by Eva Chase
When I reached the shed again, I peered across the lawn with growing trepidation. There could be a cabin or something similar hidden away in the woods. Who knew what other secrets those trees might conceal?
I squared my shoulders and strode across the grass to the deeper shadows. My skin crawled as I passed between the first few trees. The leaves warbled with the wind, and I couldn’t see much of anything except the vague silhouettes of the trunks. I doubted my phone’s light would extend far enough to give me much comfort—it’d only turn the darkness beyond its range even more impenetrable.
Still, I might have kept going out of sheer stubbornness if the shadows hadn’t stirred other shapes from my memories. Not quite as fast as in the library yesterday but just as doggedly, scraps of the past washed through my mind. The form of one of my foster parents looming with a belt clutched in one hand. A figure standing beside my bed with his head bowed. The stuttering of light and darkness as car tires skidded out of control. The lumpy shapes in the high school janitor’s closet vanishing into total blackness with the closing of the door.
The spray of shattered glass in a moonlit courtyard as a body fell.
My breath lurched ragged from my lungs, and in the back of my mind a gurgled exhalation echoed. I spun around, fumbling back toward the lawn. As soon as the last haze of sunlight fell across my face, the shadows inside me retreated too. I swiped my hands across my face as if I could shove the lingering traces of the past away that easily.
It was okay. I was fine. I’d come back tomorrow in the middle of the day when I could conduct a proper search, which made more sense anyway.
The queasiness that remained in my stomach only fueled my conviction. Everything in this place was toxic. The college or the staff who ran it or both had done something to my foster brother just like they were breaking down every other student here. Just like they were trying to break me.
I’d been through way too much before now to break because of anything these pricks threw at me. I’d claw the truth out of them, I’d make my way to Cade, and until I had him by my side or knew how to put him there, I wasn’t setting one foot outside those gates.
Maybe I didn’t belong here, but they were stuck with me now.
Chapter Thirteen
Trix
“I… don’t think you’re going to like this class very much,” Delta said in her offhand way as we headed to my very first encounter with Archery.
“Great. Now I’m really looking forward to it.” I double-checked my timetable for the room number, even though the other girl should know where we were going. I’d have expected this subject to be an extension of gym class, but it wasn’t being held in the fitness room. I guessed that small space was a little too cramped for shooting projectiles at targets across much of any range. Instead, we were assigned to one of the second-floor classrooms. “What am I in for now?”
“Just give it your best shot, and it’ll probably be okay.”
The note of uncertainty in her voice made my skin prickle, but the room we entered looked about as I would have pictured it. It was the biggest of the classrooms I’d encountered at Roseborne College so far, maybe twenty-five feet across and almost as wide, with a rack of bows against the wall near the door and five stations spread out across the floor in a row, each marked by a bin of arrows. Across from every station, a target that looked about as tall as I was stood at the far end of the room.
That all seemed pretty straightforward, but no doubt I’d discover there was some twist to this set-up.
Like so much of the furnishings and equipment at the school, the bows had an old-fashioned vibe: polished wood that was worn around the grip from decades of use, metal fixtures with a faint tarnish. I picked one up and found it substantial but not quite as heavy as I’d been prepared for. When I rested one of the ends on the ground, the other came up to my chin. The middle of the bow had a notch where it appeared the arrow rested to help one’s aim.
Delta had already grabbed her bow and walked off to the farthest arrow station. I picked the station in the middle of the row at random. The arrows in the bin were wooden too, with feathered fletching at the back and a nock to fit the base against the string. The metal tip appeared to be a heck of a lot deadlier than anything you’d find on your average piece of sporting equipment. I tested the point warily with a finger and jerked my hand back at the pinch of pain.
Other than a dinky plastic set one of my early foster families had owned, which had barely moved its arrows more than a few feet and in seemingly random directions, I’d never operated a bow before. Hopefully the professors didn’t expect newcomers to be experts right off the bat.
The man I assumed was the Professor Roth listed on my timetable strode in a moment later. He had a houndish look that fit his class’s subject matter, his jowls grayed with a hint of beard, his steel-gray hair hanging limp and floppy at either side of his dour face. He considered the few of us who’d already arrived with a slight nod toward me but no hint of friendliness. His round, dark eyes held a chill that touched me even at a distance.
More students were trickling in from behind him. He swept an arm toward them. “Come along, people, you know the drill. Pair up. Let’s see…” He snapped his fingers toward a tall, slender figure who’d just ambled in. “Mr. Wynter, since you like to spend as much of your class time chatting as working on your skills, why don’t you take our new arrival through the basics?”
Jenson’s bright blue eyes came to rest on me, his mouth twisting into a smirk that seemed to mock both of us. Wonderful. Was it too late for me to dash over to join Delta instead? She hadn’t offered to partner with me even though she must have known it’d be required, so I didn’t figure she’d wanted the hassle, but she’d probably put up with me rather than make a scene out of it.
Of course, dealing with Jenson didn’t have to be any kind of scene either. As he hefted a bow of his own and sauntered over to me, I found my initial apprehension faded quickly.
Who the hell was this guy, really, other than one more hopeless victim in this bizarre place, trying to make himself feel a little bigger by cutting me down a peg? Maybe he didn’t like how I’d ended up here, but I was here now. I was going through everything the rest of them did. And he couldn’t claim I wasn’t committed when I’d decided I wasn’t giving up on getting at least one person other than me free from Roseborne’s torments.
Anything he said had way more to do with him than with me.
So, I stood my ground, gripping my bow and the arrow I’d picked up.
Jenson plucked an arrow of his own out of the bin. He cocked his head at me. “Still haven’t gotten your fill of the horror show, huh?”
“Still haven’t realized I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your opinion of me, huh?” I retorted. “It’s a little sad that you don’t have anything better to do than harass people who’ve never done anything to you.”
“Let’s not get into what I could say about someone whose life was so empty they decided to throw themselves into a godawful situation just for the hell of it.”
“You obviously don’t have a clue what it’s like to care about another person enough that you’d go through anything for them.”
Something flickered in his expression, a momentary tightening that might have been anger or pain or something else—I didn’t have time to tell. My off-the-cuff remark had hit harder than I’d expected. Then, for some reason, it brought a slanted smile to his face, hard around the edges but still genuine enough that it reminded me of that first moment I’d seen him, before he’d opened his mouth, when I’d admired his looks.
“No,” he said in an odd tone. “Obviously I don’t.” He motioned to the bow. “Are you going to shoot something with that thing or what?”
He was ready to get down to business now, was he? I raised the bow into the approximate position I thought I’d seen in movies. “Since I’ve never done this before, I think that’s up to you as much as it is to me.”
�
��Follow along, then.” Rather than lifting his bow right away, he fit the arrow into place first, the wooden shaft against the hollow in the curved wood, the nock against the string. “Get your arrow ready before anything else. Make sure it’s braced against the bow’s rest to guide your aim.”
I copied his movements, finding the arrow followed my intentions easily. Maybe I wouldn’t need all that much help after all. “And then?”
“Bring the rest up to eye level,” he said, demonstrating. “Sight along the arrow through the window above the rest. Pull back and release when you’re sure you’re pointing at what you want to hit.”
Jenson positioned himself sideways, left foot forward, head turned toward the target. With an air of total confidence, he drew back the string, paused half a beat to adjust his aim, and let the arrow fly. It whipped through the air and dug into the target’s second smallest ring with a thunk. He lowered the bow and dipped with a flourish of his free hand. “Remember that no applause is necessary.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t planning on offering any.”
I set my feet the way he had and tested the string. It took some muscle to haul it back, taut as it was. Squinting along the arrow through the upper part of the hollow, I lined the point up with the red center of the target. Tensing my fingers, I stretched the string a little farther—and then let go.
The arrow flew forward with a twang, and smacked into the very edge of the target.
“Well,” Jenson said with a little smirk, “at least you did hit the thing.”
I didn’t think I’d done that badly for my first try. “I was aiming at the center,” I said, motioning with the bow. “Is there some other trick you didn’t bother to tell me?”
“I figured with all those smarts you could figure it out yourself.” He waved to the bow. “Look at the shape of the rest. Would you expect the arrow to fly perfectly straight? Take the veer into account. And resist the urge to put more power in after you’ve already lined things up. Get over-ambitious and risk throwing things off.”
“Tips I could have used earlier,” I muttered, and grabbed another arrow. “Okay. The arrow rest is on the right side, so I want to aim a little to the left to balance things out?”
“What did I say about smarts?” Jenson said in a voice that sounded more sarcastic than complimentary.
“Oh, shut up.” I tugged back the string, tweaking my aim to compensate. The muscles in my shoulder twinged. Instinctively, I shifted to pull back farther—and Jenson touched my arm to stop me.
“Watch it,” he said quietly. He was standing close enough now that my skin tingled with the awareness of his presence. His fingers curved around my elbow so gently it was almost a caress. “Stay right here. Do you like what you see?”
I looked down the sight again and eased a smidge farther to the left. “I think so.” I’d have liked him a lot better if he handled me with this much consideration the rest of the time.
“Then just let it go.”
I opened my fingers. The arrow whipped through the air and struck the border between the second ring and the bullseye. Jenson stepped back with a low whistle. “Thanks all to my excellent teaching ability, clearly.”
“Clearly,” I said dryly, but the success had given my spirits a triumphant boost. This might be one class here I could actually enjoy. And something in his smile felt a little warmer now, or at least appreciative, as if I might have managed to knock a crack in the chilly attitude he’d had toward me. “What now? We take turns?”
“Why don’t we make it five and five? Just clear your arrows when you’ve finished your shots.”
He propped himself against the wall behind me to watch as I worked through my next three arrows. I made the same mistake of letting myself pull harder on the string at the last second, and that arrow flew right past the target to rap against the wall. The other two times, I took more care, and those hit the second ring. Next time I’d get the bullseye at least once, I told myself as I loped over to retrieve my arrows and Jenson’s from his initial shot.
While he took his turn, I glanced around at our classmates. They were operating under the same rule, five and then five, launching their arrows and switching positions with much more efficiency. Over at her station, Delta managed to land a bullseye. She let out a little cheer, but on her next shot, a wobble ran through her body. Her jaw clenched as she stiffened her stance in response, but the arrow scraped the floor a few feet in front of the target.
Jenson had just returned from reclaiming his arrows when Professor Roth clapped his hands. “You’re all warmed up now. Time to up the ante. Partners, take your positions.”
Jenson’s expression tensed as he tossed the arrows into the bin. Without a word to me, he spun and stalked back toward the target. One person from each of the stations was doing the same thing. Walking over to the targets… and turning to stand right in front of them, their heads raised, their bodies rigid.
A chill squeezed around my gut. What kind of insanity was this?
“Five shots and then switch,” Professor Roth was saying. “Take a point for each time you strike the target without hitting your partner; ten points each and you’re done. I’d like to keep injuries to a minimum today, please.”
He delivered that caution in a bored tone, as if seeing one of his students take an arrow to the arm or thigh—or, hell, chest—would be nothing more than a minor annoyance.
Jenson glowered at me where he’d braced himself in front of our target. He was tall enough that it only came up to his shoulders, and slim enough that plenty of surface area showed on either side of him, but that didn’t mean he was safe. I hadn’t even managed to hit the actual target every time during my first round of practice.
I remembered the sting when I’d pricked my finger on the arrow tip. Those things were sharp. One slip of the hand, and they could kill a person. Was everyone really going along with this?
It appeared they were. Delta’s partner had already loosed one arrow toward her, striking the bottom right edge of the target a few inches from her calf. The guy next to me grimaced as he missed the target—but also, thankfully, his partner—entirely. No one looked happy about this turn of events, but no one had hesitated either.
I don’t think you’re going to like this class very much, Delta had said. Did they do this every time? A shiver ran down my back.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Corbyn,” the professor said pointedly.
My fingers clenched around the bow. I stared at Jenson, the only student in the college who’d been overtly hostile enough that I might have enjoyed the thought of taking a few shots at him—in my imagination. In reality, he was a living, breathing human being, and I was a total amateur. My hand was already trembling with nerves.
I’d hit him. It wasn’t even a question. If I tried to aim at any part of the target, at least one time in those ten, I was going to fuck up and stab him open instead.
I looked over at Professor Roth. My body had already tensed automatically with the memory of the results of past defiance—the headaches, the blackouts. But the thought of going through with this made me balk even more.
“I’m not ready,” I said. “I haven’t had enough practice yet.”
I’m never going to have had enough practice to feel ready to do this.
“I’m afraid that completing this task is part of the expectations of the class,” Roth said, without a hint of regret. “All students are required to meet those expectations.”
I swallowed hard. I’d never outright refused an assignment before. How much worse would I be making things for myself if I did? Would it jeopardize my deal to stay here—my chances of solving Cade’s disappearance? If they kicked me out…
Resolve rose up through those doubts. If they kicked me out, I’d damn well find my way back in. I’d played along with everything they’d asked me to do so far. I’d drunk poison on command. This right here was my fucking line. For me, for Cade, and for every other student they were forcing int
o this sick game.
“No.” I dropped the bow. It hit the floor with a thud that sounded thunderous. “I’m not shooting at a person. No one should have to do that. You can take your stupid ‘classwork’ and shove it up your—”
It wasn’t like the headache. Agony lanced through my stomach so sudden and sharp I stumbled backward, clutching my belly as if it’d been slit open and I had to hold it together to keep my guts from spilling out.
Any words still in my throat seared away. I couldn’t even cry out in pain. It gripped me too tightly, piercing even deeper all through my abdomen.
My legs gave, and I fell to my knees.
Professor Roth had leaned out the doorway. “Who’s on infirmary duty?” he called into the hallway outside.
I gasped, and the sharp edges inside me seemed to grate together in an even more excruciating way. Two students hustled into the room. Roth pointed to me.
“Get her out of here. I expect she’ll be unwell for quite some time.”
Hands closed around my arms, the pressure lancing through my muscles. And then there wasn’t anything left in my head but the agony.
Chapter Fourteen
Jenson
“Wynter!”
The voice made my spine stiffen before I’d even looked around. Elias DeLeon was beckoning me from the doorway to the cafeteria with that authoritative attitude that raised all my hackles. He was hardly even a real teacher in his own class. He didn’t get to order the rest of us around out here.
I had been going to head out the door anyway, as soon as I’d tossed the remains of my soggy cereal with its battered berries into the trash. I set the bowl on the dirty dishes table and ambled over with no intention of sticking around.
