I jumped as someone appeared in front of me. A boy with shoulder-length black hair and a sly face. Or maybe it was just his smirk, which deepened as he scrutinised me more closely. ‘Hello, Anna Karenina. You look lost.’
‘Yeah, well I’ve got no interest in being found.’ I took a step back. ‘And I always choose war over peace.’
I heard a whistle, and moments later a second boy was standing in front of me. His reddish hair was shorter, but his grin was just as wide as his eyes slid from me to his friend. ‘Booksandbite. The perfect combination. Your contribution, Victor?’
Contribution?I was too perplexed to think of a retort. The other boy shook his head regretfully. ‘Sadly not. Jack?’ He tapped the guy standing behind him on the shoulder, and he turned around. ‘She one of yours?’
It just kept getting better. My mouth opened, but yet again I was too slow. Jack took two steps towards me, his eyes sweeping over my face. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But if no one’s called dibs, I will.’ Lifting his hand, he ran a lock of my hair through his fingers.
Right. Enough was enough. I slapped his hand away, stepping back. ‘This might be difficult for you to get through your head, but not everything in this world belongs to you, all right? The next person who lays a finger on me gets smacked upside the head with one of these fancy candlesticks.’
They didn’t seem very impressed, their collective grin only growing more challenging. Victor sighed theatrically and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulders. ‘Damn, we’ll have to find out who she belongs to. I’ll give my latest winnings at poker for a share.’
My cheeks flushed with heat. I had only two options. Either I really did grab the nearest blunt object, or I got the hell out of here. At least temporarily. My eyes darted towards Zoe. She was with Ashton, leaning against a wall, laughing at something he was saying. She didn’t look like someone who wanted to be rescued. And she probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about me starting a fight within five minutes flat.
I turned on my heel without a word and barged my way through the crowd. Music and voices drifted in my wake until the door fell shut behind me.
The more distance I put between myself and the strange party, the more my pulse began to quieten, and after a couple of minutes I was calm enough to examine my surroundings. If I ignored the reason I was here, maybe I could get something positive out of the whole fiasco after all. It wasn’t every day I got to spend time alone in a building like this. There was a loftiness to the halls of Cambridge even during the day, and by night they were more enchanting still.
I went up a spiral staircase and began to wander down the corridors, past dark walls and copper-coloured light fittings. There were doors left and right, all of them unlocked, opening onto studies and empty teaching rooms furnished with nothing but chairs. When I reached the end of the corridor, I paused.
The last door was the only one that was locked. Gingerly I turned the handle, but nothing happened. Biting my lip, Iglanced back over my shoulder. Apart from the distant music, all seemed quiet. Vacant. I should have gone back to find Zoe, but something stopped me. It wasn’t just the prospect of another pointless conversation–I was itching to know what was behind that door. Curiosity had always been my fatal flaw.
Muffling a sigh, I gave in and removed the hairpin that held my overlong fringe in place. I was breaking the rules just by being here, so I thought I might as well go all in. And anyway, there are certain skills that benefit from practice.
After my mum died, I moved in with my aunt and her son. They lived in a small town not far from Brighton, where there wasn’t a whole lot for teenagers to do. Which is probably why, before he’d even left school, my cousin had amassed a substantial criminal record. I was fifteen when he taught me how to open a lock with a piece of wire. Or a hairpin.
It took me thirty seconds to pick the lock, which opened with a click. Smiling triumphantly, I slipped inside. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dim light from the corridor.
It wasn’t a large room. The only items of furniture were a heavy oak desk and matching chair, placed in the middle of the room, and a velvet wingback with a side table by the window. The night outside was barely visible through the ivy growing over the pane.
The room was full of books, the air thick with the scent of old paper and printing ink. My pulse slowed and my shoulders dropped as I took a few deep breaths. The bindings were muted, mostly grey or black. A few had gold numbers on the spine, elaborate initials or words in Latin or Ancient Greek. This was no ordinary college library. The books exuded a certain nobility: each one seemed exquisite and important. Even this pocket library was elite.
I set the pin down on the desk before wandering closer to the floor-to-ceiling shelves. I ran the tips of my fingers cautiously over the spines, hesitating for a long time before I ventured to pull out a book. It felt like removing an organ from a body. These volumes formed a work of art; one I desperately wanted to understand. Carefully, I stroked the anthracite-grey binding. The gold lettering embossed on the cover gave shape to words my schoolgirl Latin wasn’t good enough to read. Ismoothed one damaged corner consolingly.
Before I could open the book, I heard a cough behind me. Iwhipped around, startled, the book clamped protectively against my chest.
He was standing in the open doorway, his face in shadow. I looked him hastily up and down, taking in his build, his tall, lean body, his crossed arms, his faintly tousled hair. When he took a step towards me, I saw his face. A decidedly attractive face, with a defined jaw and a pair of expressive dark eyes. They narrowed slightly as they surveyed me.
His voice, however, was calm. ‘Strictly speaking, this area is off-limits to guests.’ He stepped unhurriedly into the room, the door falling shut behind him with a creak.
‘And you’re not a guest?’ I replied with equal composure, although my heart was pounding. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem overly intent on chucking me out. Which could be either good or bad. Good, if he simply wasn’t interested in me. Bad, if he had something else in mind.
‘Not as much as you are.’ I felt his eyes on me, although his features had sunk back into darkness. By now he was almost at the window, leaving my escape route well and truly clear.
My muscles relaxed. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. I just got lost,’ I said, giving what I hoped was an embarrassed smile.
‘Lost?’ He sat down in the reading chair. The green velvet matched the olive shade of his pullover. ‘Usually that door’s kept locked.’
‘Then I guess someone must have forgotten.’ I was slowly stroking the tattered corner of the book, trying to avoid his searching gaze.
‘You’re not a very good liar.’
I thought perhaps I heard the trace of a smile in his voice. Annoyingly, I knew he was right. I’d never had an issue telling the truth. The opposite, actually, although it would have done wonders for my social life if lying came more naturally. ‘I don’t get much practice, I suppose.’
He leant forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘I see. An honest burglar. Were you planning to steal anything?’
I shook my head. ‘I was just curious.’
