Balthazar (25 page)

Skye, who had already had enough of people at Darby Glen staring at her like she was some kind of freak, followed him into the room. Besides, it would feel good to unload on somebody. Anybody. The fact that it was Craig—faithless, cruel—was a bonus.

As soon as she shut the door, he said, “Where do you get off attacking my girlfriend?”

“It was an accident, Craig. I wasn't looking where I was going. Is that a crime?”

“An accident. Right. You
hate
Britnee. You laugh every time that bitch Madison Findley jokes about Britnee being ‘fat' or ‘stupid' or any other insult she can throw at her.”

Which—was true. And not exactly cool of her to do, even if Madison was only making those jokes to cheer Skye up. “Don't call Madison a bitch. She's my friend.”

“If that's the kind of person you want to hang around with, fine. You've changed, Skye. I used to think we could be friends again someday, but there's nothing in you but hate.”

“If I hate you, don't I have a reason?” Skye's voice was getting louder. She tried to keep her voice down, so that the entirety of Mrs. McCauley's Algebra II class next door wouldn't hear every word. “You slept with me and then you dumped me.”

“Months after that!”

“How could you do any of that to me after Dakota died?”

Her words were shrill even to her ears. The anger drained out of Craig in an instant. Wearily he leaned against the drafting table, bowing over as if from the weight of it all. “Skye, don't you get it?” he said. “If Dakota hadn't—I was going to break up with you at the start of the summer. Face-to-face, like I know I should've. But after he died, I couldn't.”

“What?” She'd never dreamed that was possible. Craig had been there for her every second of that time, and she'd been too lost in her own grief to notice that his thoughts might have been far away, too. “But—why?”

“There wasn't any reason why. We'd been at different schools for two years. You came home talking about all these people I didn't know and events I hadn't been to, and when I talked about being here, it bored you, too, and—we were just growing apart. It happens. I knew I cared about Britnee, but I never asked her out—never even touched her—and finally it got to the point where I had to break up with you or turn into a cheater. I don't cheat. I was honest with you. So why do I have to be the bad guy?”

Skye's anger returned. “Well, now because you slept with me knowing you were going to dump me.”

Craig ran his hand over his stubble-short hair. “I shouldn't have. I know that. But—it was your idea, remember?”

It had been. She'd felt so empty, so alone, after Dakota's death. Craig had been her lifeline and her comfort that summer, and she'd thought—maybe if they took that final step, she'd finally feel alive again. Feel
anything
again. But she'd never dreamed that it wasn't something Craig wanted, too.

“My idea.” Her eyes were welling with tears now. “Well, thanks for humoring me.”

“That's not—oh, crap. I know it was a mistake, all right? I know. But I was mixed-up, and I thought maybe it would change things for us. That was stupid. I'm sorry.” Craig's voice wavered a little; this had upset him as badly as it had her. What right did he have to be so hurt?

And yet, the part of her that remembered being in love with him hated to hear him so broken up. That flicker of feeling—no longer love, but still powerful, still real—upset her as much as anything else she'd been through that day. She didn't hate him, not down deep, and she wanted to, just because hate was easier. Simpler. Knowing that about herself was hard.

“You shouldn't have done it,” she repeated, but quietly this time. “You should've told me the truth.”

“I couldn't leave you after Dakota.” While she was dating him, Craig and Dakota had become friends. They used to shoot hoops out in the driveway of the old house. How had she forgotten that?

“All you did was put the pain off until later.” Skye wiped at her eyes. “It didn't hurt any less.”

Craig looked as guilty as she wanted him to feel. She'd always thought it would help to see him feeling like the scum of the earth. It didn't.

He said only, “If I had it to do over, I'd do it differently.”

“Whatever. Let's just drop it, okay? And for the record, knocking Britnee over really was an accident. I didn't see her. Tell her—tell her I'm sorry.” Skye pulled herself together and hurried out, hoping none of the hall monitors would see her.

When she got to Mr. Bollinger's room, he was busily leafing through sheet music. “There you are! And here I thought you must have called in sick today.” His voice trailed off as he saw her face. “Uh-oh. What's the matter?”

Skye tried to turn it into a joke. “Boys are stupid.”

“Don't I know it.” Mr. Bollinger sighed. “Sit down and take a load off.”

Instead of making her work through the period, he set up the A/V screener and let her watch thirty minutes of
Singin' in the Rain,
which as far as she was concerned made him the best teacher ever.

So, ur just ditching study hall?

It's not ditching
, Skye typed as she elbowed her locker shut for the day.
If ur a senior, u can sign out up to 2x a week. This is the 1st time I've ever signed out. Y not?

Clem replied:
B/c vampires r trying to KILL U and staying close to ur bodyguard might be a good idea!

Redgrave's not going to kill me anytime soon. He could've done that yesterday if he wanted to. He didn't
.

Other vampires tried to kill u too. Maybe they got the smack-down, but doesn't mean they won't try again
.

Clementine had a point.
I just can't be around Balthazar right now
.

I get that. But u have to b careful
.

She walked through the front doors of the school, where it was still snowing thick and heavy, with big, fat flakes blanketing down so abundantly that the whole world got fuzzy about two hundred yards in the distance. The snowfall hadn't stopped since last night; the drifts were at least seven inches deep by now. This softening of the world—the muffling of sound, the dimming of light—helped soothe her overwrought senses. This was just what she needed: deep, endless snow.

After rewrapping her muffler around her neck, she sent back,
I'll go to Café Keats. I'll even take the shortcut nobody uses. Madison can meet me there after school
. It was weird that Madison hadn't wanted to sign out with her, and Skye would have appreciated the company, but if somebody wanted to actually study in study hall, so be it.
Even vampires won't be out in the middle of this
.

I guess
, Clem replied.
But txt me when u get there. Besides, we have to talk more about ur date to the dance!

Skye sighed. Keith had asked her at lunch period, so offhandedly that he either didn't care if she said yes or not, or wanted her to think he didn't. It was a huge turnoff, but since the alternative now seemed to be sitting at home and crying about Balthazar, she'd said yes.
Sure thing. Next text within 10 minutes, I swear
.

Tromping through the drifts was vaguely satisfying; the cornstarch crunch of her boots in the snow was virtually the only sound she could hear, and even her enhanced senses didn't overreact to that. Skye curved around the school grounds, grateful that the staff had thoroughly salted the paved path and steps. All she had to do was cut through Battlefield Gorge, and she'd be at Café Keats within seconds. The only reason she couldn't already see it was the blinding snow—

He's scared, he doesn't know what to do, war isn't like this in the books or the prints Mama showed him. There are no straight lines, there is no one telling him what to do. There are only men running at him to kill him, and he has to kill them or else. Why did no one tell him how sad he would feel to kill someone?

Damned musket! The whoreson thing won't reload and the damned frogs are on him now!

The bullet through his head feels like a blow—like his mother boxing his ears—but he doesn't die right away. He has time to put one hand to the side of his head, or where the side of his head used to be, before the real pain begins and turns the world black
.

Skye staggered back, assaulted on every side by the visions of soldiers (in red coats, in blue, some Native Americans in homespun) shooting, being shot, knifing, being knifed, screaming in pain that shot through her in waves.

Battlefield Gorge
, she thought. She'd known it her whole life and never thought about it twice. Never once had she wondered how it got that name.

The paths of the bullets through her body were bright, hot lines of pain. The terror and fury and agony of the dying rose up inside her, a thousand times worse than anything else her powers had ever shown her.

Skye couldn't see, couldn't think. She was neither conscious nor unconscious; her mind no longer belonged to her. She didn't even have the strength to keep herself from toppling over into the thick snow. The flakes fell faster, it seemed, the better to cover her forever.

“YOU OWE ME ONE FOR THIS, MISTER,” RICK BOLlINGER said as he took over study hall from Balthazar.

“Name your price.” Balthazar kept a smile on his face, but all he could think of was how badly he needed to get out of this school now, right now.

“How about, oh—hmmm—chaperoning the Valentine's Dance?” Rick suggested, mock innocently.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“That's me. The consigliere of Darby Glen High.”

“Fine. I'll do it. Thanks again.” Balthazar managed to leave the library and let the door shut behind him before he broke into a run.

The shortcut, the shortcut
—that had to be the gorge. None of the kids went that way because it wasn't cool or something like that. That meant nobody would be there to help Skye, as if they even could. It was up to him.

He didn't even tug on his coat until he had dashed halfway down the walk leading to the gorge. The cold didn't matter; he didn't care if he froze. But he needed his hands free to fight for her.

As he stood at the edge of the gorge, though, he realized that no other vampires were near; he hadn't felt them. Then his sharp eyes picked out a patch of color amid the nearby snowdrifts—the sapphire blue of Skye's winter coat.

Balthazar ran toward her, the scene unveiling slowly before him because of the snow: Skye lay unconscious (
not dead, please not dead
) just off the path in the hollow of the gorge. He saw no blood, nor any sign of a struggle. It was as if she'd simply fallen over—fainted dead away.

Someone must have died nearby, and died horribly enough for it to have overwhelmed her. Balthazar reached her, went on his knees, felt for her pulse at her throat. Skye was alive.

Relief washed over him, not enough to submerge his fear but enough to focus him again on action. Balthazar swept her up in his arms and ran with all his speed toward his car. He needed to keep her with him. To keep her safe.

Skye remained unconscious the whole way back, even after Balthazar had placed her on his bed and started the fire, but her breathing was deeper and more even. He thought now she was more asleep than knocked out, and that her body probably needed the rest.

After shaking off his snow-wet coat, Balthazar reclaimed his phone and called the person who had warned him that Skye was in danger.

“Balthazar?” Lucas sounded tense. “Did you find Skye?”

“Found her. She hadn't been attacked; it was another of her visions, I think. Skye's still unconscious, but I think she'll be all right after she warms up and rests a little.” Balthazar breathed out heavily. The need to sigh didn't go away with the need to breathe.

“You sound shaken up. Sure everything's okay?”

“I'm not sure of anything. But—she took a risk today. Because of me, I think. If she'd gotten hurt today, or if she'd—if anything worse had happened, it would be my fault.”

“Mea maxima culpa, huh?”

Balthazar frowned. “Since when do you speak Latin?”

“I did go to Evernight for a while, remember?” Now Lucas sounded more amused than anything else. “It's just interesting how much you're beating yourself up about this.”

“I told you. It's my fault.” He looked at Skye as he spoke, thin and pale on his bed, the firelight burnishing her dark brown hair.

“You seem worried about her. Real worried. Deeply concerned. Are things getting interesting for you two?” Lucas was downright smug by now. “If you keep it up, my girlfriend's gonna get jealous.”

“I don't get involved with humans,” Balthazar said.

“You sound pretty involved to me,” Lucas replied. “And why no humans? What's wrong with us? On behalf of my species, I object.”

“It doesn't end well.” He remembered Jane lying on the floor of his parents' barn, a broken shell of the girl he had too briefly loved. “For a mortal, being with someone supernatural is dangerous. You ought to know.”