I pulled my phone from my pocket and shone it around in the gloom, looking for an altar or a shelf of books.
Instead, I found a bedroom.
A teenage boy’s bedroom, with two beds and a shelf of action figures and science fiction novels. Two Playboy posters, a bunch of manga art, and a Chelsea flag dotted the walls. Names spelt out in red wooden letters hung over each bed.
On the left, CORBIN. On the right, KEEGAN.
My throat dried out like an autumn leaf. I stared at that second name until the letters blurred and ceased to have meaning.
Between the beds sat a small nightstand crowded with photographs. I picked one up, looking at a picture of Corbin aged about thirteen – with an adorable gap-toothed smile – wearing his Scouts uniform, with a red backpack covered with band patches at his feet. His arm hung casually around a boy a year or so younger, wearing the same uniform and holding a blue backpack that looked brand-new. He had Corbin’s mop of unruly hair and bright, intelligent emerald eyes. Both boys looked excited.
There it was, right in front of me, the reason Corbin’s shoulders stooped with the weight of the world.Keegan. The boy I’d never met whose life and death hung over every aspect of my life, who kept Corbin tethered to Briarwood and Maeve in the vain hope that keeping them safe would absolve him of the guilt he had no reason to feel.
It was six years ago, but Corbin stubbornly refused to cast off the blame for Keegan’s death.
Anxiety tugged at the back of my head, pressing against me.
If you really loved Corbin, you’d be able to heal him. You’d be able to make him see that he didn’t have anything to be guilty about. But you’re so completely useless. You don’t really love him, you’re attracted to him because you’re broken and warped and when he sees that he’ll kick you out of Briarwood and you’ll be back in the gutter. And it will be more than you deserve, because what even is the point of you?
Fuck.
My throat tightened. The more I tried to shove the thoughts down, the more they pressed against my skull, shoving out all other sense. I forgot about searching for the grimoire, forgot about being in Corbin’s parents house and the fact they hated me. I cast my eyes around the room, searching for something to count. Counting made the voices stop.
The figures.
He’ll never love you in that way, because who would love a fucked-up delinquent who hears voices in his head and counts everything to stay sane? One day he’ll find out the truth and you’ll never see Corbin or Maeve again?—
I dropped to my knees in front of the bookshelf, my eyes darting across the rows of elaborately painted D&D figurines and transformers. I touched the head of each one as I counted,one… two… three…
The anxiety loosened its grip on my windpipe, and I gasped in a breath.Four… five… six…
“Rowan!” Corbin called.
Shit.
I dropped the photograph and rushed to the door. I opened it a crack and peered out onto the landing. Corbin passed by, heading toward the stairs. I slipped out of the door and pulledit shut behind me. There was no sense in hiding what I’d been doing.
“Here,” I said.
“You weren’t in the bathroom?”
I shook my head. “I got lost.”
“Really?” Corbin lifted an eyebrow in a joking way, but his eyes flashed. “Walking up the flight of stairs didn’t give you a clue?”
I shrugged. “You know me. I’m pretty clueless.”
Corbin sighed. “Mum is freaking out, especially about you being here. If I give her one reason for her to kick us out?—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I hated that he was mad at me.
His face softened. He waved a hand at me. “Come on. The girls want us to play board games with them.”
We spent an hour sprawled across the sitting room rug, a game of Settlers of Catan spread out in front of us. We had the same game at Briarwood, but Arthur and Corbin got so competitive it wasn’t nearly as much fun. The girls squealed with delight every time they got to place another city or collect a big haul of resources. Flynn wasn’t there making inappropriate “wood” jokes.
It was so nice it made my stomach hurt.
