Chapter 5
“I’m serious,” Delia snarls, pounding her fist into her palm.
“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to hunt that piece of shit down and rip his fucking throat out.
” She’s pacing the small space in front of my bed.
I’m sitting up, swaddled beneath my blankets, while a gentle rain taps sweetly against our window.
I just told her what happened with Noah last night. After the million apologies and the creation of a secret signal we can use next time (tugging on our right earlobe), Delia is now in the anger stage.
“Did you at least have a good night?” I tuck my knees to my chest. Delia shoots me a guilty look. With a sigh, she flops onto my mattress, hands folded over her stomach.
“I did. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve known something was off with Noah.” She thumps a fist against her forehead. “Did anything else happen? How’d you get away from him?”
When Delia swept into the room this morning, sunny-cheeked and bright-eyed, I told myself I wouldn’t ruin her mood.
But she noticed immediately, of course, when I was curled beneath my comforter with red and swollen eyes.
It had felt so good to tell her about last night, about how scared Noah had made me.
But right now, despite everything, the biggest reason I am shivering in bed, confused, heartsick, and completely scrambled, actually has very little to do with Noah.
He has now saved me twice, this mysterious boy who apparently does not exist.
I meet Delia’s eyes. Dark, wide, and nonjudgmental.
I close my eyes. I can’t handle the aftermath of last night’s encounter with the boy by myself. Not after I got so close. Not after we’ve finally exchanged a few words, after I reached out, felt his sleeve, proved that he exists.
I will go absolutely, devastatingly stark raving mad if I can’t talk to someone about this. I swallow hard.
“Do you remember how I told you I’d relapsed?” I start.
“Yeah.” Delia tucks a hand beneath her cheek, listening intently.
“This is going to sound unreal…”
I tell her about my almost death one year ago. I tell her about my year where no one believed me and I nearly lost my mind over him. I tell her about how I came across the country to escape him, and how, inexplicably, I saw him yesterday.
“I promise I’m not lying,” I insist. I don’t realize I’m crying until Delia hands me a tissue and rubs my shoulder. “I felt him. I saw him. I—”
“Rose.” Delia’s face is serious. “I believe you.”
“Thank you,” I say thickly, hoping she can tell how desperately I mean it. She gives me a look like Girl, of course, and gets off the bed, pacing the room again.
“He kind of sounds like a jerk too.” Delia flashes me a smile. “Between Mysterious Savior and Julian…Miss Rose,” she teases, “I do believe you have a type.”
“I do not.” I laugh, throwing my used tissue at her. It flutters uselessly to the floor. I rub my eyes. “Okay, well. You’re not wrong. I just…I need to understand. I’ll go crazy, you know? Like this guy isn’t a ghost. I touched him; he’s real.”
Delia sits down beside me, frowning in thought. “He looks our age?”
“Just about.”
“And you saw him on campus and at the Ballroom last night.”
I nod.
“I mean…sounds like he’s a freshman too. Last year he was in California. Now he’s here. That’s a great place to start.” Delia gives me a hopeful smile.
“Believe me, I’ve thought that through too.” I groan. “But I don’t know how I’m going to track him down through the registrar unless they sort by picture ID or…” I shake my head. “I wish there were a way to just…corral all the freshmen into one big group so I can do a head count.”
“Alright.” Delia’s eyes light up. “We can’t do that. But the school can. And will.” She scrolls to an email in her inbox. “How many emails have we gotten about this friggin’ Autumn Fest coming up?”
I sit up straight. I’d forgotten about the festival.
I’d seen flyers all around the school, heard other students chatting about it while in line at the dining hall or student center.
A yearly event, the Autumn Fest is a popular affair that’s held on the library’s lawn and in the library itself, honoring Payen University’s spooky history.
There’s an outdoor paranormal rave with a semi-famous DJ spinning the mixes.
There are minigames, tarot readings, séances, you name it.
Nobody misses it.
“You think he might be there?” I say, digging my nails into my thighs.
“Every freshman will be.” Delia grins.
—
The next few weeks pass by at a crawl.
On the Monday before the festival, I bump into Charlie and Naomi at the food hall, and they seem quite taken with Delia. Their entire group won’t stop talking about their outfits for Autumn Fest.
“You’re dressing up as a witch, right?” Charlie narrows her eyes at me. “Tell me you didn’t come to Payen University sans witch wardrobe?”
Of course I did.
“Of course she didn’t.” Delia rolls her eyes like that’s the silliest thing in the world. “Two words: leather harness.” Charlie’s smile is slow and approving.
I keep a sharp eye out anytime I leave the dorm, looking for any hint of thick dark hair or flash of violet eyes. Delia keeps her eyes peeled too, but neither of us catches any glimpse of the Mysterious Savior.
On Friday, the day of Autumn Fest, I wake up already nauseous from anxiety. What if I find him? What if I don’t?
What if I never see him ever again?
“Enough with the what-ifs!” Delia blows a puff of blond hair out of her eyes and taps my nose with the eyeliner pen. “It’s not gonna change our plans. Now, come on, do you want to look like the hottest witch at Payen or what?”
“Or what,” I half joke meekly, and she bops my nose again.
When I look at my reflection, my eyes go wide. Delia appears beside me, gazing at me through the mirror.
“I know it’s a lot,” she says, “but you look badass. And…you’re gonna wanna feel badass when you run into Mr. Disappearing Act. Not to mention hot. Devastatingly hot.”
Delia’s dressed me in an all-black fit-and-flare dress with black silk ribbon laces up the back.
The sleeves are long, it’s a mock neck, and I’m wearing black tights and knee-high black boots (all courtesy of Delia), so I’m showing almost zero skin.
But somehow, with Delia’s smoky cat-eye makeup and her smoothing out my natural waves, she’s managed to make me look…
sexy? Her silver-studded leather harness helps too, the straps crisscrossing my chest.
“Do you like it?” Delia asks.
I throw my arms around her neck. “Thanks,” I whisper. “I…I feel hot?”
“Are you asking or telling me?” Delia jokes in Julian’s snotty English accent. She, of course, looks phenomenal in a black rockabilly-vibe dress with black lace trim on the bust and a cinched waist. But Delia could be wearing a pig carcass and look hot.
When Delia and I arrive at the library lawn, we both gasp.
It looks awesome. A DJ dressed like a ghoul is on a platform.
He leans into the microphone and shouts, “Payen, this next one is not a song, it’s a spell.
” The large crowd of students dancing before him screams, and he throws down an EDM beat layered with the voices of monks singing Gregorian chants.
There’s lots of fog—someone must have hooked up a supplemental machine—and warm golden lights are strung from the trees, lighting the path that leads to the library.
“God,” Delia says thickly, “I fucking love witches.” She bites her lip, swinging her hips to a surprisingly infectious bop, as she notices a cute girl with curly red hair in all black swathed in a velvet cape. The girl catches Delia’s eye and gives her a smile.
“Delia.” I give her a gentle nudge. “Go have fun. You should be dancing with hot witches, not indulging my insane drama. You helped me get here. I’m gonna go start my search—”
“Excuse me.” Delia arches a brow. “We’re a pack now. Lone wolves gotta stick together.”
A sweaty boy shoves a flyer in our faces. “Alright, some lone wolves! We’re doing a moon howling at midnight, so wherever you are, soon as it hits twelve, just—” He throws his head back and howls. After a thumbs-up, he scuttles off.
Delia and I burst into laughter.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s check the outside first. We’ll be faster if we split up.” Delia agrees to search the dance floor, and I tell her I’ll weave among the throng buying themed drinks, food, and other items at the small booths.
I scan the faces of everyone I pass. Nearly everyone is in black, a few with sigils painted on their foreheads. I peer at the people in line at the candy-corn popcorn station and the apple cider booth, but I don’t see anyone I recognize.
At one point, I nearly knock over one of the many jars of candles because I see a flash of thick dark hair—but of course, it’s not him. By the time I’ve been soaked with a spray bottle at a booth labeled Aura Cleansing, I’m sure I’ve searched everyone on my side.
“No sign of him. You have any luck?” Delia appears at my elbow. “Ooh, you’re sweaty.” She glances at my dripping forehead.
“No, that’s just water. I got my aura cleansed.”
Delia bites back a laugh, watching me wipe my cheeks on my sleeves. “Library?” she says after I’m dry.
“Library,” I agree.
As soon as we step into the library, the mood shifts. The pulsing beat is muted when the door closes. They’ve done an excellent job decorating this already grand, ancient building. But now, every light comes from candles.
The library staff they have working tonight have opted to wear costumes: black, high-collared Victorian dresses.
All the other students in here are whispering, speaking in hushed voices.
As always, I pause in the atrium, gazing up at the stained-glass mural of the giant tree, the sky and clouds.
I think, Who could walk in here with anything but reverence?