I couldn’t leave without having to run into them, and the bathroom was right there as well, so I couldn’t hide out either. And considering that my face was covered in tears, I suspected there was more mascara bleeding beneath my eyes than actually on my lashes. I probably looked like a raccoon or a watered-down clown. I backtracked through the corridor, thankful to find that the balcony overlooking the golf course was empty. My trembling legs barely managed to carry me outside.
“What do you want?”
Gripping the wall, I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the closed door to grant me what little privacy I could have in a place like this. I curled into myself, burying my head into my hands, crying harder than I’d allowed myself since the funeral.
What did I want?
I wanted to live in the old cramped two-bedroom apartment I grew up in. I wanted my dad to lose his position at the firm. I wanted him to go back working a nine-to-five job, when he didn’t have to write himself reminders to spend time with his family. I wanted to go back to a time before Mom confused having bragging rights over her friends for happiness. I wanted the Adam I used to know, the carefree boy who used to camp out with me in our tree fort all summer long. I wanted to go back to a time before death marred the sweetest kid I ever knew. I wanted to be ten years old again, when love didn’t come with conditions. But more than anything, I wanted to go back to a time before I inadvertently killed the nicest guy I’d met in this godforsaken town. Everything I wanted was what I could never have.
A strong vibration suddenly rippled up my arm, and I opened my eyes to see bright blue lights pouring out of Reese’s left sleeve. Another rune was glowing, this one a peculiar horn-shaped symbol.
“Ego sum hic ut accipere vos a haec miseriae.”
I snapped up to my feet, furiously wiping the tears from my blurred vision. That voice. It was nothing more than a whisper, but I knew it. I recognized that low, silky quality.
The figure from my dream…
I looked around, but it was clear that no one was there. I ripped open the balcony door to only find that the hallway, too, was empty.
Perfect.
Just what I needed, to be hearing voices.
Chapter 13
America’s Suitehearts
Reese shot me a text later in the evening, promising to contact me if he found anything in his father’s journals that could identify any of my runes or explain what was happening to me. Sadly, my hopes had fallen by the time I woke up the next morning without another word from him.
A pop quiz in French turned out to be the one bright spot of my day so far, which wasn’t saying much. The rumor mill was in full swing, and now I seriously wished I had Reese’s ability to turn invisible.
“Stalker alert.”
I jumped at the sound of Eric’s voice, inattentively unaware he’d even been behind me.
“What?”
“9 o’clock.” He nodded to our left where Reese was standing a good ten people ahead of us in the lunch line.
“He’s not even looking over here,” I pointed out, grabbing an empty tray.
Eric laughed, seemingly at my ignorance. “Blackburn’s been stealing glances at you all day. If he had laser vision, he would’ve burned a hole through you the moment you stepped through the front door.”
My heart did a traitorous summersault in my chest. Had he really been looking? Anytime I crossed paths with him today, his head was always down, either buried in a book or fiddling with his camera. Reese was wearing a black pinstriped blazer with large, intricately embroidered cross symbols on the sleeves that matched the color of the exposed red stitching on the lapels. He turned just the right way that I could read the front of his shirt. “Normal People Scare Me.”
I did my best to bury my smile as I turned back to Eric. “He’s not so bad.”
Eric’s eyebrows shot up so high, they disappeared beneath the shag of hair hanging over his forehead. “Please tell me you’re joking. Because if not, I’m gonna have to suspect that either you’ve been replaced by an alien pod person, or you’re just as crazy as Blackburn now.”
“Thanks.”
“And what’s with this?” Eric grabbed my free hand, looking at the fingerless gloves in amusement. “You start taking fashion advice from him, too?”
“No, I’m just cold,” I said, ripping my hand away. That was total bull.
Carly had already given me crap about my new accessories the moment she saw me in the parking lot this morning, since the only people who ever wore them around here apart from Reese were the handful of stoners who spent most of their days higher than kites. With my sparklingly new—and totally unwanted—sleeve of tattoos, I didn’t have much say in the matter. Even though my long-sleeved shirt covered my arm, the cuffs still didn’t come far enough down to hide the inky designs stamped on my hand. Having spent all day yesterday trying to hide my hand in my pocket wasn’t what you’d call fun. So I stopped by Target on my way to school to pick up a cheap pair of knitted gloves, cutting off the tops of the fingers with the Swiss Army knife I had buried in my glove box.