by Eden Beck
Now it’s just me and Piers’ father alone in the hallway. He turns to walk away.
“Wait!” I call, running after him.
“I don’t have time,” he replies, still walking.
I still follow. “I wanted to ask you about my parents.” My footsteps echo on the stone floor. Normally, I practice keeping silent and sticking to the carpets, but I don’t care who hears me coming now. Least of all is the man I’m pressing for answers.
“What would I know about your parents?” He hesitates, his step faltering, but keeps moving.
I persist.
“You know who I am,” I snap. “I’m Avery Black. My parents were Samson and Riley Black. You were the last person to see them alive.”
His lips purse tight, but he still doesn’t stop moving. “So?”
“So, I want to know what happened. You were there. What happened?”
“I don’t remember much of that night,” Mason says. “But what I do remember … you wouldn’t want to know.”
“That’s the thing, I do want to know. The monster that did it, Mr. Dagher, what was it?”
“I don’t remember,” he repeats. His pace has quickened, to the point where I’m jogging to keep up.
“That’s it? No details? I’m their daughter. You owe it to me—”
Finally, he stops, whirling on me with a look of rage that twists his face into something ugly. I freeze.
He bends down toward me. “I owe you nothing,” he hisses. “Now leave me alone before I do something regrettable.” And with that, he turns on his heel and walks quickly away, fists clenched at his sides.
So much for talking to Mason Dagher.
I should have known it would come to a dead end, but that doesn’t stop me from grinding my heel into the stone in disappointment. Back to square one.
I meet back up with Erin and Sawyer for lunch to tell them what happened. I thought it would be nice to take a break from our strenuous training class, but spotting my friends muddy and tired makes my muscles ache to be used.
“What an asshole!” Sawyer snaps when I’ve finished relaying the information, or lack thereof, that I was able to get from Mason Dagher. “And he threatened you! How does the school let someone like that on the board?”
“He captured that djinn, I guess,” I reply with a shrug. “And he probably spent a lot of money.” I glance at Erin; she doesn’t comment, just stabs viciously at a potato on her plate, her lips pursed into a thin line. “Tomorrow, I guess I’ll call my aunt, tell her I’m bringing home a friend for Christmas.”
And that I’m coming home for Christmas.
And that I’m alive.
This is going to be a tough one.
Sawyer’s face flickers at the word ‘friend’, but he doesn’t object.
“Do you guys have any plans for the weekend?” I ask.
“Me and Bennett are gonna work on our project,” Sawyer says. He shrugs. “We live together, so it’s pretty convenient.”
I nod.
“I’m doing extra weapons training,” Erin says quietly.
Sawyer and I both look at her in shock, and I have to put down my fork. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, I’ve got it,” she replies. “I just think I need the extra practice, so I’m going to start doing it every week.”
I feel a pang in my stomach, but I don’t know why. Maybe I feel responsible for her in an odd, sisterly sort of way. She’s weak, so I’ve grown protective.
“I didn’t know they offered extra weapons training,” I say, carefully. I should have offered it ages ago, but I’ve been too wrapped up in my own studies.
Erin looks very interested in her food. She keeps her eyes on her plate the whole time.
“It’s a student-led thing.”
I look at Sawyer, who shrugs at me and continues eating.
I’ve never heard of such a thing before, but I don’t see the point of pressing her for more information. She’s studying a little extra, not eloping with an instructor.
The next morning, I hear Erin get up and leave, and I lay in a state of semi-consciousness for a while afterward, unable to fall back asleep. I thought it would be nice to sleep in a little without Erin’s little rustling noises waking me up the way she usually does. It’s usually very annoying, and I still only get up in time to barely make it to PW.
This morning, without her, I’m too anxious to sleep. Maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t push my body to its limits yesterday. Whatever it is, today, I’m itching to get started.
I finally admit to myself that I’m not going to fall back asleep, so I throw on some clothes, and head down to the dining hall without showering. Students are up and about, chattering to each other as I pass by. Through the many windows I see people out in the courtyard and heading into the forest. It’s a chilly morning, especially this early, but they don’t seem to care.
I never realized the school was so alive before dawn.
I always sleep in too late to see it.
I glance at the little menu on the wall as I enter. There’s lots of standard fare; pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, as well as some Romanian food. I’m not in the mood for any of it. I just grab myself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee and sit down at one of the tables to eat.
I’ve only taken a few bites when I hear a tray clatter and Owen sits down across from me.
I stare at him as he grabs his fork and starts eating. He hasn’t said anything. He just takes a few bites, stuffing his cheeks full of pancake, before I decide to break the silence.
“Uh, hi.”
He swallows his mouthful. “Hi!” he replies brightly, and grabs some of his milk. He keeps eating.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing around. There are plenty of other students in the dining hall he could’ve sat with. It didn’t have to be me.
“Well, Piers is sleeping in, and Bennett’s working on his project,” Owen replies, taking a small bottle of maple syrup and pouring more on his pancakes.
“Okay … but then, what are you doing?”
He licks some syrup off his fingers. “What do you mean?”
I watch him for a while. He eats like he’s been starved his whole life. He’s surprisingly well put-together for it being so early in the morning. While most people are in hoodies or even pajama bottoms, he’s wearing a palm-leaf patterned short-sleeve button-up and nice jeans. He’s done his hair, too. It’s tousled perfectly.
I guess I never noticed before because he’s always stripping down for PW. I guess you don’t have to worry about your shirt getting dirty if you aren’t going to wear it.
I squint. He’s always had long hair on top with shaved sides, but the sides had been growing out. Now, however, they’re shaved close again.
“Did you get a haircut?” I ask, breaking the silence again.
He looks up at me and grins. He’s got a dimple in his cheek.
“Yeah! I cut my own hair. Wanna touch it?” He leans over the table and bends his head down.
I feel like I have no choice. I reach out and rub the fuzzy hair on the back of his head. “You feel like one of those al mi’raj,” I say, referencing the rabbit-like creature with a penchant for human blood and the razor-sharp horn to get it.
He sits up, still grinning. “Thanks!”
I watch him eat for a little while longer. I finish my food before he does, but suddenly it’s rude to just leave him alone.
He notices I’m done. “So, what are you doing today?” he asks.
I shrug. It’s the weekend, so really … it’s just more of the same. I sit up and stretch my arms out over my head. I was thinking of heading out to the training grounds to get some extra practice in. There aren’t going to be many days left without snow on the ground to slow me down and make training even more miserable.
When I tell Owen this, he just raises an eyebrow. “You know Black, you don’t have to always be on, you know?”
I fold my arms across my chest.
“I just mean you’re allowed to have some fun, once in a while,” he says. “Come on, follow me.”
He stands and motions towards the exit.
I narrow my eyes. If this is some poorly-veiled attempt to get me outside alone so he and the others can jump me lock me out, I’m not falling for it.
“We have a truce,” I say, suspicion heavy in my tone.
“I know we do. I just …” He shuffles his tray awkwardly on the table and looks away. Does he not know what to do if he doesn’t have Piers and Bennett around?
“Fine,” I say, just wanting him to stop making that helpless expression. “I’ll go outside with you.”
He’s cheerful again in an instant. “Great! There’s this place around the back of the main building where we like to play wall-ball.”
“Wall-ball?”
“Yeah, where you throw a ball against the wall and then catch it?”
I raise my eyebrows but I don’t comment. He leans over his tray and quickly shovels the rest of his food down without sitting again.
We dispose of our trash, and he leads me to a spot out behind the main building like he said. The stone is worn down a bit here, lighter in patches, and smooth from months or maybe even years of slow erosion. Owen pulls a ball out of his pocket and bounces it against the wall, catches it, and then tosses it to me. I mimic him.
It’s a simple game, but sort of mesmerizing. I like the challenge it provides, but soon Owen has to slow me down and remind me this isn’t supposed to be a competition.
“It’s not?” I say, playfully, but I’m out of breath. I force myself to slow down, stop pushing myself, and even let myself miss an occasional ball.
We take turns for a while, just throwing the ball and catching it on its return. It’s almost therapeutic in a way. Eventually, our silence turns to talking. Not about anything in particular, and certainly not about classes. He’s surprisingly sweet, and he’s funny. Most of his stories revolve around Piers and Bennett, solidifying my guess that he doesn’t know what to do without them.
I know they’ve all known each other forever, but I’ve never seen a group of guys so close before. It’s like they’re a pack with Piers at the head, giving orders.
The sun is high in the sky and we’re hungry again before we think about going inside. I’m surprised by how quickly the hours flew by. As we walk back in, I nudge him with my elbow.
“You’re pretty cool on your own, you know,” I say, smiling at him. “You’re fun. Easy to hang out with.”
Surprisingly easy to hang out with. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Of the three boys, Owen is definitely the only one who can be described as beautiful. The slope of his eyes, the sweep of his blonde hair, the angle of his cheekbones—they’re all perfect in the way an ancient Greek sculptor imagined a man’s face should look.
Combine that with his winning smile … and I can almost look past the fact he’s part of the reason I’ve had to get used to the dull ache of bruises in my sleep.
He’s been tossing the ball as we walk, but now he catches it and holds it, looking stunned. “Nah,” he says. “I’m not as cool as Piers, or as good-looking. And I’m not as strong as Bennett.”
“I think you’re confusing the words ‘cool’ and ‘cruel’,” I reply. “And Bennett is more of a bear than a human.”
That makes him laugh, flashing his dimple again. “Yeah, Benny-bear’s a big boy.” He tosses the ball again and then shakes his head. “You think Piers is hotter than me?”
I could hit him, so I do. I don’t make the same mistake as I did with Piers; my playful punch barely grazes his arm. It doesn’t hide the fact that Owen is just as strong beneath his shirt. I’m almost disappointed it stayed on the whole time we were outside. Almost.
I don’t tell Owen any of this. I just pat him on the shoulder and give my own head a dramatic shake.
“Please don’t tell me you’re that insecure,” I say.
I meant it as a joke, but Owen blushes. It’s adorable.
It makes my body betray me, again. A longing takes over. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. Not since I found out about this world and dedicated myself to becoming a part of it.
I look sideways at him. “Owen, you’re wrong about Piers,” I admit. “I think you’re very good-looking.”
I’m not lying. He’s incredibly handsome, what with his tousled blonde hair and clean-shaven jaw, his full, almost pouty lips, his wiry muscles … all if it fits together into the perfect specimen of a man before me.
We get back around to the courtyard and start walking together toward the residence hall. I think I can see movement back up in the window to our room. Looks like Erin is back from her special training session.
I really need to have a talk with her about closing the blinds.
“Would you hang out with me again?” Owen asks, or really, blurts out.
“Yeah.” I answer without hesitation.
He smiles. “Cool. Bennett says he and his roommate are gonna work on their project every weekend, and Piers likes to sleep in on Saturdays, so …”
“Next week, same time?” I ask.
He grins and nods.
I could get used to this new arrangement. If I’m lucky, it won’t just be until after winter break.
That break is hurtling ever closer, and with it, tensions rise.
Everyone around me is stressed about getting their work done, but I’m doing better than I’ve ever done without Piers, Owen, and Bennett holding me back.
At yet, also, somehow I’m spending a lot more time with them.
Piers and I meet up every Tuesday and Thursday evening to work on our project. We’re going above and beyond on it, to the point where I’m sure even Piers’ father would be impressed … if he ever bothers to look at it, which I’m pretty sure we both know he won’t.
Every Saturday, I meet Owen for breakfast, and we either go outside to play “wall-ball” or, if it’s too cold, slip into an abandoned classroom and hang out there. Even Bennett has gotten more talkative around me. If I go down to the dining hall early enough, I see him there, and we eat together. He tells me his parents are monster hunters too, though they’re not famous. His stories about them make my heart ache. He seems to really love them.
I hope he doesn’t ever have to know how it feels to lose them.
“You need to be careful,” Sawyer says one day as I’m coming back from my weekly breakfast with Owen. “This truce with them is temporary.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m really getting to know them. I think all that shit may be behind us.”
Sawyer doesn’t seem convinced.
Still, the weeks pass. By the time we turn in our project to Professor Helsing, Piers can basically speak conversational Swedish and even I can spout off a few local phrases. We pass with flying colors, and though Mason Dagher doesn’t even pick up the phone when I catch Piers trying to give him a call, I can tell Piers is pleased.
He might not have his father’s approval yet, but at this rate … he won’t need it. There’s even a moment, after we turn in our project, where Piers smiles. Actually, genuinely smiles at me.
Sawyer’s just paranoid, and maybe a little jealous of the time I’m spending with the boys. I used to spend it all with him. After this, Piers can’t possibly go back to how things were.
Chapter Seventeen
Aunt Trish’s house looks just like I remember. I don’t know why I expected it to look different. I’ve only been gone a few months.
I have to stop at the base of the drive and steel myself up. That phone call to my aunt wasn’t an easy one. She was worried—understandably so—but she was also angry.
I may or may not have hung up in the middle of a tirade and ignored all her calls until now.
Now, I have to face her. It’s more than just finding out about my parents’ cabin. I’ve missed her … and I regret leaving the way I did. It was wrong, and I know it.
“It’s nice
,” Sawyer says happily, stretching one arm up over his head and behind his back.
I yawn. It was a long flight. We start up the path to the front door, which swings open before we can get to it.
“Avery!” Aunt Trish cries from the doorway. She wastes no time running out in her socks and across the yard to grab me into the biggest hug I’ve ever gotten.
“Aunt Trish, c’mon,” I mumble, but I hug her back, burying my face in her shoulder. She pulls back with a smile and teary eyes, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry about—”
She shushes me. “None of that,” she says. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
She steps back again and squints at me harder. “Have you gotten taller? I think you’ve gotten taller.” She turns her gaze to Sawyer and releases me to give him a hug, too. “It’s nice to meet you, Sawyer.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you too, um, Miss—”
“Just call me Trish, hon. Both of you come in. It’s freezing out here!”
I decide not to mention that she was the one who ran outside without shoes in December as I follow her inside. As soon as we cross the threshold, I’m hit with the smell of something cooking in the oven. God, I’ve missed Aunt Trish’s cooking maybe even more than I missed her. I kick off my shoes at the entrance. Sawyer does the same.
“I’ve made up the guest room for you,” Aunt Trish tells Sawyer kindly. “I’ve got to check on dinner. Avery, will you show him up?”
“This way,” I tell him. Aunt Trish bustles past us to the kitchen, winding her graying hair into a ponytail as she goes. Sawyer follows me down the hall and to the guest room, which is about the size of our dorms at Saint M, only with a double bed.
“Nice,” Sawyer says with a smile, eyeing the overabundance of pillows and the neon-colored comforter from the 80s. He sets his suitcase by the bed. “Where’s your room?”
“Further down the hall.” I lead him to my room and walk in. It’s just like I left it. I cleaned it before I left so Aunt Trish wouldn’t have that much work to do. My bed is pushed against the corner, made with gray sheets and a black-and-purple comforter. My old laptop sits on my desk amidst my books and magazines. A couple of my stuffed animals from when I was a kid are sitting on the dresser, so I conspicuously throw my backpack on top of them and hope Sawyer doesn’t try and tease me for it.
