Shades of Darkness (30 page)

“Go for it,” she whispered. “Before he's gone.”

She sniffed as tears filled her eyes. I knew she saw Jane every time she blinked. I stood and walked over to wrap her in a hug, and she cried in my arms for a few minutes. Then, with the sniff and shiver of an actress putting on a mask, she collected her things and led us out of the cafeteria toward Jonathan's class.

•  •  •

I spent all of Folklore thinking of Jane. It was impossible to think of anything else with Jonathan talking about the Vikings invoking their gods for battle or Egyptians calling down their deities for fertile harvests. So much of humanity's past involved conspiring with the gods. When had we lost that thread?

I barely even registered when class ended.

“Doing okay, Kaira?” Jonathan asked. He stepped over to my desk while the rest of the class filtered out.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“You sure? You seemed pretty out of it all of class.” He gave me a grin. “I'm not that boring, am I?”

I tried to laugh and failed, fumbling with my notebook in the process. It fell in a flurry of papers. He reached down and picked it up for me, his eyebrows furrowing.

Shit.

It was open to the page I'd scribbled in my dreams.

“What's this?” he asked.

I snatched it from his hand and flipped it closed.

“Brain dump,” I said.

“That looked like Jane,” he replied. “Are you
sure
you're okay?”

I wondered then if he had seen the crime scene as well. Helen would have called him, would have wanted support. If he drew any correlation between my sketch and the scene though, he didn't admit it.

“Fine. I mean, as good as I can be.”

He nodded, not breaking his gaze.

“I was kind of disappointed you weren't at the tutorial yesterday,” he finally said.

“Sorry,” I said, but I wasn't really. I had too much on my plate to feel guilt over missing a study hall.

“It's okay,” he said. “I understand you're busy. But I do wish you'd drop by.” He looked to the notebook in my hand. “I think it would be good for you. What we're studying. The support of your peers. I think you might find it helpful in navigating life right now.”

I shrugged. The room felt heavy and close, way too close, and I wanted to get out of there immediately.

“Maybe next week,” I said.

“Actually, we're having another meeting tonight. Yesterday wasn't a good day for anyone, so I figured I'd reschedule. We'll be meeting after dinner.”

“I . . .”

“I hope to see you there,” he said. He gave me a knowing look. “I've been talking to a few members of the arts faculty, and there's been some dissent over your thesis. I thought it might be smart to prepare you for their critique tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.
I closed my eyes and tried to keep myself from freaking out. My critique was tomorrow. How the
hell
had I forgotten that?

If the professors already hated it, tomorrow was going to be a bitch. Why did I even care? With everything else going on, I might not even
make
it to the critique.

“Yeah, sure. I'll try to be there.”

“I'd like you to do a little better than
try
, Kaira. I know there's a lot going on, but this is the culmination of your career here. I want to make sure you're able to defend yourself properly tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I said, because there didn't seem to be much else to say. “Anyway, I guess I'll see you later on tonight.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said. I turned to leave. “And Kaira?”

His words froze me. I knew that tone—it was like every cliffhanger in every drama ever. He was about to drop a bomb.

“Yes?”

“Be careful who you show that to. They're still not sure what happened to Jane, and I'd hate for you to get involved in this mess.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

It wasn't until I was halfway down the hall that I realized what he'd been implying. He must have seen inside the studio. He knew I'd drawn her exactly as she'd been found. And I had a terrible feeling he knew what it entailed.

•  •  •

“Kaira!”

Chris's voice cut across the commons. I paused outside my dorm and turned to see him jogging toward me. I'd spent the last hour and a half in the silversmithing studio for class, and my stomach was grumbling.

“What's up?” I asked, walking toward him to close the space between us. I was acutely aware of the way he smiled when he neared, but the smile slipped after a second.

“Not much.” Clearly a lie. “Are you busy?”

“Not really.” Another lie, because if I didn't eat soon I would become hangry, and that was not a place I wanted to be today.

“Cool. Wanna walk?”

“Sure.”

Without another word, he took my hand in his and started leading me toward the Writers' House. The fact that I didn't let go surprised me more than it should have.

After a few seconds of silence, he chuckled.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

He squeezed my hand. “This. You're not immediately telling me to back off.”

I sighed dramatically. “What can I say? You've tired me out. I've given in to your animal appeal.”

“Really?”

“Something like that,” I admitted. “What's up anyway?”

He bit his lip and tore his gaze away, looking out to the forest. Even though it was noon, the sky was heavy and gray, making dark shadows in the undergrowth.

“I wanted to talk . . . about last night.”

Of course.
My stomach plunged to my feet.

“What about it?”

He sighed, squeezed my hand again.
Stop enjoying that sensation.

“It . . . it looked familiar.”

He was too busy staring at the trees to notice the terrified look I shot at him. I had to carefully compose my face and voice before answering.

“What do you mean, ‘looked familiar'?”

He shook his head like he was fighting off some inner monologue—a tick I knew all too well—and glanced at me.

“I mean, it's come up before. After my sister died.” He sighed and tilted his head back to the clouds and stared up like he wanted to scream or wake from a nightmare. “I can't even believe I'm telling you this. You'll think I'm crazy.”

“Doubtful.”

“Promise?”

“Mostly.”

He laughed without humor and looked everywhere but me. A clear sign this was killing him.

“After she died . . . I started having these nightmares. They were pretty much all the same, but I could never remember them entirely. The one thing I did remember was finding her in the sand, just after the tide. It was so. Fucking. Vivid. Her lying there with her hair in a halo and starfish and clams twined about her like constellations. It sounds beautiful when I say it like that but it was horrifying. Her face was so white, her lips so pale, staring up at the sky with pearls for eyes. And around her was this circle drawn in the sand, and no matter how many waves lapped against her, the circle stayed.

“The psychiatrists said it was just stress imagery. My subconscious' way of finding resolution or some bullshit like that. That's why I never told them about the rest.”

“The rest?” I asked. I hadn't realized we'd stopped walking until then. He stood before me, still looking at the woods, both of my hands somehow now in his and the silence around us deeper than a tomb.

“I haven't told anyone. How could I tell anyone? But this is all so insane. . . .” He looked at me. Tears welled and froze at the corners of his eyes. “The week before we went to the beach I was playing in the front yard. Just kicking the ball around. The ball flew out into the street and I ran after it because I was young and stupid and didn't see the car. It didn't see me either.”

He shuddered.

“I remember how it felt. When it hit me. It was like falling in a dream, that thud when you hit the bottom and then wake up. It struck me head-on. I felt the impact. And there was a shock, like I was hit with a lightning bolt, and then I was standing on the street like nothing had happened. The car didn't even stop. Like it never happened. But I know it did. I
felt
it.” He pressed our hands to his heart. “I felt my chest explode from impact. And then I was fine.”

A tear fell down his cheek. I half expected it to turn into a snowflake as it caught in the stubble on his chin.

“I thought I'd made it up. Daydreams or something. Nearly forgot about it after my sister died. Until the nightmares. Every time. Every single fucking time, right before I woke up, I heard a voice.
Your debt has nearly been paid
it said. And I knew she died because of me. My sister died because I was supposed to live. And now it's happening again.”

We stared at each other for a moment, letting the weight of his statement sink in. When he broke his gaze, the moment snapped, shattering to the ground like ice.

“What the hell is going on?” he whispered.

“I don't know,” I lied.

“Am I insane?”

“No.” I let go of his hand and rested my palm on his shoulder. He stiffened under the touch, then nuzzled my hand with his chin. It sent sparks racing across my skin, but now was definitely not the time for romance.
Do I tell him? Do I tell him the truth about Brad?

He sighed and looked at me. “I can't believe I'm telling you this. I barely know you and now you're going to think I'm crazy.”

“I don't think you're crazy,” I replied. “Actually . . . that actually makes you sound more sane.”

“Impossible.”

I didn't want to go there. There was no way in hell I wanted to tell him about Brad and what happened after. But as we stood there in the snow, I felt like my life was at a terrible crossroads. I'd been doing all I could to avoid the gods ever since they gave me life in exchange for Brad's. I thought I was an anomaly, some sort of freak. But here was Chris, standing before me looking naked and vulnerable, and I knew I couldn't pass this off. Rule number one: Never ignore an omen.

“Do you mind if we keep walking?” I asked. He nodded.

I don't know why I took his hand then. It felt fitting, a motion of solidarity rather than romance. There weren't any sparks when our palms touched, and if he was taken aback by my sudden advance he didn't show it. I think he felt it too, the importance of this. The strangeness. Whatever we were, we weren't just two stupid teenagers fighting off a crush.

Guess it was time to figure out what that “something else” was.

“Remember when I told you I couldn't date?” I asked. He nodded. “Well, I think it's time you heard the full story.”

•  •  •

We made it down to the lake before stopping and staring out at the frozen expanse while I finished my story. I'd never told anyone about the suicide or the girl or Munin. Not even my mom. And yet the words came out easily around Chris. Not because I was exceptionally comfortable around him, but because, somehow, he'd experienced the same thing.

“What the hell is this debt?” he muttered when I finished.

“A life for a life,” I replied. “We were spared, so someone had to go in our place.”

“At least you got to choose yours.”

My anger was harsh and instantaneous, a flare I'd been holding back for years.

“Don't you dare,” I hissed. “I didn't want him to die. Not really. I was hurt and scared and stupid. Don't you ever,
ever
accuse me of that.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just . . .” But before he could put his foot in his mouth again, he shook his head and whispered. “Never mind. I'm sorry. But whatever's going on, we have to stop it.” He laughed. “This sounds so insane, you know that, right? We're talking about gods here. Like, real-life mythical figures with magical powers meddling in human affairs. Killing people. It doesn't make sense.”