But the scent of him—of roses but heavier, of rain but lighter—was what shook me to my very core when I breathed.
Because I’d smelled that scent before—butI hadn’t.
Because I remembered that scent invading my nostrils, and the feeling that came with it—home.
The maid pulled me back once more.
The boy’s lips parted like he wanted to say something. The man standing beside him tried to pull him back, too, but couldn’t even budge the boy—he was big, shoulders wide, at least six foot three.
And those curls.
And those eyes.
But…that scent.
“Keep moving, everyone. Keep moving!”
I turned and followed the maid through the doors, trying but failing to make sense of my own mind.
3
Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock…
Both clocks in the room moved backward. I looked around, resisting the urge to rub away the goose bumps that had risen on my forearms. The air was fresh in here. The lamps on. The bed made. The room fancier than anything I’d ever set eyes on before.
“Is this…was this my room?” I asked, not expecting the woman who’d brought me here to even answer.
She did.
“It must be—this was where I was told to bring you. Though I imagine you changed it at least once.” She pointed a thumb back.
The hallway of our dormitory was wide and well lit, and it had six doors on either side. The other Hands were by them, too, the girls with their maids, the boys with their butlers—except the room two doors down from mine. It remained closed, the space in front of it empty.
“I did?” I scanned the others quickly—the boy with the curly hair was across the hallway, all the way to the last door.One look back, right at me, and he disappeared inside, and closed the door before the butler could follow.
“Why, yes. You know what it’s like living with Clubs,” said the maid.
“I don’t.” I’d never lived with anyone from the Court of Clubs before. I didn’t think I’d ever met one, either.
Laughter, sharp and precise.Fake.
The woman said, “Oh, bless your heart. Come, come, inside with you.” She pushed me over the threshold and tried to close the door, but I grabbed the handle on the other side and stopped her.
“Wait,” I said.
“Oh, but it’s not a big deal, Miss Reese.” Her cheeks were flushed bright scarlet. “Theyhaveto be on the move. It’s why I assumed—onlyassumed.Theyhaveto switch rooms every few days. It’s what I was told.”
But I didn’t understand. “Who?”
“The Clubs!” she cried out, and she looked more and more uncomfortable by the second. “The…the Clubs have to be on the move. That’s why I assumed you’d changed your room before—it’s no big deal, really.” Except she was making it look like it was. “Now, get inside, lay on that bed, andsleep!”
She pulled the door closed so hard the handle slipped from my fingers.
Then I was alone.
A sense of dread clashed with a strange familiarity as I moved deeper into the room and took note of what was around me. A vanity table without a mirror, just a big drawer underneath. A coffee table with two dark blue armchairs at the sides. A nightgown in charcoal black that my mother had gifted me for Neverwhen was folded at the edge of the bed—and again, it felt like the sight of it should have broken me down, but it somehow didn’t. It was just a nightgown.
A sketchbook with a black leather cover was on the bedside table, one I bought myself with money I earned from my father’s woodshop. The pencil that came with it was there, too, now no longer than my middle finger, used, when I’djustbought it.
