Shades of Darkness (32 page)

“But what if I'm not?”

“Ethan,” I said levelly, “you're going to be fine. I promise. You're going to graduate with flying colors and get into college with Oliver and me and we're going to grow old and get a mansion with separate wings and die in our rocking chairs, just like we planned.”

He chuckled silently. “I don't remember planning any of that.”

“I took liberties.”

As always, comforting him was easier than comforting myself. Especially because I knew I was lying through my teeth.

“It's always before a thesis,” he said. He leaned back from my hug and looked at me with reddened eyes. “The deaths. Always the night a thesis goes up. And mine goes up next week.”

“You're not going to die.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do,” I said. “You're not allowed to die. I won't let you.”

He took a breath to compose himself and looked back to his painting.

“You make it sound like you have some sort of sway with the reaper there.”

I looked out the window, to where more crows were gathering.

“Maybe I do,” I muttered.

•  •  •

Ethan and the rest were going off campus to grab food before the movie, which meant I was left to my own devices after our time in the studio together. I'd finished most of the still life, but really, what did it matter anymore? Hell, I couldn't even be too worried about my thesis response tomorrow. It seemed like every moment that passed, my chances of making it through Islington grew smaller. I couldn't even say I was freaking out about it—it seemed inevitable, and I felt resigned. After all, I'd been living on borrowed time. At least this way, hopefully, I could make my life mean something.

I sat at dinner on my own, in a far corner of the cafeteria, vainly picking at my salad (Chinese night again, which pretty much meant everything was inedible) and staring out the window. The sky was already black as night, lit by a few lamps in the distance. It felt like the first night in ages where it wasn't snowing, yet the lights were constantly twinkling and shifting, thanks to the crows that darted in and out of the shadows. It made my appetite dwindle even more effectively than the scent of bad stir-fry and moist eggrolls.

What was weird was the dichotomy of it all. The cafeteria was warm and muggy and homey. It should have been welcoming. The occasional laughter and constant drone of conversation should have made me feel like I was part of something. I was an artist at Islington Arts Academy. I was on the road to self-discovery, to becoming a better artist. But as I sat there by the windows, watching the crows, I realized I was none of that. I wasn't a normal teenager. I wasn't even an abnormal teenage artist. I was something else entirely, and I couldn't fit in here if I tried.

It reminded me way too much of how I'd felt back at home, even before Brad entered my life—the days sitting in the lunchroom on my own, the nights doing homework in silence. My heart twisted like a rusted cog, shredding my lungs and making it hard to breathe. Maybe I hadn't escaped my past after all. Maybe I hadn't changed. Maybe I was still the loner girl who couldn't really fit in.

I shook my head and forced myself to standing. I was just tired. Stressed. And it had been a long, long time since I'd had a meal without Ethan or Oliver to keep me company.

Another twist in my chest. If Ethan was hurt next . . .

I quickly bused my tray and hurried out into the cold before the warmth could suffocate me.

Jonathan's tutorial was meeting after dinner, I knew that much. But I didn't head toward the academics concourse right away. I couldn't get the image of Ethan sprawled in a circle from my head. I turned instead and walked down toward the lake, following the snow-dusted, lamplit trail through the woods. No one was out here. The trees rose silent and white all around me, boughs heavy with snow and silent crows. Chills raced up and down my arms as I crept deeper and deeper into the woods, trying to keep to the path and feeling with every step like I was about to fall into a horror movie. One where the girl gets her eyes gouged out by crows and then haunts the woods for eternity.

I didn't stop walking until I neared the lake. A few evening fishermen were out there, their huts glowing like yurts in a snow-swept mountain pass, all of them completely oblivious to the darkness gathering around them. It should have felt like I wasn't alone, like there were still people out there living normal lives, people I could connect with or emulate. But here, on the shore, I
was
alone. Alone, save for the crows.

But they were the ones I was out here to find.

“Okay,” I whispered, my breath clouding before me, “I want to talk.”

In response, a single raven flew down from the branches behind me, landing in the snow five feet away. It peered up with blank onyx eyes. Not Munin, then. But I knew he could still hear me.

“I want you to keep Ethan safe,” I said. “From whatever's happening. He seems to think he's going to die next and I won't let that happen.”

The bird cocked its head, but that was it.

“This is crazy.” I shook my head and looked around, positive there would be some kid out here watching and laughing. No one was out, however. Just me and the birds. “I don't even know why I'm out here.”

What will you bargain with?

The voice came from nowhere, deep and resonant and vibrating against my bones. Munin. Suddenly, this stopped feeling like a stupid fantasy or delusion. This was real. And this was life and death.

“I'm not bargaining with you,” I said. “You want me alive. I want Ethan alive. I think you can fill in the blanks.”

It is not in my realm to save him,
the raven said.

“You're a god,” I hissed. “Or something close to it. You can keep him safe.”

You can keep him safe. Not I.

“How? This doesn't have anything to do with me—I never summoned you; you came to me. I can't prevent you—”

You were different.

His words stopped my tirade in its tracks.

“What do you mean, I was different?”

You we came to by choice. These are not interventions. These are sacrifices.

My blood went cold as the bird stared up at me, motionless.

“Sacrifices? But who would do that? Why?”

To bring the end,
Munin said.

Then he flew off. Behind me, the trees erupted in caws and spiraling birds.

•  •  •

I didn't stay by the shore. The moment the bird flew off, I jogged back up the slick path toward the academics concourse, crows swarming around me like angry bees from a hive. They cawed and circled and swept past me in a fury of shadow and talon, grazing my skin but never actually touching. Their screams were terrifying.

As was the complete silence that followed the moment I left the forest.

I paused on the path just outside the woods and looked back. No crows thrashing in the trees, no flurry of feathers. Just silent white pines and the empty shadows waiting within.

“What the fuck?” I whispered to no one.

Maybe I
was
going crazy. Maybe that would be for the best.

I headed straight to Jonathan's classroom. The silence was almost suffocating. Why wasn't anyone out here having snowball fights or singing show tunes? Why did tonight of all nights feel like I lived in a mausoleum?

My stomach was in knots when I knocked on the classroom door.

“Kaira,” Jonathan said when he opened the door. He smiled.

“Hey, sorry I'm late. Got a bit distracted.”

“It's fine. You're right on time. Come on in, we were just about to get started.”

He held the door open for me and I stepped past him, taking in the room. My heart thudded in my ears, and if not for him standing behind me, I would have turned and left.

The desks were all pushed against the walls, and a few of my classmates—five in all—lounged against them. There was Tina, the silversmith girl who did all of the rings. And Kai, whose thesis completely blew the rest of his work out of the water.

And there, in the center of the room, was a black circle painted in ink.

“Excellent, friends,” Jonathan said behind me, the door audibly locking shut. “Now we can begin.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

Jonathan put a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the room. I was too shocked to put up a fight.

“This is our independent study,” he said calmly.

“But what—”

“I told you, this is where we explore the more arcane aspects of what I teach in class. It's one thing to read about communing with the gods. It's quite another to take part in the ancient practice.”

“It's you?” I asked. “You're the one killing people?”

Jonathan didn't speak, though. It was Tina who came forward. Tina, with her reddish-brown ringlets and smoky eye shadow and plethora of handmade jewelry.

“We're not killing anyone,” she said. “Those deaths were just suicides.”

And I knew, then, just from her voice, that she thought she was telling the truth. She hadn't seen the circle around Jane or Mandy. She had no idea there was a correlation with the black ring in the center of the room and the bodies that were beginning to litter this campus.

I looked to Jonathan, who raised an eyebrow very calmly and gestured for me to sit down. I didn't. I couldn't move.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Upholding tradition,” he replied. He nodded to the kids assembled. “Since the dawn of time, man has been intrinsically linked to his gods. As I've said in class over and over again, man viewed the gods as true entities, ones who could be entreated or invoked, feared or loved. Only in the last few centuries has that practice moved away from common thought. Now the gods of old are seen as myths, and the gods many worship today exist behind veils and walls of liturgical hierarchy. Here, in this room, we go back to the basics. We explore what it means to be truly human, and to truly connect with the divine.”

My stomach churned and it took all I had to keep standing and not just collapse to my knees.

He squeezed my shoulder. “I know what you think,” he said. “I know the correlation you're drawing—I saw your sketch, and I know you think what we're doing is a part of it. But I assure you, it's not. We are intent on not harming anyone. In fact, the main purpose of this group is to grow and flourish as artists.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The muses,” Tina said. She stepped closer to me. Was it my imagination that her eyes were wild, or did she truly seem a little touched? “Think about it. All the great artists made a huge deal about calling down the muses. I mean, look at Homer! He started his epics with an invocation.”

“So, what? You're calling down the muses to be better artists?”

“Exactly,” Tina said.

“That's . . .”

“Insane?” Jonathan asked. “Look a little deeper, Kaira. I think we both know it's far from insane. We've all seen your thesis—we know that you understand the truth. The arcane is everywhere, waiting to be invoked to further the progress of art. That's why I asked you to join us. You're already connected to that world—you already see the potential and inspiration within the occult.”

“But people are dying,” I began, but he cut me off.

“Suicides happen,” he said flatly. “They are tragedies, but they happen. What we do here has nothing to do with blood.”

“But Jane? And Mandy? Were they part of this?”

It was the first time Jonathan actually looked uncomfortable by my questions. He looked to the others.

“Just Mandy,” he replied after a moment. “But she was not a suitable vessel. She wasn't strong enough to withstand the powers of a god. But look around you. Look at the work your fellow students have achieved, without harm, without pain. You have that strength within you. If you opened yourself to the power, you could achieve anything.”