dancing with dread and disbelief, I pry open the little hinged door. I touch the empty miniature photo frame, my heart twinging.
From inside the locket, a folded piece of paper falls into my lap. Smoothing out the note, I read the neat, handwritten script.
A gift on your first day.
My surroundings tilt with the ugly gravity of the words.
Gift of what? A heart attack? Because that’s how this feels.
I believed the locket was gone. Washed down a drain somewhere or stomped into mud, never to be found again.
My eyes rapidly switch back and forth between the note and the necklace, confusion joining my alarm.
This doesn’t make sense. If the stalker wants to torment me, why give me the locket? Because I’m only going to ensure it’s gone forever. Any advantage he might’ve had over me will disappear with it.
The bus swings around a bend. Stowing the necklace deep in my skirt pocket, I crush the box and return it to my suitcase.
As I twist my fingers in my lap and try not to freak out, I gaze into the thick trees lining the road under a charcoal sky.
A sleek candy-red supercar accelerates past the struggling bus, followed by another in blue. The cars are probably carrying some of my classmates to Darkbloom.
My worries about the stalker have to wait. I’m about to arrive at my new college, alone.
Will I make friends? Fit in? Be ridiculed? Ignored?
Mom made me promise to reach beyond Briarvale for a treasure trove of new experiences.
She said nothing about how it would be goddamn terrifying.
The wild rain eases as the bus chugs up a narrowing road to the campus. An imposing set of wrought-iron gates emerges through the mist, nestled within dense forest.
Despite my fears, a thrill of awe rises in my chest.
I’m here. The elite college with one of the best creative writing programs in the country. I actually got in.
The bus wheels crunch up the pebbled driveway, jostling for position with a shining array of hulking SUVs and European sports cars.
Moving to the side window, I wipe the fogged glass to stare at the majestic building.
Covered in creeping ivy, the gothic stone structure looks more like an evil king’s castle than a college. Spindly turrets graze the low-hanging clouds. Stained glass glimmers crimson and gold from windows, and tall oaken doors stand open for the continual flow of people.
A statue of the college’s founder, Benedict Darkbloom, sits in pride of place on a marble plinth by the entrance. He resembles a giant chess piece, his severe features forever etched in a forbidding expression.
The SUVs and supercars take turns to unload luggage at the base of the front steps, but my bus trundles down a side road. I’m the only passenger to get out, wrestling my bags through the folding door after thanking the driver.
The air bites my cheeks, several degrees cooler than down in Briarvale.
Shivering from nerves and cold, I haul my suitcases with as much confidence as I can muster toward the front entrance.
Where am I supposed to go? Everyone around me seems to know exactly what they’re doing and where they’re going.
A girl around my age, twenty, with caramel highlights directs two workmen carrying an antique-looking lounge up the stairs.
“Please be careful.” She presses her palms together in prayer. “This piece was my great-grandmother’s.”
I don’t have furniture, family heirlooms or otherwise. My dorm room will be pretty bare until I can afford to buy anything extra, which might be a while. The debt I co-signed for my mom outlived her, so I have to prioritize the repayments.
Furniture doesn’t matter though. I’m here to get an education, which is something nobody can ruin or take from me.
Theoretically.
Somehow I’ve forgotten everything I read in the college orientation email. Placing my bags on the cobblestones, I take out my phone to find the name of my dorm.
The lock screen is empty of notifications. There’s nobody to wish me good luck or say they’re thinking of me. Nobody except my stalker with his package, I guess.
Before I can locate the email, a shadow falls over me, blocking the pearly overcast light.
With an inexplicable knot in my stomach, I raise my eyes from my phone to the large male figure standing in front of me.
His clothes are black and expensive. Even I can tell that. The leather of his shoes gleams with suppleness.
His pants have to be tailored, to hug and skim his muscular legs in such a flattering way. Same with his crisp shirt, with casually rolled sleeves revealing tanned, veined forearms.
A chunky metal watch wraps around his wrist, the brand too far out of my tax bracket to recognize. His onyx hair is slick, a few strands skimming his heavy, jet eyebrows.
He looks the picture of respectability and perfection. Yet the knot in my stomach becomes a pit when I lock eyes with him, as if his gaze carries unspoken threats.
The blue of his eyes is cold, arrogant, and remote. He stands a head taller than me, even in my heeled shoes. His broad shoulders and chiseled face make me think of a male model, but the ice in that gaze freezes me in apprehension.
He tilts his head, like he’s trying to decide whether to acknowledge me as human or shunt me from his path.
When I imagined meeting new people at Darkbloom, those people were smiling. This guy’s giving me a death glare like I’m made of dirt.
But I’m determined to conceal the destabilizing effect he’s having on me. If I let some tycoon’s spoiled son intimidate me on the first day, I’m doomed.
Straightening my spine, I raise my brows at him. “What do you want? Your shoeshine boy make a break for it?”
His nostrils subtly twitch. I’m reminded of a hunting dog sensing prey.
Though he speaks at a low volume, the deep rumble of his voice is distinct from the multitude of sounds around us. “I don’t have a shoeshine boy.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t?”
A trace of something skitters across his face. Derision, maybe.
“I have two,” he says. “One for each foot.”
I fold my arms, as if that’ll protect me from a terrifying stranger who’s standing over me for no reason. “Thank god. Or someone might think you’d fallen on hard times.”
He pauses, not taking his eyes off me for a second. “I want to carry your bags for you.”
A series of unbidden emotions riddle me. Suspicion, surprise, confusion, followed by suspicion again.
What’s up with this guy?
“Excuse me?” I glance around for a clue about what’s going on and find none.
But I’m sure there’s a catch or trick. He has to be messing with me.
“You asked what I want,” he says. “That’s what I want.”
As if that’s enough explanation.
“To carry my bags?” My folded arms slowly unwind. “But why? You don’t even know me.”
An unsettling darkness plays in the cold waters of his eyes, like he’s plotting a move or he’s amused at my expense. Maybe both.
Whatever the darkness is about, he’s wholly focused on me and I don’t like it one bit. There must be a hundred new students moving in today. Why come to me?
My goal is to study hard, graduate, and begin a new life. Attracting unwanted attention isn’t part of the plan. While I’m here at Darkbloom, I want to fly under the radar.
So far, I’m failing miserably.
He drags his gaze up my body, from my scuffed shoes to my flushed face. “You’re Sadie Marlowe, are you not?”