Chapter 39
Sadie
Ipeer from the window at the foggy roadside.
Trees rush past, as dark and silent as ghosts.
Where are they taking me? Everything looks the same out there. Gloomy and isolated, like the ideal place to murder somebody.
Adelle hums a tune while she drives, and Damon surveys me in the rearview mirror.
Every few moments, I check my phone for service.
Why did I have to accept a ride from the twins?
I should’ve stayed with my friends. I could be partying and safe with them, but in my sadness, I went back to isolating myself like I used to.
The SUV sails over a rise, the road invisible under thick mist. It feels like we’re driving on clouds with nothing but sky beneath us.
Bars finally appear at the top of the phone screen.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Jittery with nerves, I type a message to my friends. Before I can hit send, Adelle swings the car around a sudden corner.
Frowning, I search the surroundings for a hint about where Adelle and her brother are taking me. My thumbs freeze over my phone screen as familiar tall, wrought-iron gates come into view.
“We’re at Darkbloom,” I say, unable to hide my surprise.
Maybe I’m not getting murdered?
“Told you I knew a shortcut,” says Adelle with a gentle snort. “Where did you think we were going?”
“Er, I don’t know.”
My face warming, I quickly delete the dramatic SOS message I was about to send Clara and Juliette.
Relief loosens the knot in my stomach, and I make a mental note to give people a chance before jumping to conclusions. Poor Adelle was doing a good deed by offering me a ride. Not everyone’s out to get me.
She pulls the SUV to the curb at the front of the university, which is strewn with toilet paper, pumpkin pulp, and god knows what else. Students drink in costumes, either coming or going from parties. Music thuds from giant speakers in windows.
I unbuckle my seatbelt. “Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.”
“I would never invoke Lucan’s wrath by leaving you to walk home by yourself.” Adelle smiles at me in the side mirror. “Happy Halloween, Sadie.”
“You too,” I say. “Bye, Damon.”
“Later,” he says without turning around.
I step from the car, wishing Adelle hadn’t mentioned Lucan. His absence drags heavily in my chest and hearing his name makes it worse.
Maybe once I sleep, I’ll feel better, though I can’t imagine how. I might’ve pushed away the best thing to ever happen to me.
I wade through the chaos toward the front doors, constantly jostled by drunk people. The statue of Benedict Darkbloom looms overhead, jack-o’-lanterns glowing on the plinth. Fake spiderwebs hang from his baton and outstretched hand.
“Hey, Sadie,” says a voice from behind, deep and male.
I turn, fighting the impulse to stumble back from Damon and his eerily painted face.
Adelle waits in the SUV, her wrist casually draped on the steering wheel, watching us through the crowd.
“Hey, Damon,” I reply.
Did I leave something in the car?
I check both pockets of my dress, but I have everything I left my dorm with. My wings are fixed firmly to my shoulders.
“There’s just something you should know,” says Damon. “In case you don’t realize.”
An icy wind blows, carrying crackly leaves and tendrils of smoke.
“Go ahead,” I say.
A guy dressed as a medieval monk backs into me. He guzzles beer through a funnel held by a girl wearing a pirate costume and red-bottomed heels.
“Sorry!” she shouts over the music, dragging the monk away by his elbow.
Mist swirls and darts around the building like restless spirits.
I’m cold and I just want to go inside.
I refocus on Damon. “What was it?”
He blows out a breath. “Lucan is miserable as fuck without you. No one’s seen him like this before. He’s crazy about you, Sadie. I hope you know that.”
“This is why you came after me?” I ask, surprised and oddly touched.
I never would’ve taken Damon to be so thoughtful.
His painted features don’t soften exactly, but his voice is tinged with rawness.
“Life is short,” he says. “Too fucking short. Ask Hannah. Ask Parker. Whatever you’re sweating over, do yourself a favor and don’t take too long with it, okay?”
Without waiting for an answer, he returns to the car and climbs in.
“Okay,” I whisper, with no one to hear.
His words wash over me, their honest simplicity piercing the haze of my confusion.
It’s true. So many people get less time than they imagined.
Why do I think I’ll be any different? Why have I been acting as though people like Lucan come along every day? They don’t.
Suddenly, I realize I don’t need time and space anymore. I need him.
When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll go to his apartment. We’ll talk. I’ll be honest with him and myself. We definitely have some things to figure out, but I believe we can.
Lucan feels so, so deeply. It scared me at first, and now it’s all I want.
I start the walk to my dorm, entering through the main hall, which echoes with screams of excitement, fear, or some combination of both. The tiles are slippery, and I lift the hem of my dress to avoid the questionable slush.
In the distance, I hear a cackle, followed by unhinged shouts and the stomping of boots.
The deeper I progress into the building, the quieter the corridors become. Here and there, people make out in corners. A few students drink with their backs against the wall, alone and still in costume.
I’m returning home early for Halloween. With everyone out, my dorm will be blessedly peaceful.
Near the staircase to Wayfarer Hall, I stop.
In semi-darkness, someone crouches to collect books and papers from the floor. Splattered eggs cover the person, their belongings, and the wall.
Groaning, the person holds up a hardcover book, shaking off the yolk.
Pity stabs at me. “Hey, are you alright?”
Professor Worthington gives a start, his wide eyes searching for me from behind his crooked glasses.
I hold up my hands. “I come in peace.”
His shoulders sag. “Oh, thank goodness. Sadie. Hello there.”
He’s not wearing a costume, just his usual tweed, which will probably need professional cleaning to save.
I grimace. “Trick-or-treaters get you, huh?”
The professor’s face breaks into a good-natured grin. “I’m glad they’re letting off steam. I am. I know they need it after exams.” He shows me the book cover. “I only wish poor Oscar Wilde wasn’t caught in the crossfire.”
“Let me help you.” I shove my phone in my pocket and collect the remaining egg-soaked items. “You’re brave to carry on like an adult tonight.”
He stands, the stack of books teetering in his arms. “I was finished for the evening, I swear. I was on my way back from the library to drop these things off before retiring for the night. I was unlucky, that’s all.”
“Lead the way,” I say, my hands full of sticky papers. “You can’t carry all this yourself.”
His brows knit. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. My night’s well and truly over.”
“You’re not with your friends?” He glances left and right theatrically. “No Prince of Darkbloom?”
I smile politely. “Er, no. It’s just me.”
He bows his head. “Well, I’m much obliged. I’ll show you to my office.”
“Oh, I know where your office is.”
“This is a different office. It’s where I do my deep reading.”
“Then lead the way.”
Professor Worthington takes me to a quiet part of the university near the Lost Library.
“Nearly there,” he says.
He veers into a nondescript corridor of abandoned offices, where a single bulb on the ceiling fizzes and glows.
“You must really like solitude,” I say, peeking into the dusty interiors of the rooms.
“As a rule, yes,” says the professor, reaching for a key to unlock a door. “Easier to get things done.”
When he pushes the door open, the sudden rush of air from inside makes my head spin.
“That’s weird,” I mutter, unable to pinpoint why the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.
I’ve had this feeling before. It happened when Russell drank too much, and I knew that horror came next.
It’s intuition, premonition, or maybe plain, old primal fear.
And yet I doubt the feeling, because nothing has changed. Professor Worthington smiles while standing a perfectly appropriate distance from me.
“In here, if you please,” he says, disappearing into the darkened office.
“No,” I say.
The word rings in the hallway.
The professor’s head pops out a second later. He seems mildly confused, his thick brows lifting.
“No?” he asks.
“I need to leave. I forgot I’m meeting a friend.”
My lie is hollow and obvious. He shrugs easily though, which makes me doubt myself.
Why am I being jumpy for no reason? Professor Worthington is as harmless as they get.
Just look at him. Literal egg on his face, poor guy. He’s nothing like Russell.
But I’ve made the excuse to leave now, so I can’t backtrack without seeming deranged.
“Of course.” He gives a gracious nod. “You mustn’t keep your friend waiting. Thank you kindly for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” I transfer the papers I’m carrying to his arms. “See you in class next week.”
“Very well. Goodnight.”
With a wave, I start up the hallway, wishing more than ever to be in my dorm room. The professor’s door closes with a click.
But instead of silence, I hear his voice, and it’s right behind me.
“One last thing,” he says.