Retreating to the window, I found a comfortable chair and gazed out at the fantastic view. I decided that I’ll give Dad another five minutes to message me, and then I’ll leave. It was so quiet up there, deadly quiet, so when my phone beeped, I jumped out of my skin.
I’m watching you.
Huh? My breath hitched as an icy sensation clasped the back of my neck. I read the message assuming it was Dad, but it wasn’t. The message came from Mom’s phone, but this time it didn’t seem like a mistake like the first two messages.
A shiver ran down my spine as I glanced behind me, but all I could see was the spines of a thousand books, no movement in between the shelves. Swallowing over a lump in my throat, I left the chair to search the floor in an attempt to catch someone out. But even as I scanned one empty aisle after another, I was seriously conflicted as to how anyone here at Castlehill had my mother’s phone number.
My steps tread slowly down the aisles as the scent of dusty books begins to stir nauseously in my stomach. The floorboards squeaked with each step as my mouth turned dry and my breath grew heavy from the nerves coiling through my body.
Pausing at the tall stained-glass windows at the opposite wall to peer out, I was baffled at how anyone could see where I was. There was no one here. No one. Who saw me? Who was watching me and from where?
My patience ran out, so I was about to leave when a solid bang against the window startled me, drawing out a sharp gasp from my mouth. Frantic fluttering at the corner of the colorful window revealed that it was a bird, a song thrush who had flown into the window and was now shocked and disorientated.
A figure moved in the reflection, and I jumped again, plunging my hand into my bag to retrieve my knife. Lowered dark eyebrows over penetrating, curious eyes, disheveled hair as if he forgot to brush, and arms hung relaxed by his side.
He followed my glance up to where the bird had found a perch was still as if trying to catch its breath before flying off again. “It still looks alive. Didn’t break its neck.”
I swallowed over the dryness in my mouth, cleared my throat as I attempted to find my voice, but it was stuck in my throat, and all that came out was a croak. I cleared my throat again, trying to get rid of the scent of dusty books that had lodged itself in the back of my throat, “Why are you here?”
“I saw you come up,” he replied, tilting his head to the side to look at me at a different angle.
“But,” I gasped, realizing I had been holding my breath, “I’ve been up here for at least ten minutes, maybe more, so that doesn’t make sense. Have you been here the whole time?”
His lips parted to answer me when my phone beeped again, and I jumped as my hand snatched at my chest to calm my slamming heart.
Lev screwed his face up in confusion, but the twinkle in his eye told me he was a little entertained by my overreaction to his presence. “I was walking through the grand hall downstairs from Dingle Street when I saw you climb up the stairs,” he explained, “but I had to eat my sandwich before they’d let me up.” He pointed to a sign on the wall that read:No food. No drink.
“Are you watching me?” I asserted aggressively, pointing my finger at his edgy face.
“I’m watching you now because my eyes are looking at your face,” he stated, shrugging, as if I was being ridiculously paranoid, accusing him of something he didn’t do.
“What do you want?” I barked, lengthening the distance between us as I checked the message on my phone to find thatit was my father, not another strange message from my dead mother’s account. Why wasn’t her phone account canceled? Who was paying to keep it active? Previously, I came to the conclusion that it was a mistake, but I wasn’t so sure now.
Anyway, my father sent Leslie’s details, the years she attended Castlehill, but I wasn’t in the mood now to spend any more time up here. That ship had passed; besides, I had a tall, sullen metalhead to deal with.
“Ah,” he exhaled, combing his fingers through his dark hair, “I ah missed class on Monday, Digital Transformation, so I was wondering if you could lend me your notes?”
I composed myself, swallowed again, took a deep breath, and asked, “Where were you?” I didn’t actually care where he was, but I was trying to make conversation, I suppose. Actually, I did care where he was because, although he and the Warwicks were absolute assholes, I still liked him. Stupid is as stupid does.
“Ah, police interview over the train incident,” his reply was vague, perhaps deliberately. Perhaps he was hiding something. Well…of course, he was.
“So, they didn’t arrest you for the crime, then?” I pressed, and those eyes narrowed piercingly that I had to take another step back from him, so I could breathe.
The last time we were in the same space together, he kissed me. That kiss. That wonderful kiss. I had to pull my thoughts back to the present, because he might be able to read my face as I returned to the kiss again.
“No,” he answered carefully, “he wasn’t in my carriage.”
“What?” I was slightly baffled by his reply, again vague, giving little away.
“I didn’t even see him,” he added, which only added to my confusion. “So…can I borrow your notes?”
“Oh, sure,” I answered without thinking as I caught movement in my peripheral vision and the bird recovered from shock, flapping its wings, then flew off. “Good. It’s free.”
His dark head turned to look at the bird, just as it flew away, soaring with wings spread wide, as a hint of jealousy hit me, wishing I could be like that bird. “I used to pretend I was a bird when I was a little kid,” he mumbled, then, when he looked back at me, he seemed to regret opening up.
“Really?” He was allowing a little piece of himself to shine.
He nodded, combing his fingers through his thick, messy hair again, appearing uncomfortable. “Made wings out of cutting up cardboard boxes and climbed onto the kitchen counter, flapping my wings, but yeah, I didn’t take off.”
