Chapter 2
Sadie
“How do you know who I am?” I ask with a jolt of unease.
The stranger’s poisonous blue eyes dart to the luggage tag on my suitcase, which shows my full name in block letters.
Oof.
I need to be more careful with my personal details. No wonder I have a stalker.
I clear my throat. “What’s your name—”
He cuts me off by lunging forward to pick up my bags.
A faint scent of frost and sandalwood lingers where he moved, breaking my skin into goosebumps. He makes the cool mountain air feel warmer by contrast.
He straightens. “This is all you have?”
“Yep.” I shrug. “Most of my baggage is emotional.”
His withering stare shows no sign of transforming into a smile.
“Tough crowd,” I say. “Are you a student here?”
“You think I prowl university entrances for fun?” he asks.
“I’ve never met you. How would I know what you do for fun?”
“Do you want to find out?” he deadpans.
“No, I really don’t.”
“Too bad.” An evil gleam lights his eyes. “Because you will.”
“Seriously?” I ask quietly, glancing around. “I just arrived. Give me a break.”
He looks me over again. “I’m afraid I have no intention of doing that.”
I sigh. “Are you still not going to tell me your—”
He turns and walks off.
“—name,” I finish flatly.
My god, some welcoming committee.
People give him lots of space as he starts up the steps without a backward glance at me.
I may not belong here, but he does. He looks carved from the stone and shadow of the building, like he was constructed to intimidate and cause anxiety.
And he’s making off with my bags.
This must be a prank or hazing tradition. I’ve heard Darkbloom has tons and I’m about to fall victim to one. I’m a new, clueless scholarship student, so of course the resident bully is messing with me.
Taking the wet stairs two at a time, I hurry after him.
He’s already disappearing through the yawning doorway. I squeeze through the crush of people bottlenecked at the entrance to keep him in sight.
The muted interior is illuminated by golden pools of lantern light. It’s like I’ve crossed into some kind of promised land. Blinking to adjust my eyes, I look up.
Sighing in wonder, I forget I’m supposed to be chasing someone for a moment. Painted frescoes cover the ceilings, showing darkly dramatic scenes of demons fighting angels, with a glowing moon in the center.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” comes a male voice.
My eyes land on the smiling face beside me.
The man is around thirty-five years old, with a wholesome aura, combed sandy hair, and preppy clothes.
“It’s gorgeous,” I agree. “Like a museum or art gallery.”
He waggles a playful finger. “You’re a freshman if I’ve ever met one.”
I wince. “That obvious, huh?”
“Indeed.” He palms his chest. “I’m Chuck Fairchild, Student Advisor. I’m here to help you with academic and personal support. I also coach the men’s rowing team.”
“I’m Sadie Marlowe. Creative writing major.”
“Wonderful to meet you, Sadie. And fantastic to have you at Darkbloom.”
Why couldn’t I have encountered Chuck as my first introduction to the college, instead of that raven-haired ice sculpture? The student advisor seems much safer.
“Are you finding everything you need?” he asks.
Scanning the milling crowd, I spot my luggage thief easily, thanks to his towering height and the way he seems to clear a path by default.
“Pretty much,” I say, keeping my eyes on the thief.
“If you need anything at all, I’m always available to my students,” says Chuck. “Anytime, anywhere. That’s my motto.”
“Thank you.” I return my attention to the student advisor. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do. Remember, night or day. I live here on campus.” Chuck passes me a blue flyer. “Here, you’ll be wanting to attend the Founder’s Run at dusk this evening. It’s a much-adored Darkbloom tradition. You can’t miss it.”
“What’s the Founder’s—”
But a student bustles over to Chuck then.
“I got the TV role from the director you hooked me up with!” she says with a squeal. “I’m so grateful, Chuck.”
She engages him in rapid-fire conversation. Not wanting to lose my luggage, I take my flyer and move on.
If the thief wonders whether I’m following, he makes no indication. He looks straight ahead as he crosses under an archway, deeper into the building. I hurry through the milling people to keep up.
Will he dump my bags somewhere gross like a men’s locker room, forcing me to retrieve them? Or simply discard them in the trash?
I follow him up a staircase to where he strides along a corridor. Two girls nudge each other as he passes them. They look like sophomores at least, instead of newbies like me.
“Lucan,” says one, stepping forward as if to touch his arm. “So good to see you. How was your—”
Without slowing, he steps around her and continues walking. The girl returns to her friend, and the pair eye him while whispering.
I finally catch up with him.
“Listen up, asshole—” I say, preparing to be hit with his menacing gaze again.
He casually places my suitcases on the carpet before me, as the girls down the hallway watch and murmur.
His blue eyes hold me hostage. The gravity of his stare feels even more disorienting within the confines of the building, as though having his attention is the same as being under a dark spell.
I return his glare like he’s not rattling me. Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I deny him the satisfaction of displaying my emotions.
He takes half a step closer, endangering the brave facade I’m putting on. His proximity sends warning sirens all through me.
“What kind of prank was that?” I ask, trying to break his hypnotic hold on me. “You take my bags to a random part of the college?”
He blinks, his black lashes unfairly long and thick. “Who said anything about a prank?”
I gesture at my suitcases with the flyer. “You just enjoy playing valet?”
He grunts. “Valets park cars. The word you’re looking for is bellhop.”
“Whatever.”
His voice quietens. “Were you nervous?”
“About what?” I ask uncertainly.
“Starting college today. Were you nervous when you woke up this morning?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
No point in lying about that. I’d be an unfeeling robot if I weren’t nervous this morning. In fact, I’ve been nervous for months, ever since I got the Darkbloom acceptance letter.
His breath catches slightly, like my truthfulness surprises him somehow.
“And how do you feel now?” he asks.
“Lost. Pissed off. Not necessarily in that order.”
“But no longer nervous.”
“Oh, right,” I say with a snort. “So you’re doing the new girl a favor? How kind.”
“Thank you,” he says, adjusting his collar. “I am kind.”
“And modest. Are you done?”
He breaks off his gaze from mine, which I can almost physically feel.
As he walks away calmly, he speaks over his shoulder. “For now.”
“Great,” I call after him. “Something to look forward to. Bellhop.”
His broad form disappears, leaving me relieved and something else I can’t name. Wary, I guess. The emotion simmers at the base of my spine like the promise of trouble.
And I’m definitely still nervous.
Exhaling, I look around to figure out where I am. Darkbloom is massive and confusing.
“Name?” asks a young woman with auburn hair, a glum expression, and a clipboard.
A badge on her shirt reads Volunteer.
I furrow my brows. “Er, why?”
She points her fountain pen at the painted sign over her head.
Wayfarer Hall.
The words jog my memory.
“This is my dorm,” I say in mild surprise.
He brought my suitcases to my dorm.
What a polite prank, though creepy.
How did he know where I’m staying? I barely knew.
“Name?” repeats the girl in the same dull tone.
“Sadie Marlowe.”
“Oh, here you are.” She taps her clipboard. “Room eleven.”
“Cool.”
She hands me a key. “You’re the last of your roommates to arrive. Orientation activities run all week. And remember, when you meet a ghost in the hallways at night, recite the school motto in reverse three times or else.”
I pause. “Or else what?”
“You’ll never leave this campus.” She winks. “Welcome to Darkbloom.”
I slip the key into my pocket. “Thank you.”
The baggage thief must’ve asked a volunteer for my dorm while I spoke to the student advisor, Chuck.
Gripping my key, I wander to find my room.
The hallway of polished oak and brass definitely feels like a home to ghosts. Walking through here at night must be nerve-racking.
Walking through here now is nerve-racking, because I’m about to meet two strangers who’ll be my roommates.
My social skills are so rusty. I worked through high school, then dropped out of community college to look after my mom. Building friendships was never a priority, but I want that to change now that I’m here.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I knock.
Almost at once, a yell comes from inside. “I bet that’s her!”
Moments later, the door swings open.
I’m greeted by the caramel-haired girl I saw outside with the antique lounge.
“Hey, I’m Juliette.” She beams. “Are you our roomie?”
“I’m Sadie. I’m her. I mean, I’m she.”
God freaking dammit. What is wrong with me?
But Juliette seems unbothered by my awkwardness.
“Awesome!” She takes one of my bags and ushers me inside. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve been decorating all day.”
Another girl with long dark hair and black clothing waves at me. “I’m Clara. We were just saying we hope you like candles, because we might’ve gone overboard.”
Juliette’s antique lounge sits under a window overlooking the grounds and shadowy forest beyond, and the worn floorboards are partly covered by an equally worn Persian rug.
The living area has potted ferns, enough guttering candles to light a cathedral, and cozy old armchairs around a fireplace. Three arched doorways lead to what must be our bedrooms.
“No such thing as overboard where candles are concerned,” I say.
The place is beautiful. So much more homey than I expected.
A strange feeling twists in my stomach, because I don’t know if I deserve this.
I’ve never had anything that I didn’t pay for in some brutal combination of blood, tears, and sweat. To be given the chance to live and study at this incredible university seems almost too good to be true. I feel like I’ll be made to pay somehow, sooner or later.
Could I ever really belong here?
“What are you studying?” asks Clara.
“Creative writing,” I say. “How about you?”
“Animation,” says Clara. “Juliette’s studying Public Relations.”
Juliette puts her hand dramatically to her forehead. “My family’s company needs the expertise, believe me. Scandal after scandal.”
Clara points to my flyer. “Hey, what’s that?”
I read the text aloud. “The Founder’s Run, at dusk, in the quad. Do you know what it is?”
Juliette nods. “It’s a traditional Darkbloom game to welcome the freshmen. We have to go, it’ll be fun.”
“Do you know many people here?” asks Clara.
“No,” I say. “I went to school in Briarvale.”
“I love Briarvale, it’s so pretty,” replies Clara. “We can introduce you to everyone, don’t worry.”
My chest flares with appreciation. “I was worried, to be honest. The only other student I’ve met was terrifying. Lucan, I think?”
Clara’s face freezes in alarm. “Lucan Hale?”
“I didn’t get his last name.” I glance at Juliette, who had the same thunderstruck reaction as Clara. “He’s really tall? Black hair, blue eyes.”
“Picture perfect, but also seems like he’d eat your soul?” asks Clara.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I say.
Juliette knits her brows. “Sadie, no. Stay away from him.”
“Happily.” I shrug. “He doesn’t seem nice to be around.”
My roommates share a look, like they need to break bad news to me.
“That’s putting it mildly,” says Clara. “Very mildly.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Juliette leans in.
“He’s a murderer,” she whispers, as if he might hear her and kick down the door in a rage.
“You’re screwing with me.” I force a smile. “Like the story about the ghost and the school motto.”
“Nope,” says Clara. “I went to the same prep school as Lucan. The Hales are an old-money investment and banking dynasty. He was a couple of years ahead of me.” She grimaces. “He ripped apart a person with his bare hands when he was eighteen years old. Or so the rumor goes.”
“No way,” I say. “He’s only what, twenty-two? He’d be in prison.”
“He’s twenty-three,” says Juliette. “But if he did murder someone, his billionaire mommy and daddy would make the problem disappear. They’d never let him go to prison.”
Clara smirks. “You have a billionaire mommy and daddy too.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t cover up murders for me,” says Juliette. “I’ve heard Lucan flies his private jet to different cities to roam the streets and kill people for fun. People no one would miss.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” says Clara. “My demonic brother is friends with him, which is never a good sign.”
Is that what I sensed when Lucan glared at me? Is he a killer?
Something dark definitely lurked in him. I felt it whenever his eyes locked on mine, my heart thumping like I was a rabbit cornered by a fox.
Maybe the rumors are nonsense, maybe not. Either way, I have no desire to find out.
“I won’t go near him,” I say, meaning it wholeheartedly.
I have a scholarship to keep and a stalker to shake. I already have enough to cope with.
Slipping my hand into my pocket, my fingertips run over my initials engraved on the silver locket. When I was a kid, I used to trace the S.M. for comfort, but now the necklace feels like a ticking bomb.
Who sent it to me, and why?
The storm outside has eased, leaving behind a thin gray mist. The scent of wet pine needles filters through the open window.
“Sunset’s coming,” says Clara, jiggling her eyebrows. “Let’s get ready for the Founder’s Run.”
Excitement grows in me, despite everything.
It’s really happening. I’m at college, I have roommates, and I’m about to participate in my first-ever university tradition.
Nothing can ruin this feeling. Not even blue-eyed rumored murderers.