Chapter 6
The moment the boy and I make eye contact, he ducks into the aisle. I don’t give it a second thought. I launch after him.
I narrowly avoid knocking into a pair of drunken witches making out in the mystery aisle. “Sorry,” I blurt, bumping into a row of tables, nearly tipping over a wooden chair. People are staring. My cheeks are burning. Why did he have to be on the other side of the library?
I set the chair to rights, turn around, and crash gut-first into a metal cart of books.
“Sorry again,” I grunt at a startled cluster of nearby students.
I cast a mournful glance at the splay of hardbacks I’ve sent to the floor and keep going.
It’s sacrilegious to not fix the mess I’ve made—especially of books—but I can’t risk losing him.
I reach the aisle where I last saw him. He’s gone, of course, but I’m looking for any students close by who might have seen him.
There’s no one here at the study tables or in the neighboring aisles.
In fact, the second floor seems to be emptying out.
The biggest crowd of students is around the staircase.
I guess everyone’s heading downstairs now that the palm reader is closed for the night.
So that’s where I go.
“Excuse me,” I call loudly, ducking in and out of clusters of students, rushing toward the staircase. I’m distantly aware of how rude I’m being, how later I’ll cringe at the recollection of my shoving and shouting. Sometimes it feels like I become someone else whenever this boy is around.
I reach the top of the staircase. There’s no sign of him anywhere, and his head start is significant, so I decide to take the stairs down two at a time. But I’m not used to wearing boots. I’m especially not used to wearing Delia’s boots.
When I’m halfway down the stairs, I misjudge a step and my heel catches on absolutely nothing, making me pitch backward. My elbow slams onto the marble step below, and I slide painfully on my butt down the remaining five stairs, my mortification tripling with each one.
I manage to reach the first floor intact and alive—though when I see the wide-eyed, gasping crowd surrounding me, I sort of wish, for a moment at least, that maybe I wasn’t.
“Holy shit, Ro, are you okay?” Delia rushes to my side, looking horrified.
“Ow,” I whimper, looking anywhere but the huge crowd of gawking bystanders.
“I know, baby girl, come here.” She lifts me easily to my feet, and I keep my head ducked as she prods at my shoulder and arm. “What hurts? You break anything?”
“Just my pride,” I mumble, my face molten. “And elbow, maybe. Bruised. That’s it.”
“Promise? Cuz it looked bad.” Delia’s eyebrows are by her hairline. She gives my shoulder a frustrated shake. “What’s wrong with you? Why were you rushing down the stairs like that in those boots? You could have seriously gotten—”
“Because I saw him, Delia.” I close my eyes. “He was here. Upstairs. And I was already flustered—the palm reader gave me this, like, death reading—and as soon as I left the tent, he was right there. We made eye contact.”
“What?” Delia’s head whips around. She grabs my shoulders. “Which way did he— Where did—”
“He’s already gone,” I sigh. “At least he didn’t see me fall. Small mercies, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Delia studies me. “You wanna split up again? What’s the plan?”
“For you to go and have fun tonight,” I say sincerely. Delia looks like she might protest, and I shake my head. “You’ve already helped so much. And anyway, he’s like the friggin’ Road Runner. He’s already probably halfway to Albuquerque.”
“Oh, hi again!” The girl with curly red hair from earlier appears at Delia’s side, giving me a friendly wave. With a shy smile, she hands Delia two parchment paper–wrapped sugar cookies.
“You found them! Amberrrr,” Delia coos, pressing her nose into Amber’s pretty blush. She pulls back and shoots me a sheepish look. “Sorry, Rose, this is Amber. Amber, meet Rose.”
“I take it the tarot reading went well?” I say, smiling.
“So well,” Amber says, looking up at Delia with the gooiest heart eyes ever. “She said tonight I’d meet someone who’d change my life.”
“Oh yeah? That—that’s what she said?” Delia gives her a tight smile.
“Love it,” I say. “Much better than my palm reading.”
“Yeah, about that. Did she actually tell you—” Delia and I jolt when Amber lets out a sudden squeal. She hops up and down to the beat of the pulsing bass outside.
“Oh my god, I love this song! Do you hear it? The DJ’s amazing!” Amber gestures to the library doors, turning to Delia. “I’m gonna go dance! Meet me when you’re done?”
“Absolutely, be right there.” We watch Amber skip out the double doors, and then Delia turns to me. “Don’t you dare say anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I cough lightly into my fist. “Although, I just…Can you put me down for chicken? I prefer it over fish. You know, for the wedding—”
“Oh, you dick.” Delia laughs, slapping my shoulder with a cookie. “You sure you don’t need help with your sexy Road Runner?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I nudge her toward the library’s front doors. “Go. You’ve got a life to change, don’t you?”
“Man. If only she weren’t so hot.” She drops her hand, giving me a heartfelt smile. “Thanks. See you back at our room. Later tonight or tomorrow, only the cards know, apparently.”
I’m smiling as I watch Delia slip out of the library, but as soon as I’m alone, I feel it fade.
Once more surrounded by strangers, I have nothing to distract me from the pain radiating from my elbow and the palm reader’s promise that if I do not go back to California tomorrow, I will most certainly die.
Ugh. I need some air.
One of the bonuses of spending orientation week panic-studying Payen’s map was learning about the hidden nooks and crannies scattered throughout the campus.
A few are so easy to miss, I bet most students have no idea they exist. For example, despite nearly every freshman at Payen University spending this entire night either in or in front of the library, I’d guess no one else knows about the beautiful ivy-wreathed courtyard nestled into the west end of the building.
Yet, at least. It’s still too early in the year.
But as of right now, I might just be the only one.
And I desperately need some quiet time to myself.
I slip out one of the side doors of the library.
It’s an immediate and stunning relief when the cold night clings to my skin.
I fill my lungs with the sweet autumn air, trying to breathe away the humiliating crush of strangers’ eyes, the hot claustrophobia of too many bodies and the people who belong to them.
I make my way down the pretty stone path along the library perimeter.
The fog has softened, thin enough to let me see the iron gates of the courtyard ahead, clinging to the shadows to keep the far silhouettes of trees fuzzy.
It’s perfect. When the fog is an opaque wall and I can’t see more than five inches in front of my face, I start to panic, get short of breath.
But not now. I wish it were exactly like this all the time.
I wrap my arms around myself and nudge open the ivy-wrapped gate with my foot. It’s not a huge courtyard, only big enough for two wooden benches, one on either side, and a single-tiered stone fountain in the center, but it’s more than big enough for me.
Sighing, I sink onto the nearer bench. The dance floor is distant enough that the boom is now more of a throb. A fresh wind tosses my hair, and I take a deep breath. I smell fire, burning wood, and I take a deeper breath. Someone somewhere is tucked in front of their fireplace, in their home. Safe.
Unlike, according to the palm reader, me. Why are the old woman’s words bothering me so much? She was hired by Payen University as entertainment for Autumn Fest. She probably had to fill out an invoice. What would she even write there? Predicted teenage girl’s death?
No, of course not.
I groan, slouching forward and pressing the heels of my palms to my eyelids until I see dancing lights and my eyeballs ache.
My elbow’s starting to really hurt. I can feel my heartbeat at the center of the pain, right where I fell on it.
I cradle my arm, feeling tentatively for swelling.
Instead, my finger finds a small rip in the sleeve.
“Oh man.” That’s way worse than any lousy swelling. Delia told me this was one of her favorite dresses. Surely the student center has a sewing kit I can buy, right? And there are plenty of tutorials on YouTube.
A sudden gust of wind kicks up a swirl of dead leaves. I sit up, ears pricking, suddenly alert. I swear, the way those leaves scraped together just now sounded like a sigh. When did the mist get heavier? Goosebumps prickle along my arms, climbing the back of my neck and down my thighs.
You have no idea what danger you are in.
I dart sharp eyes across every corner of this small courtyard. I don’t see anything, but the shadows are long. Anything could be hiding in the thick, terrible dark.
“I’ll make you a deal,” says a very low, very familiar voice from that very dark. “You stop tempting fate, and I…” The boy melts out of the shadows, his tall, broad body carving a striking silhouette in the mist. “I will stand here and let you ask me every burning question in that head of yours.”
It takes everything I’ve got, but I manage to keep my face blank as he takes slow, silent steps toward me.
God. Night really suits him. A warm spill of moonbeam is highlighting the sharp beauty of his cheekbones, while the shadows cling and contour the lean cut of his face and jaw. He’s finally standing close enough for me to see that in this light, right now, his eyes are a bottomless, moody blue.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“I…” I drop my eyes to my knees, my face heating. Gripping the edge of my seat, I suck in a breath. “I’m not staring. I’m thinking. Wondering…whether to take your deal or not.” I lift my chin and shrug. “I mean, you know what they say about…making bargains with mysterious shadows at night. Right?”
“By all means,” he drawls, crossing his arms. “Enlighten me. What do they say?”
“They say…” I squirm in my seat, blinking hard. “They say, um, ‘Don’t you do it.’ ” I catch the corner of his mouth twitching.
“And here I was thinking I knew every one of Abraham Lincoln’s quotes.” His voice is dry, but I swear he’s smirking. “How’s your elbow?”
“Oh, it’s fine—” I stiffen. Squeeze my eyes shut. “Please…please tell me you didn’t see—”
“You nearly shatter your spine falling down the stairs?” he snaps, lip curling.
“The only thing that shattered was my general state of well-being,” I say primly. “My bones are just fine.”
The boy rolls his shoulders, agitated. He opens his mouth, looks like he wants to say something, but slams it shut. I watch the muscle of his jaw pulse.
“Well,” he growls, “you gonna ask me a question, or are you just gonna throw yourself down the next set of—”
“What’s your favorite animal?” I hope it’s an innocuous enough question. He’s so still that I wonder if he heard me.
“Pigeons,” he finally says.
“Pigeons,” I repeat, delighted. “Why?”
“Their necks look like an oil spill.” He gazes off into the fog. “When radios and telephones failed during World War I, they used pigeons. They flew through smoke and storms and bombs to deliver messages.”
“Oh,” I breathe, completely and utterly won over. “That’s…deep.”
“Hmm.” He wipes a hand across his mouth, eyeing me thoughtfully. “And here I thought you’d really grill me.”
“What’s your favorite memory?”
“Nope,” he deadpans, which I totally expected.
“When’s the last time you cried?”
“Please,” he sneers.
“What’s your name?” I whisper.
His scowl drops. For a moment there’s an openness to his expression I’ve never seen. It’s so beautiful, so heartbreakingly exquisite, that I wish I’d never seen it. Because it only takes one heartbeat for his face to smooth over, impenetrable once more.
“Hayden,” he says softly. “My name is Hayden Caldwell.”
“Hay. Den,” I say, tasting it.
Amusement flashes across his face. He shakes his head. “Any reason you’re treating my name like a baby’s first word?”
“This is hard-earned knowledge.” I grin up at him. “I’m savoring it.”
Hayden huffs a laugh and rubs the side of his neck. A strange look passes over his face, the divot between his brows flickering, gone before I can place it. Above us, somewhere in the enormous canopy of browning maple leaves, an owl hoots, low and mournful. Hayden lifts his head to the sound.
“My turn now,” he says to the moon. “What’s your name?”
The branches over us shiver, and the owl takes off. Hayden watches the silent silhouette of its flapping wings grow fainter and fainter.
“I’m Rose,” I tell him. “Rose Shields.”
He swallows hard. I can see the jump of his throat, the muscle ticking at his jaw. His brow furrows, smooths, then furrows again.
“Rose,” he murmurs, low and warm. I never knew a single syllable could flood me with such heat. The flip in my gut has me dizzy. I bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
Hayden’s eyes go right to my mouth. I do make a noise then, a tiny one.
Just a hitched breath, and his gaze flies up to mine, suddenly moving fast. He takes in my face in a rush, like he’s only got five seconds to memorize which of my freckles are where.
I stop breathing when his attention slides down my neck and slowly traces the leather straps of the harness I’m wearing.
Every inch of my body now blossoms into goosebumps. I’m fighting hard not to let my eyes fall shut. God, this is just him looking at me. What would I do if he ever put his hands on me?
His mouth?
“You’re staring,” I whisper, echoing his earlier words. Hay-den’s head snaps up. He clenches his fists, and I hear his knuckles pop.
“I’m not staring. I’m…thinking.” For a moment, we simply study each other. But then he looks frustrated, his expression fracturing. He opens his mouth. “I—”
Wild, shrill howling erupts all around us. A chorus of dozens of voices, many inebriated, scream, crow, bay. The midnight howling.
“That’s my cue,” Hayden says coolly, backing away.
No. No way. I shoot to my feet.
“Wait!” I cry, wringing my hands. “You said I could ask you every question in my head.”
“I didn’t say I’d answer them,” he says, turning around and stepping through the gate, disappearing into the shadows beyond.
“Hayden,” I plead, rushing after him.
He’s gone, of course. My shoulders slump. What the hell was that? The howling continues, farther away now. They must be sprinting around campus, howling and howling.
I want to throttle every last one of them.