“Who said we’re friends?”
“I mean, you are wearing my clothes. I think that technically makes us more than friends.”
“Only because yourotherfriend left me naked and alone and stranded.” Oh. Well. She’s got a point. “If that’s the kind of company you keep, then I’m not the kind of friend you’re looking for.”
Abort. Pull up. “Did I say he was my friend? I barely know him. Seems like kind of a dick.” She shakes her head but I don’t miss the way her full lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
“Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to finally give you that tour I promised.” We crest the short hill on the way back to the main campus, ancient buildings illuminated by spotlights, trees swaying over lamp-lit paths. “That there is a big shiny rock,” I gesture to the Foundation Stone, the ominous black obelisk jutting out of the earth like a sentinel. “Down to the left there is the beach. We throw bonfires a few times a year. Next one is on Samhain—you should come. Witches get off on that shit. There’s also a masquerade ball, if that’s something you’re into.” That gets a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken for a laugh.
“You mean where everyone dresses up in fancy costumes and gets shitfaced?”
“Oh, so you’ve been to one before?”
“Can’t say that I have,” she scoffs.
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it, pretty girl. Ladieslovemen in masks.”
“Hard pass,” she deadpans.
“Alright then, whatareyou into?”
She dodges my question with a caustic tone. “I thought this was a tour, not twenty questions.”
“Believe it or not, I can multi-task. Ask anyone.”
“I’m sure everyone gives you rave reviews,” she retorts, but the implied rebuke of my reputation makes my stomach turn sour, and I clear my throat to get rid of the bile that threatens to rise. I’m Killian Hastings. There’s no reason I should feel guilty about enjoying myself. At least I’m not leaving behind a trail of bastards like my own piece of shit father.
This is hardly the time to think about that fucking asshole.
“You just say the word, pretty girl. Happy to give you a demonstration whenever you want,” I bite out through my discomfort.
“Hard pass,” she deadpans again, but her smirk cushions the blow. We arrive at the Student Union and pick up my order before continuing down the path to the dorms. With both my hands full of tequila and takeaway bags for the guys, she grabs the last two and brings one up to her face, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes in bliss as she lets out a groan.
“Well fuck me, if that’s all I have to do to hear you make that sound, I’ll buy you food every day.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” she shoots back with a glare. “I’m cold and hungry and it’s been a shitty day?—”
“Calm down, pretty girl. I may be a demon but I’m not amonster.” She looks surprised for a split second before letting out a genuine giggle, and my demon creeps from the depths of my mind to get closer.
“This is so fucked up,” she laughs, wiping a tear from her eye on my sweatshirt sleeve. I’m never going to wash it after this.
“I can talk to Luther, if you want—” but she waves her hand at me.
“Not that. Well, yes that, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, the whole ‘you’re a wizard, Harry’ thing? Yeah I bet it’s a mind fuck.”
“You haven’t made it any easier,” she accuses, eyes piercing me from beneath the hood of my sweatshirt as we arrive at the dorms.
“If you expect anyone to take it easy on you, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed. That’s just the way it is,” I shrug. I almost miss it when she mutters under her breath next.
“Should have chosen Edenwood.”
Wait. “What do you mean you should have chosen Edenwood?”
She bites her lip, clearly regretting letting that little tidbit slip. “Uh, yeah. Two women broke into my apartment and threatened to abduct me if I didn’t cooperate, but they were nice enough to let me pick between here and Edenwood.” She looks up at me when I don’t respond, whatever humor in her eyes vanishing in an instant. “What, that wasn’t in my file?” Before I can salvage that line of questioning, a grimy, nervous maintenance man approaches me with a key in his outstretched hand.
“Mr. Hastings.” He fidgets anxiously like he can’t decide whether to kneel or run away screaming, which—fair. We usually have that effect on people, especially Roth. “Here’s your key.”
