“Keep it in your pocket.” Bishop glanced at him. “It’s a tracking device.”
Kit should have seen that coming, given his life recently. “James is already tracking my phone.”
Bishop shrugged. “He wouldn’t let me access his app. This way, I can find you even if you drop your phone.”
Kit feigned a gasp, pressing his hand to his chest. “You monster! If I’m separated from my phone again, save the phone first.”
Bishop rolled his eyes. “Get out and behave.”
“We’ll see.” But Kit obediently shoved the tracker into his jeans pocket, then took off towards the center of campus.
The weather was uncharacteristically gray, and Kit was grateful for the new jacket James had bought him. Kind of like a peacoat, but with an unhinged number of decorative buckles. Itwas probably the most expensive article of clothing Kit had ever worn, but itlookedlike it came from a trashy emo store, which was what Kit liked about it. Very considerate of James to take Kit’s lack of taste into account.
The tracking coin weighed heavily against his thigh. Yet another tether to this strange, violent group of men. Sure, Kit could throw the coin away at any time. But he didn’t want to, and that psychological connection weighed heaviest of all.
Scarily reassuring. Just like the knowledge that Bishop was somewhere behind him, following and watching.
Kit hadn’t spent much time on college campuses before. San Corvo University looked close enough to what he knew from television and movies—a sudden yawning of open space after the crowded city center. The tall buildings hailed from varying architectural legacies. Banners everywhere portrayed clean-cut, smiling students with quotes about how excited they were to change the world.
Finding the vigil was easy. Signs pointed Kit towards an array of tents set up on the grassy quad. He joined the flow of people heading in that direction, unsure whether there were more or fewer attendees than he expected. Hundreds, probably, but spread out on the lawn, they didn’t seem that numerous.
The candlelight part wouldn’t happen until sundown. For now, people were still setting up speakers and microphones under one of the tents, and student government volunteers were setting out hundreds of electric candles at other tables.
Kit skimmed around the edge of the crowd, watching from afar as Bishop joined a group under one of the tents. Timothy’s parents, the ones who hired Bishop, came out to support Marco’s family. Kit met Bishop’s eyes, then began his mission: talk to any lonely student he could find.
Target number one was a young Asian woman with a pixie cut, fiddling with the charms on her phone. She stood at the edge of the crowd, looking lost enough that Kit was able to push past his nerves to stop next to her.
“Hey,” Kit said, just as awkwardly as he feared. He gestured to the big photo board of Marco in his lacrosse jersey. “Did you know him?”
Her face crumpled briefly. “He was in my astronomy class. I still can’t believe it.”
It was that easy, just like Bishop said.
When Kit had asked how he was supposed to get people to talk to him, Bishop had explained that people came to events like this because they didn’t want to grieve alone. Most of them wanted to talk, and the ones that didn’t want to talk would make that very clear. All Kit needed to do was start the conversation.
“What do I say if they ask who I am?” Kit had asked in the car. “Or if they want to know why I’m there?”
“What do you think you should say?” Bishop had asked in turn.
Kit had chewed his lip, thinking. “I’ll just say I’m here with a friend, but he’s talking to someone else right now.”
Bishop didn’t smile, but his approval was clear, addictive. “That’s perfect.”
Kit didn’t even have to give that flimsy explanation to Joyce from Marco’s astronomy class. She talked and talked, about where she was when she found out, about how strange class had been since then. About how sometimes she forgot Marco had been murdered, before she remembered. And she barely knew him, so how much worse must it be for…
Kit moved on with a mumbled, “I’m sorry for your loss,” when Joyce started to tear up.
Next, he talked to a guy who just showed up because he thought there would be free food. Then a guy from Marco’s lacrosse team. Then a girl who lived on the same floor as Marco freshman year but hadn’t spoken to him in months.
Easy. Just like Bishop said.
Then Kit spotted a familiar head of blond hair, tall across the crowd. His heart leapt, but Holden didn’t notice him at first. He was too busy talking to someone else—a girl in a pink vintage dress, dabbing her eyes with tissues.
Right. This was a memorial event for a murder victim. Being excited to see a guy he was… interested in… was probably inappropriate.
Also inappropriate: Kit’s pang of annoyance as the girl hugged Holden. And Kit’s relief when she left toward the main tents, still wiping her eyes.
Really, really inappropriate. Especially because Kit was still staring when Holden looked around and met his eyes.
