A single phrase cut through the cacophony, like a lightning strike of its own:“Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!”
“Stop it,” Ellory whispered. Then, louder, clapping her hands over her ears:“STOP IT!”
The vision faded with a final echoing scream. Sunlight momentarily blinded her, and the rush of the Connecticut River returned in place of the lightning. Ellory rubbed her eyes, damp with tears, but, when she could see again, Riverside Campus had returned to normal. Even the frog and duck were back, casually moving around each other in the pond.
Her breath tore from her chest, and her head throbbed, and she knew what was about to happen if she wasn’t quick enough.
“Did you see—”
Ellory ignored Hudson to dive for the notebook, scratching a quick summary of everything as gaps began to appear in her memory. Hudson realized what she was doing and freed a pen from his bag, taking the next page, writing down what he had seen. Between the two of them, they painted a complete picture of a nighttime meeting, of decaying corpses, of unknown figures who couldn’t—shouldn’t—have been there.
She stopped writing only when her headache eased, dropping her pencil from shaking fingers. She’d expected for the entire vision to be gone, but she could still remember what she had written. The decaying corpses and the screaming victims. Professor Colt and a salon of minorities dying before him. Her stomach twisted with revulsion and fear. If that memory hadn’t been taken, which onehad?
Hudson stared blankly at his own handwriting. “I don’t remember any of this.”
“Don’t worry,” Ellory said, swallowing the urge to vomit into the grass. “I have it. I just don’t know what Idon’thave.” It was unsettling, but she didn’t want to linger on it. Not now. Not when she’ddone magic, intentionally, for thethird time. She couldn’t miss what she didn’t remember, but she could move forward. She had to move forward, before that vision drove her mad. “I saw Professor Colt. If those were the Old Masters, then—”
“Fuck.” Hudson pressed the meat of his palms against his eyelids. “Is anyone we know not suspicious as hell?”
“Hewasat the orchard. How well do you know him?”
“As well as any student. My parents would probably know more.” He dropped his hands, squinting down at the notebook again. “This really happened? I don’t remember—”
“Welcome to my life since August,” said Ellory, climbing to her feet. Her legs nearly collapsed beneath her but, thankfully, decided to hold her weight at the last minute. “You talk to your family. I’m going to do more research into the Lost Eight. I think they have something to tell me.”
27
The day of Professor Colt’s next salon, she didn’t hear from Hudson at all. After the fifth unanswered text, she realized she was running out of time to get ready and frowned her way to the shower, hoping—in vain—that something would be waiting for her when she got back. The idea of going alone disoriented her almost as much as the flash of Colt among the trees, a warning she wasn’t entirely sure she could afford to believe. After all, a recommendation from the sexagenarian professor could set her up for life.
Still, she packed her pepper spray and her Taser just in case; they were more reliable than magic. Then she tried Hudson one more time before calling an Uber. His robotic voicemail informed her that his inbox was full.
Professor Colt’s face lit up when he saw her at the door. He’d chosen a tweed suit with an orange pocket square that made it look as if he were wearing the foliage around them. His eyes were the blue gray of the winter sky, and his beard had been shaved down to stubble that outlined his square jaw in silver and blond.It was so much like her vision that she almost fled, except she could hear the other members of the salon behind him, people who wouldn’t spit on her if she were on fire, and she was struck with a sudden unfairness that they were inside and she was not.
She needed this. Needed Colt. If he was hunting her, she would have to make herself harder to hunt.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be joining us,” Colt said. “Mister Graves hasn’t arrived.”
“He might not be coming at all. Can I—”
“Of course, my dear. It’s a pleasure to have you, with or without Mr. Graves. Come in, come in.”
Ellory could tell that he meant it, but she couldn’t tellwhyhe meant it. Her fingers itched to ring Hudson one more time, but he already had an abundance of messages and a missed call. Not even Aunt Carol would try that many times; she would already be halfway to Hartford after three messages at most. Boone must have taken his phone again.
Hopefully.
Ellory willed herself to think about nothing but the salon; it felt like a spotlight was on her, an unaccompanied interloper in a space that had been carved out for people older, richer, more talented. The rest of Colt’s guests were gathered near the fireplace, which was currently lit. The orange and yellow flames cast the room in warm tones that made it feel all the more inviting.
“Where’s Graves?” asked Duncan Something-or-Other. “Did he finally get tossed out?”
“And replaced by her?” Kendall Rhodes frowned. “I doubt it.”
“Maybe she killed him,” said Sofia Aston. “There was this weird tension between them last month.”
Ellory bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reminding themall that she was standing right here. They knew that. They were enjoying it, in fact. Ellory had met people like this in high school, who fed on negative attention. Ignoring them never solved the problem, but it felt good to turn her back on them to stare out the window instead.
Colt joined her, smiling. His mustard suit made him look like a golden emperor, but she saw no trace of the malevolence that had been so evident in the clearing. “The gardener overseeds her every autumn,” he said, jutting his chin toward the yard. “There’s not much to be done about the trees short of replanting them, but I do so hate dead things.”
“You could replace them with evergreens,” said Ellory, wondering if the school groundskeepers would claim overseeding to explain the abrupt change in Bancroft Field. “Junipers and spruces, maybe.”
