“That girl they found,” Talon said, tone low, “wasn’t she a history major?”
All three of them looked at me, and unease pooled in my stomach.
“The dead girl under the tower?” The words felt sticky on my tongue. A spike of dread slammed down and pinned my heart to my ribs. The air lodged in my throat as I looked at them. “I arrived the day she was found. I wouldn’t know.”
“It’s always some pretty blonde playing the victim, isn’t it?” Talon said.
A queasy sensation roiled in my guts. “What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you ever seen a cheesy horror flick? Blondes like you always fit the description of the pure, innocent prey chased by monsters. Just like her, the first–”
Niffy cut in. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“She’s an Ashcroft. She should know...”
The prickling on my skin worsened into unbearable needling. Each breath came shallower, slower, thinner. “My family? You’re not making any sense.”
Moth and Niffy shared a long glance while Talon scrutinized me. Their stare was narrow and pointed, as sharp as a knife. Like a scalpel intent on cutting into me and finding secrets in my organs.
Moth rolled his eyes, then waved his hand as if to clear away the negative turn of the conversation. “We are not getting into your weird conspiracy stories right now about the founding families.”
So, it wasn’t a new topic of conversation for them.
“There’ll be more. It’s never enough.” Talon’s voice wavered and their stare went distant, focused on the amber surface of their drink as if mesmerized by the shimmer on the top reflecting the pub lights. They must have had too much to drink before I arrived.
“I came here to have a good time and get pleasantly buzzed. If I have to hear one more story about monsters under the school, I swear to God I’ll cut off my own ears.” Moth looked at me and grinned. “Don’t let them scare you, Blondie. Every old school has ghosts if you believe in that sort of thing.”
“And some of us are a little too zealous,” Niffy added, words on the edge of slurring. She shrugged and refilled her glass. Again.
Losing interest in my drink, I pulled my condensation-slick hand into my lap. My fingers twisted and squeezed under the table, as tight and unsettled as the knots in my stomach. I fought to keep my anxiety in check, but it was crawling up my spine and over my shoulders like a prickly cloak.
“N-not really,” I answered. Little moments rose to the surface, flickers of strange noises in the dark and shadowsoutside the windows. But all those things could be explained by science or nature, and I had always taken my studies seriously. I trusted in the reality of what I’d always known.
And yet…
The feather on my bed.
“But why mention my family?”
Sure, my grandfather had been an influential part of the school’s history, but that had been ages ago. He was dead, and my family hadn’t resided in Kilbride full time in years. Our connection to the town as founders had faded like ancient tapestries exposed to the gradual erosion of time.
“You’ve really never heard the rumors?” Surprise lifted Moth’s brows. He leaned closer as a disbelieving grin curled across his lips. That easy-going and charismatic energy he radiated now felt like a spell. He drew you in until you were on the edge of your seat waiting for the next word from his mouth.
“Rumors? I don’t think I’ve been around long enough for all that,” I said. “Aside from seeing online articles about what my dad did.”
“The Ashcrofts were one of the founding families of Kilbride, and you’re telling me you haven’t heard the stories?” Niffy asked.
“It’s not like I was ghost hunting every winter I spent here,” I said, tone waspish as my frustration swelled. “And now you’re trying to implicate my family in weird conspiracies when there was a very real and very tragic death on campus?”
The three of them looked at one another, and I had a sudden feeling that I was the target of some joke. Using the death of some poor, innocent student and my already tainted family name against me.
It was cruel.
Wanting friends didn’t mean I had to subject myself to their suspicious, drunken nonsense. The fact that my skin had constricted around my bones and my heart weighed a ton onlyadded to the pressure encouraging me to escape. Leaving my glass half full, I stood from the table.
“Blondie, wait,” Moth rushed out. He smoothed his hands over the edge of the table, shifting as if he intended to stop me, or follow me.
“No, I think I should go home. Actually—yes—it’s late and I still have coursework to do.” I felt exposed as the center of their attention. Being perceived so acutely left me flayed and raw.
