by Sarah Kuhn
“Because you would fight me so hard on every little thing!” I exclaimed. “You thought all my analysis was garbage, surface, facile—and our encounter in class yesterday didn’t exactly convince me that your views have changed.”
“I pushed you because you were brilliant—you still are,” Richard said. “I thought you had the potential to be one of the leading lights in academia, and I wanted you to get there—to greatness.”
“Well . . . thanks,” I said, turning back to the book. I honestly had no idea what to do with that. My brain was humming away, trying to process. Every day at grad school had been such a battle; in the end, I had been unconvinced I was ever going to win. But Richard seemed to think I could have.
Or he was just saying that because he wanted something from me.
“Wait, there’s something,” Richard said, waving his phone at the book. “A mention of cocktails. You said we were looking for a bartender, yes?”
I homed in on the scribbles at the top of the page.
Here are some of the words I swear I overheard her say as she brewed her concoctions: “I will get her to tell the truth, I know she feels the same way. Maybe a new cocktail will make her feel inclined to do so? I’ve been experimenting with bitters lately . . . and bitter is how I’m going to feel if she doesn’t confess . . .”
I frowned, re-reading that last section. A girl obsessed with the unvarnished truth, talking about making people drinks . . .
This was sounding all too familiar. I turned the page, eager for more—and was met with a section of jagged bits of paper where a whole chunk of the book had been ripped out.
“What the hell?” I murmured, running my fingertips along the rough edges of the torn pages.
I leaned in to get a closer look.
And then everything went black.
“Oh, blast!” Richard exclaimed, just as his phone flashlight went dark. “My apologies,” he grumbled. “My battery just died.”
“Let me . . .” I fumbled around in my jacket pocket, trying to find my phone. Then realized I’d left it back in my and Aveda’s room. “I guess I can take this book back to my room, right? Given the cobwebby state of this part of the Quiet Room, I don’t think anyone will miss it.”
I tucked the book under my arm and got to my feet. The room was really pitch-black now, and I couldn’t see anything. A wave of vertigo swept over me, and I got that pre-barf feeling I’d grown all too accustomed to over the past couple months.
“Evelyn?” I heard a rustle of movement as Richard stood up and reached over to cup my elbow, steadying me.
My mouth suddenly felt dry and the nausea was sweeping over me in queasy waves—like if I moved even a millimeter, I’d definitely throw up on all of these books. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself. I didn’t want to vomit in the Quiet Room, but I also didn’t want to vomit on Richard, who would most definitely never let me forget it.
“Are you all right?” Richard said, gently turning me to face him.
I stared into the darkness, trying to make out his features. His voice sounded genuinely concerned, free of its usual pompous cadence. In spite of myself, I leaned into his touch, his hands resting on my shoulders . . . and tears sprang to my eyes. What the fuck. Were my hormones really that hard up?
But . . . no. It was the uncharacteristic kindness, the tenderness in his voice that was bringing out the tears. It made me realize just how deeply, how fully I missed that in Nate.
I missed him so fucking much . . .
“Evie?”
Before I could clock the fact that Aveda was calling to me from the doorway, light flooded the room, rendering everything way too bright. I shut my eyes instinctively, seeing nothing but spots cascading through darkness.
When I finally opened them, I nearly collapsed in shock. Aveda was standing by the entrance, her hand on the now-apparently-working light switch. And standing next to her was the last person I expected: Nate Jones. My big, beautiful husband, looking thoroughly out of place in the creepy, tweedy environs of a probably haunted women’s college.
“Nate,” I began—then realized he had a full-on glower going and it was firmly trained on something directly to my left. Or someone.
And then I realized that Richard’s hands were still on my shoulders, holding me steady and giving the impression that we were about to engage in some kind of romantic clinch.
“Why, Evelyn,” Richard said, his tone faux-jovial—and back to its usual pompous state. “Is this your beloved?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I TOOK A massive step away from Richard, putting as much distance between us as possible. His hands slipped off my shoulders and fell to his sides.
“Yes,” I said, trying to discreetly brush away the remaining tears in my eyes. If Aveda and Nate thought Richard had just made me cry . . . well, he would be a ghost, just as Aveda promised. “Richard, this is Nate, my husband.”
“Ah, the famous Nathaniel Jones,” he said, giving Nate a way too broad smile. “I’ve seen your photo in the paper, of course, when everyone was covering your blessed nuptials to this incredible woman.” He winked at me, which only made Nate’s glower intensify. “You’re a very lucky man.”
“I’m aware,” Nate muttered.
“I’d best be off,” Richard said, his expression overly bright, striding toward the door. Perhaps he realized he was on the verge of enraging a hulking mass of a man easily twice his size.
I saw Nate’s hands fisting at his sides and hastily crossed the room as Richard headed back down the stairs.
“Hey,” I said, touching his arm, trying to get him to turn his glower away from the stairwell. “What are you doing here?”
“Ooh, that is a story!” Aveda exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Come on, we’ll head back to our room, I’ll tell you all about it. And . . . did you find something?”
She gestured to the red book I was still clutching.
“Maybe,” I said. “But a bunch of pages are torn out, and . . . well. You’ll see.”
“Let’s go,” Nate said, still frowning at Richard’s departing back. His tone was unreadable and his face was a cold mask—I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Except that he maybe wanted to murder Richard.
Join the club.
We filed down the stairs and back to our room. Once we were inside, Aveda started chattering away, bursting to share what had happened.
“So I saw these movements in the foyer, like a shadow creeping around, and I thought it might be a ghost or a burglar or some other kind of evil.” Aveda grinned at Nate and me as she shut the door behind us, her eyes flashing with excitement. “I positioned myself behind a couch, ready to pounce. The shadow moved toward me and then I leapt out from behind the couch—”
“It was terrifying,” Nate interjected, his tone dry.
“—and then I realized mid-leap that it was Nate prowling around the dorm!” Aveda crowed. “He was the one making all that noise we heard! But I couldn’t exactly stop leaping, so I just kind of crashed into him and we ended up making a whole lot more noise. You must have heard us all the way up in the Quiet Room, Evie!”
“I didn’t,” I admitted.
“Oh.” Aveda’s smile dimmed a bit. She was in her most Theatrical Aveda Jupiter mode, digging into her tale with gusto. Obviously trying to soothe the tension. “Well. Anyway. Nate’s here!” She gestured to him in a “ta-da!” type of way. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, maybe see if there’s a gym around here. Or just run around campus. I really need to blow off some steam after all that late-night adventuring! Or . . . I know, I’ll check out that book you took from the Quiet Room!” She snagged the big red book from where I’d just dropped it on the nightstand. “Maybe I’ll do all of these things at once, even.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving nothing but awkward silence behind her.
“So,” I sai
d. I shucked off my big jacket and sat down on my bed, trying to think of what came after that. Nate’s impressive glower was still firmly in place. And while it wasn’t trained on me, exactly, I knew he was fixated on that image from the Quiet Room. Richard and me, locked in an almost-romantic clinch.
“Why are you here?” I finally said, looking up at him and trying to get him to meet my gaze.
“I was worried about you,” he said, his expression darkening further. “You left me that . . . rather alarming message. But when I tried to text and call, you never responded—”
“I did respond,” I protested. “I said I’d call you later.”
“Which you didn’t,” he said. “So I texted Aveda, who said you were fine.”
“I am.” I gestured to my obviously uninjured body. “See, everything’s all good, no need to worry. Why didn’t you believe Aveda?”
“Because you and Aveda always protect each other—which includes keeping each other’s secrets.”
He sat down on the bed next to me with a whump, frowning.
“True,” I said. “But I really am fine. We’ve just been busy—this mission has gone in all sorts of weird directions and last night was kind of out of control—”
“Out of control how?” he said, alarm registering in his eyes. “You promised you’d stay safe, take care of yourself—”
“And I am,” I said, trying to keep the snap out of my voice. “We went to this party, did karaoke, I had some non-alcoholic punch, which ended up containing some kind of supernatural truth serum—”
“What?!” he exploded. “From that cup you and Aveda sent over to be tested? And you didn’t think to tell me—”
“I’m sorry!” I yelped. “I just . . . look.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair and resisted the urge to scream. Frustration was bubbling through me like lava, thick and toxic. “I went to Doctor Goo as soon as I thought there was something wrong, and she assured me everything’s fine. She’s also doing further tests on my blood for supernatural components. And yes, I should have called you about that or tried harder to get ahold of you—I’m sorry. Aveda and I were running around all day trying to follow all these leads, and . . . and . . . I don’t know, Nate, we left things pretty badly last time you were here. We kind of weren’t talking, period. Things are just tense between us. And I hate that, but I can’t figure out how to fix it.”
I sat back against my pillow, slightly winded, my shoulders slumping. Despite getting all that out, I felt defeated. Because it was true. I didn’t know how to fix it. I had no idea.
He deflated then, his glower dissipating into something softer. He looked so lost. My heart clenched. There was that tenderness, the gentle heart he kept hidden away beneath so many layers of gruff.
He was hurting right now, and I didn’t know how to fix that, either.
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” he said slowly. “Every time I try lately, it seems to go wrong. I can’t find any of the right words to tell you . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“Tell me what?” I sat up and scooted closer to him, putting my hand on his arm. “Baby, what’s happening with you? Is this about Shasta again?”
“I . . . no.” He shook his head vehemently. “I haven’t heard anything more about Shasta being back. Perhaps it was a false alarm. Rumors coupled with my own overly anxious imagination.”
I squeezed his arm, encouraging him to keep going.
“I think after our last conversation, I realized that you’re not pulling away—I’m pushing you away,” he said. “I am being overprotective, I am smothering you. I know these things logically, but I can’t seem to stop. I can’t just stop worrying about you, Evie. And I’ve never been so worried for you in my life.”
He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders slumping further. I moved my hand to his back, stroking my palm over his shoulder blades. Trying to comfort him.
“I understand that,” I said softly. “I really do. Nate . . . I’m worried, too. I want this baby—I still know that, deep in my bones. But I’m also . . .” I took a deep breath, trying to put into words all the things I’d been scared to say to him. That feelings explosion Aveda had been talking about. “I’m terrified,” I finally managed, my voice very small. “I don’t know if I can do this. If I can handle everything. And now I’m also worried about all the students here. I’ve gotten to know some of them, and I’m scared about all the bad things that might happen to them. The college isn’t looking out for them at all. One’s hurt, one might be missing . . . I’m just scared all around. And I’ve been afraid to show you any of that, because I don’t want you to worry more. I hate that I’m causing . . . any of what you’re feeling. I hate it.” My voice broke on the last word and tears filled my eyes.
He looked up, his gaze intense. Now he wasn’t looking at me like a fragile specimen—he was really looking at me, his dark eyes piercing my soul.
“I miss you,” he said, his voice low and charged. And I knew he didn’t just mean for these past couple days.
My heart clenched again.
“I miss you too,” I said, brushing that wild lock of dark hair off his forehead. We were very close now and I had that feeling of being surrounded by him—his solidness, his intoxicating rainstorm scent. I felt a stab of longing low in my belly, so visceral it took my breath away.
So I closed the last few millimeters of space between us and kissed him. He groaned low in his throat—a sound that reverberated through my entire body, stoking my longing even more. I ran my greedy hands over his shoulders, thrilling at every hard ridge of muscle, everything I hadn’t been able to touch in what felt like forever. Then he pulled me into his lap, his arms going around me. Never breaking the kiss. His hands slid under my shirt, the heat of his palms against my bare skin making me shiver. I teased his lips open, stroking my tongue with his. I felt insatiable. The pregnancy hormones were turned all the way up again, and he hadn’t touched me this way in so fucking long and was this really finally happening—
“Wait!” I yelped, breaking the kiss.
“What?” He was breathing hard, his eyes wild. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to . . .”
“I do,” I hastily assured him. “Believe me, there is nothing in the whole entire world I want more. I, uh, just remembered something I need to do first. Wait here. Don’t move. Oh, and . . .” I searched his face. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re not worried about my blood pressure? Because as much as I want this—”
Shut up, my pregnancy hormones screamed at me. You’re ruining it!
“As much as I want this,” I repeated, shooing my hormones to the side, “I don’t want to worry you. I really, really don’t.”
He gave me a slight smile, looking like he was trying to focus on my words. But he was still breathing hard and his eyes kept drifting to my lips. “Doctor Goo said it’s all right, didn’t she?” he managed. “And I should trust her. I should trust you. I did not mean to make you feel as if you are incompetent in some way, or like you can’t handle your mission here. I am trying to work through my . . . issues.”
I jumped up and put my hands on my hips. “Then like I said: wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I marched into the tiny dorm room closet and rifled through various piles of clothes until I found what I was looking for—the boxes Aveda and I had shoved in here earlier.
The Sexy Superheroine costume was not easy to put on, but after much trial and error, I figured out what limb went where, what each hole was actually for. Thin ribbons went over my shoulders and held two minuscule scraps of red lace over my nipples. More ribbons were attached to those scraps, leading down to another bit of lace covering my crotch. Yet more ribbons laced across my torso and criss-crossed a few times, making me look like an enticingly wrapped birthday present. I removed the cape, which seemed like it was only going to get in the way. But I put on the t
iara and the thigh-high boots. Why not?
There was no mirror in the closet, so I wasn’t sure if the whole contraption actually looked “sexy.” But it definitely looked “pretty damn close to naked,” and I was confident Nate would find that part appealing.
I took a few deep breaths, adjusted things, made sure all the lace scraps were in place.
Then I flung the closet door open and stepped out.
“Hey,” I said. “I got this little surprise for you.”
I realized, belatedly, that I had no idea how to stand in this thing to actually get it to stay in place. If I leaned just the wrong way, it was going to bunch up weird or accidentally expose something or simply turn into a big old mess.
Nevertheless, I pressed onward.
“What do you think?” I continued, my voice husky.
He was speechless, his eyes widening, his breath speeding up. His gaze locked on me, darkening in that way that meant he was only thinking of one thing. That he could only think of one thing.
“Come here,” he said, his voice even deeper than usual.
A thrill raced up my spine and I made a big show of walking over slowly—also so I wouldn’t trip on one of my stiletto-heeled boots and fall on my face. That was definitely not sexy.
When I reached him, I put my hands on his chest and gently pushed him farther back on the bed, so his back was against the wall. Then I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His hands went to my hips—and I noticed they were shaking a little.
“Wh-what is this?” he managed, toying with one of the thin ribbon straps.
“It’s my Sexy Superheroine Halloween costume,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders and maneuvering myself firmly against that growing hardness I felt pressing between my legs. “And I’m only wearing it for you. Do you like it?”
“I . . .” He slipped a finger underneath the ribbon strap, stroking my skin. “I like you naked. And this is pretty fucking close. So, yes.”
He slid the strap down my shoulder, leaning in to kiss my neck. His mouth was hot and hungry, his teeth grazing my delicate flesh.
