21. OH, THE DRAMA （ACT 2）
GODDESS, HE SMELLED GOOD.
Somehow both like soap and woodsmoke, as if he’d showered after the violence of the coven meeting, yet the night still clung to him.
And then there was the matter of the rosemary oil in his hair.
It descended upon them, spicy and clean.
Enough to overpower the dusty, mothball musk of the space, but not so much as to be more than a whisper between them.
Embry had once researched what benefits it provided, and none of them fit Rye, so she assumed he did it for that woody, delicious scent. Possibly to drive her crazy.
Speaking of—his forefinger was still pressed to her mouth. His skin was warm, the pressure tender, and despite the gesture and the situation, a curl of something hot and flustered rose in Embry’s gut.
The instincts that had grown up with the pair of them—the same that had her smacking his calf in the kitchen that first day of school—were lingering dangerously just under the surface. And though instinctual, Embry knew they were a risk.
Embry wouldn’t bat away Rye and risk tapping the closet door. Nor would she bite him and risk the sound. But he couldn’t keep touching her like this—the proximity alone was enough to make her want to slip out of her skin.
She was an actress, true, and he was an actor. If this had been blocked out on a stage, Embry was confident her body wouldn’t react this way. Instead, it was just confused by the dark and the stress and the pressure of his finger against her mouth.
So, Embry carefully snaked a hand up Rye’s arm, keeping in contact with the soft cotton of his Henley the whole way so as not to startle him. Then she wrapped her hand around his and slowly drew it away.
This created the problem of where to safely put his hand. But Embry was nothing if not resourceful, and so, being cautious, she simply brought it down until she had it snugly in her grasp and her knuckles lodged in the well at the base of her throat. Rye didn’t fight her.
Meanwhile, in the room beyond, footsteps paced across the tile. Was it the killer? Was it Jonesy? Was it an investigator, appearing on a hot tip about two figures in black roving about the Raven’s Head grounds?
Embry wished she had a spell for this. One that would let her see past the solid oak door and into the room without being seen herself.
She had spells to obscure her from being seen or from being heard, yes, but not anything that could help her here.
Some magical beings had the ability to recognize a single particle of magic the moment it was cast, especially witches and certain Glitches, particularly fairies, who were like magical bloodhounds.
Which meant that she and Rye were far too late to protect themselves further or use their abilities to snoop without creating a magical disturbance in the process.
They were stuck in this closet. For now. Maybe for a while. Who knew—
“Knock, knock” came a male voice, along with the sound of actual knocking.
The sudden noise shocked Embry not only out of her train of thought, but also her spot—she flinched. Rye reacted just as quickly, renewing his hold at her waist and pressing her knuckles tighter into her own flesh with his captured hand. The boy was as solid as a slab of marble.
There was the sound of footsteps, then the squeak of hinges as the first person moved farther into the room and sat down on the ancient roller chair Jonesy used at her desk. The shuffling of papers. The thud of a steel water bottle on the wood. The visitor was being ignored.
After a moment, the male voice came again. This time from deeper within the room. “I thought I might find you here.”
This time when he spoke, Embry knew exactly who it was: gym teacher, coach, and stealer of drama-class enrollees extraordinaire, Mr. Heston.
“What do you want?” came a tired voice—Jonesy. Definitely, Jonesy.
“I want to apologize,” responded her ex-fiancé.
Embry’s breath caught in a gasp. No. Way. Now?!
“Julius, if you truly wanted to apologize, you would’ve done it months ago.”
The woman had a point.
Mr. Heston’s voice wobbled, and Embry could envision his black wings trembling, too. “So, I can’t mean it now?”
“Sure you can,” Jonesy agreed, “but I can also be suspicious as to why you’ve decided to do this at”—there’s a pause—“five thirty in the morning.”
Hell yes. Embry’s heart was beginning to pound anew. She no longer feared getting caught. She feared Mr. Heston might spontaneously combust trying to do battle with a woman whose emotions could fill a black hole.
“I knew you’d be here.”
“Like you knew I’d be at my campus cabin all weekend. Like you knew where I’d be every moment of the semester until this very one.”
Her words were a slammed door, but Heston plowed on like one of his football players through an inferior defensive line. “With what happened this weekend—it got me thinking about what really matters. And I really, truly want to apologize for how things went down between us.”
A deep sigh came from the drama teacher. “Or you and Persephone are getting serious, and you want me to give you my blessing because you don’t want to seem like an asshat.”
A chorus of Ooooohs rattled through Embry’s brain. If Rye was as into this as she was, he wasn’t giving off any signals. He just held her as tightly as before, really leaning into the whole marble metaphor.
“And,” Jonesy continued, “you’ve decided to ambush me in my office before dawn because that way no one will see. You can skip back to your new girlfriend and spin whatever tale you want without worrying about someone seeing you being kicked out of here with your tail between your legs.”
A zing of pleasure ripped through Embry at the thought of Jonesy telling this man who hurt her how it was. She was such an inspiration, even when she wasn’t meaning to be.
But then, Mr. Heston and his golden retriever personality shocked her even more.
“I am an asshat, Chrys.” Whaaat? “I was an asshole to you. I’m trying to do better. I didn’t come here to ambush you; I came here because I couldn’t wait any longer. Be suspicious of me all you want, but please believe me when I say I know how I handled things was wrong—”
“You mean stealing more than half my signature class from under my nose by updating your curriculum for the first time ever?”
“Yes, well, I’m sorry about how that happened. I didn’t think—”
“Right. You just happened to screw me over. It was such a surprise!”
“Listen, I want us to at least be cordial to each other as colleagues. And maybe someday work our way back to being friends, because I cherish you, Chrys. Really, I do.”
“If you’re truly trying to be a good colleague who wants to work his way back to being my friend after unsuccessfully screwing me over, I need you to realize that perhaps now is not the time to do so.
” Damn, Jonesy. Didn’t know she had that in her.
“We are mere days out from what was supposed to be opening night of the fall musical, and I’ve had one cast member murdered, one blamed and suspended, and one who just dropped out. ”
Now Embry really did gasp. Dropped out? Who dropped out?!
Rye’s hand shot up, taking hers with it, and pressed her knuckles against her mouth.
Too little, too late.
Suddenly, there was the squeak of springs. The tapping of steps they now knew to be Jonesy’s. Shit.
The blood rushing through Embry’s system stalled out along with her breath as her ears strained to pick up the direction of those footsteps. Rye’s grip on her tightened, his own pulse racing against her grip, her stomach, his heartbeat hammering against the arch of her upper spine.
They were caught, they were—
“Now, if you’d please excuse me,” Jonesy’s voice began—not right outside of the built-in closet but across the room.
Another set of footsteps, heavy and reluctant, joined hers.
“I have plenty of work to do before my first class period. As my colleague and former friend, I’m asking you to leave the premises. ”
“But—”
“No buts, Julius. Please. If you truly mean your apology, you can save the rest of it—is there more?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. You can save the rest of it for another day.”
A deep, wing-fluttering sigh came. Then acceptance. “Another day, Chrys.”
There was a squeak of rubber soles on tile as he did an about-face. But then Jonesy called out, “Oh, and before you go, please hand over your key to the back door. I should’ve taken it back months ago.”
There was another sigh, then a jangling as Heston removed the key from a ring.
“You can exit through the front. It should lock behind you.”
Moments later, the door slammed, the chair squeaked, and Jonesy broke into tears.