How could I have been thinking—how could I even consider?—
MyByron is waiting for me, searching for me… while I practically hooked up with someone who’s not really him.
Tears spring to my eyes so swiftly they’re already spilling out before I can blink them away.
Byron pulls back. “Elodie?”
The flash of horror that crosses his face is too much, too awful. Why can’t I just stay away from them?
I hurl myself toward the door and stumble down the hall, as if I can escape myself and what I’ve done. What I imagined doing.
The way to the exit is open now. I rush blindly down the hall.
The bright early afternoon sunlight outside stings my eyes. Every step sets my nerves wobbling.
Byron doesn’t have to worry about one thing—I’m never coming back here again.
Thirty-Four
Elodie
Iswap my attendant-ish shirt and vest for a more typical Other Elodie silk blouse and unfurl my hair in a stall of a fast-food restaurant bathroom. I’m glowering at my reddened eyes in the dingy mirror when my phone pings.
My first—stupid, aggravating—thought is that it’s Byron. Who as far as I know doesn’t even have my phone number in this reality.
Who I shouldn’t want to have any contact with again, because clearly I don’t know how to control myself around any of these men.
But of course it’s not him. Instead, another text pops up from the unlisted number I showed him less than an hour ago.
Next time I send the message with a knife instead of a text. You don’t know who you’re messing with.
A twinge radiates through the scars on my back. My pulse stutters with the memory of the blade driving into my flesh, the sharp stabs and the spreading ache.
No. That attack was made on a totally different Elodie three years ago. Whatever’s going on here, it can’t have anything to do with my near-death.
I can’t imagine how my double and I could have pissed off the same person to murderous intent.
Hugging myself, I lean against the cold tiled wall. My bewildered thoughts are punctuated by the steady dripping of the tap.
The message is true. Idon’tknow what I’m messing with. What could this unknown maniac be threatening me about now?
Is it because I went back to Beacon Prep? If so, why wait days before laying into me about it?
They can’t know that I was at The Eclipse today, can they? I’ve either been completely concealed or in disguise from the moment I left my house. I can’t come up with any reason for them to tie me to the club.
The only other thing I’ve done recently is my pawn-shop tour yesterday. Would that have set off my anonymous enemy for some reason?
A couple of snickering teenage girls push into the bathroom. I grit my teeth against my frustration and shove my phone into my purse.
There’s way too much I still don’t know. Why did Other Elodie have to be such a complicated mess?
As disastrously as my last venture into The Eclipse went, I do know a couple more things than I did before. Thank the Seven Gods of Fortune I managed to provoke a little useful conversation from Grady before Byron showed up.
Steering my mind away from all other thoughts of Byron—the hot pressure of his mouth seeping through the glove to theback of my hand, his fingers stroking over my breast—stop it, stop it, stop it—I slip out the back door of the restaurant and grab my phone again.
Groove Garden. Let’s see what that is.
Right away, a listing pops up for a local venue with that name. The brief description says it’s a dance club, which fits Grady’s comments.
