He seemed to want to say something but hesitated. A trail of ants marched just behind him, crawling up and under the lip of the doorframe. Max rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t spend so much time with her, Cel; she’s dangerous. And we’re not here to fix her. We’re here to figure out what happened so no one else gets hurt. We’re here for the students.”
“She is a student.”
He yanked off his hat, ran his fingers quickly through his hair. “Cel, for God’s sake. The truth is we’re speculating here—we don’t know what happened. We have no idea what happened to her, and no idea the residual Magic that could still be on her. We shouldn’t spend time with her unless absolutely necessary.”
“Right, got it. You’d rather she just died and became someone else’s problem. Not enough glory in actually helping her, huh?”
He rubbed his temples, his eyes a slate-gray. “That’s not what I said. Not to mention we’re supposed to be working together on this. That doesn’t work when you sneak off without me and question her. I know you have no issues with leaving me behind, but what if something happened to you in there?”
Ah. So that was what was actually bothering him.
“I know you’re used to me being at your beck and call. But this is too important.”
The back of my throat felt hot and dry, and I was tired, so tired, and everything rankled me all of sudden. It was perfectly fine for him to escape for hours on end to be with his girlfriend, but I couldn’t visit the person we were trying to save. I felt the same white-hot prickle of annoyance that was in his aura. It all swirled around and around until we were a mass of tangled threads, festering in each other’s irritation.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I never asked for you to be at my beck and call. But is it too much to ask that we conduct the investigation together. As a team?”
I scoffed. “When have we ever been a team? It’s always been the great Max Middlemore and whatever groupie tags along after him. Look, I’m sorry that my ambitions for my life weren’t to be your housewife, but you’re just going to have to get over it.”
He sucked on his teeth, an angry red flush creeping up his throat. “She’s not Aaron, Cella! Dani wasn’t bullied into killing someone.”
My chest went cold. He could’ve slapped me in the face and I wouldn’t have been more surprised. My tone turned icy. “No, he was just bullied into killing himself, but thanks for bringing that up. I love thinking about it. Great to be reminded that I wasn’t there for him.”
He ran his hands down his face. “Shit, Cel, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant—”
I only saw red. “I’m not going to abandon her just because you and everyone else here thinks she deserves to burn in Hell. I’ve felt like an outcast before, too. Hated by nearly everyone, including you.”
His mouth worked furiously to backpedal. “Now, hold on here. I have never hated you. Come on now, wait—”
I stormed off before I had to listen to any more.
I should’ve figured we couldn’t do this together, that we couldn’t work together for two freaking seconds without fighting. There was too much between us that had been built up and torn down again, and I was getting sick of thinking of it every time I looked at him.
Tomorrow, I would go back to the library, and I would stare at those damn books until I found out what had happened to her. I would search through every ounce of information they had on curses, on levitation, on hexes. Anything I could find—everything I could find.
But for now, I would sleep. And try not to imagine throwing a brick at Max’s face.
I got to my dorm and closed the front door of House Torlaine too loudly behind me, causing the hinges to rattle.
“Shhh,” came an angry voice from the front desk. My chest flared all over again.
Here I was, back at school, even though I was twenty-nine years old and long since graduated. I shut my own door with a snap and resolved to direct my fury toward helping Dani.
I was going to find out what was wrong with her, and Max or no Max, I’d damn well fix her, if it was the last thing I did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Iwoke to a pitch-black room. My phone screen read 2:55 a.m.
The hair on the back of my head was damp. My skin was covered in a sticky film from the heat. I rubbed my forehead and sat up.
What woke me?
Bear wasn’t at my feet. I squinted through the dark to the other edge of the room.
“Come here, boy,” I said to the dark thing in the corner. But Bear didn’t move, didn’t even grumble in annoyance. I flashed my phone at him.
Bright pupils stared back at me, strange and alien-like in the artificial light. He flicked his tail once, then turned his back to me.
