“I need to speak to you afterwards,” I whispered behind my hand, so the nosy Karen couldn’t hear.
“No,” she hissed back.
“Yes,” I argued, moving my hand closer to hers, only for her to pull away. “I need to speak to you in private. It’s important.”
“There’s not a single thing you could say that would be important,” she rationalized, keeping her gaze on the board at the front of the class.
My jaw clenched under the stress of her stubbornness. She’d be the only girl on campus who didn’t want to be alone with me, and that made her even more tantalizing in a weird way. “If you don’t come voluntarily, I will be compelled to wrangle you forcefully,” I warned, and she barely flinched. But then her hand went to her bag as an automatic reaction. “Have you got your knife in there, Stabby?”
Silence.
“I still have your cap shades by the way, if you want them back,” I told her quietly.
Silence.
“I’m guessing you don’t want them back,” I murmured, having a one-sided conversation.
Silence.
After several more beats of silence, I reached under the desk to grab her bag, and she lowered her head, grasped my forearm with her mouth, then bit down hard. My mouth dropped open in pain, and I used the strength I could muster not to growl in pain.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Adina said, packing her bags, “I need to leave early as I have an appointment.”
“Sure,” Dean said, then continued.
Without another word, she packed her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and left without looking back. I stayed seated for a few beats as my knee shook from restrained energy under the desk. A greyhound eager to chase the rabbit.
Seconds later, I stood to leave, but once I got out into the hall, she was gone. I assumed she had gone down the stairs, so I went that way, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.
26
I lay my head on my pillow and stared at the ceilingfor a few moments, then rubbed my tired eyes with the base of my palm before returning to my Innovation assignment that was given to us yesterday. I had been avoiding the Warwicks over the past two days, holding myself captive in my room, so I didn’t accidentally bump into them. If I didn’t have to leave to attend class or grab something to eat, then I’d retreat into my room. If someone knocked on my door, I wouldn’t answer it unless it was Mila, and she would message me first to say she was coming.
Lev and Ezrah have both tried to talk to me, but I refused to listen and would run away as soon as I was able to. They were upto no good, I could tell, and I wanted nothing to do with it. My priority was good grades, not fooling around with the Warwicks or anyone else, for that matter. But there was only a matter of time before they caught up with me.
I didn’t go to the gym, even though I was booked in with Ezrah Warwick for a training session, but I didn’t turn up. But I discovered that James York was in one of my classes and tried to grab my attention, but I ignored him, too. This was the plan until it stopped working, then I’d move onto another plan.
My eyes were tired from reading textbooks and studying the curriculum, so I decided to go for a walk in the sunshine down to Ashthorn Castle Library to search for old photographs of my stepmother. My father sent me another reminder as her birthday drew closer. He wanted to have the old school photograph transferred onto the cake using edible ink and paper, likely got that idea off my mother, who did that for one of his birthdays.
Ignoring the resentment swelling in my stomach, I peered through the crack in my door to ensure Lev wasn’t nearby, then I scarpered down the stairs, snuck past the kitchen and common rooms, which were empty; in fact, even several days after classes started, Morgana was still vacant.
My bag, carrying my knife, phone, keycard, and wallet, was my comfort and security, weighing down on my right shoulder, and I didn’t go anywhere without it. Even when I ran downstairs to warm a meal in the microwave oven, I still took this bag with me.
As I entered the castle's grand entrance, I immediately smelled coffee from the cafes on Dingle Street and reminded myself to get one later. Halfway through the hall, the treacle-colored staircase spiraled upward. As I stepped onto the red carpet, I felt that familiar sensation of being watched. I looked behind me and saw only unfamiliar student faces, dismissed my paranoia, and hurried up to the first level.
Because I didn’t know where to begin, I approached the library admin behind the desk, and she told me that the catalogue of old university albums was in the Castlehill Heritage section on the next floor up.
This library was eerily quiet compared to the business school library, and a little shiver traveled down my spine as I climbed the wooden staircase to the next floor. I found the heritage section but was distracted by the tall stained-glass windows of strange creatures, one with two heads and another with a horse’s head and bear’s body, which seemed to be Ashthorn’s style.
The view was of the front part of Castlehill, showing the train track weaving through the trees, the university garden to the right, and further down again the carriages where the dead body was found on the spare tracks. I spotted a couple walking slowly, holding hands, and ignored the coil of jealousy in my stomach. If I attended a normal college, like my last one, I would’ve loved to possibly meet a nice man, but no, I was sent here to this grim place instead.
I dragged myself away from the window and wrinkled up my nose at the scent of dusty old books that no one ever read, and started combing over the Class Year albums, sports team albums, and then stalled when I’d forgotten what years she attended here.
No. Wait.
I didn’t actually know what years she attended here, so I hunted in my bag for my phone and messaged Dad. While I waited, I found the library computer and entered her name: Leslie More.
Unsurprisingly, nothing came up because books were catalogued under author and book names, but I hoped that if she was prominent enough, something might pop up. She gave me the impression that she was a rising star on the hockey pitch, but who’d believe anything she says? Actually, my father does.Unfortunately, he seemed to believe quite a bit of what she says, including the far-fetched, ridiculous stuff.
