“What do you mean?” I asked getting over the almost apocalyptic silence in the hallway as we all marched toward the same place.
“Well, firstly, he’s friends with Victoria, which I’m sure you’ve noticed isn’t a good thing,” she started.
It was as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Suddenly, I went from wanting to know more about Blake to wishing I didn’t know this one thing about him.
“He’s from the richest family in town, and apparently they’re not the nicest people either. I heard his sister is an absolute witch,” Gwenn continued, killing my every childish fantasy that somehow Blake was going to pay any attention to me at all when we next met.
“How can anyone be freinds with Victoria?”
“Don’t pay any attention to Victoria. She really is like that to everyone. Well, by everyone I mean, she’s like that to me too,” she said. “It’s lunch now, Bastian will be waiting for us.”
“I don’t get it. She doesn’t even know me,” I whispered as the students surrounding us walked in silence.
“I came to Greyhaven about three years ago to live with my grandmother. Victoria referred to me as the ‘the mixed-race girl’ for about two years,” Gwenn admitted, shaking her head.
“Has she finally realized you have a name?” I asked, taken aback that Victoria’s cruelty had lasted for two years with Gwenn. At least in the worst-case scenario, I only had six months left in Greyhaven—there was only so long I had to deal with all of this.
“No, she just completely ignores me now,” Gwenn said, shrugging. “I think she realized that she can’t get to me, so she just gave up.”
We reached what I had expected to be a cafeteria. I stepped through the doors, and my eyes narrowed. I looked up at the stunning hammer-beam roof. The beams allowed the light to reflect off the dark wooden walls that were adorned with breathtaking oil paintings. Light entered the hall through a series of stained glass windows, creating a colorful dance of light. The gray stone floor was smooth, and two long rows of wooden tables alongside each other filled the length of the hall.
“This is the cafeteria?” I asked, lifting a brow.
“They call it the dining hall. Why, I don’t know, no one ever has dinner in here,” she said.
She led the way to the end of the hall where instead of a high table there was a buffet.
I kept my eyes ahead of me until we got in line. The last thing I wanted to do was eat, but I looked down at my gaunt wrists and took a yogurt and some fruit salad.
“You don’t eat much, do you?” Gwenn asked, filling her tray with a steak pie and something that looked like a pavlova that had fallen on the floor.
“Not really,” I said quietly as I followed her to an empty table near a window. It was drizzling outside, and the whole world looked gray.
“I wonder where Bastian is,” Gwenn mumbled, looking around the cafeteria. “He’s usually here first.”
Gwenn threw another quick glance to the hall’s entrance, groaned, and rolled her eyes.
Tristan.
The butterflies returned, and I felt myself blush again. He spotted me and smirked as he caught my eyes on him.
Wonderful, now he knows that you were staring at him—again.
He strutted toward our table, and I gritted my teeth.
When is the torture going to end?
“Gwenn,” he said, his eyes still on me.
“Tristan,” Gwenn replied, rolling her eyes back at him, disdain lacing her voice. He ignored her tone and turned to me.
“America, all showered and cleaned up, I see,” he said, grinning.
Before I could say anything, Victoria appeared at his side with Blake close behind her. As soon as I saw his face, my heart accelerated, and my mouth felt dry. What is wrong with you? I had had crushes on guys at school before, who hadn’t? But something about this was different. I could barely breathe around him. Blake stayed behind Victoria and kept his eyes on something behind me. I frowned. Why couldn’t he look at me? Tristan turned to see what I was looking at. Seeing Victoria, he held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he pulled her close to him.
No.
Chapter Eight
I stared at them both, my mouth gaping.
You have got to be kidding me.
As much as it would sting, I could imagine Victoria dating Blake; they seemed made for each other. But Tristan? He seemed so normal, a little arrogant, granted, but nice nonetheless. I threw a quick glance at Blake again, and this time our eyes met. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as neither of us looked away. For a split-second, I could have sworn that he was desperately trying to figure out who I was. With his narrowed eyes and slightly clenched jaw, he seemed to be trying to read me.
“I see you’ve met our new student,” Victoria’s childlike voice broke our gaze. Victoria turned to me before Tristan could reply. “No hard feelings right, Emily?”
Gwenn turned to look at her. “It’s Evelyn, Victoria, her name is Evelyn. I know remembering things must be hard for someone with your level of intellect, but it’s one new name. I’m sure you can manage.”
Before I could stop myself, I laughed. I hadn’t laughed in weeks. I had forgotten what it felt like, how it sounded. It felt surreal, like the first time you leave the house after a weekend of staying indoors and staring at the same few walls over and over again.
My eyes immediately fell on Blake. He was staring at me again. This time, I looked away and felt my cheeks redden. God, what is it about this guy? I felt like a thirteen-year-old who was experiencing her first real crush. I took a deep breath, and the scent of pine and cherry blossoms filled my lungs once again. I kept my eyes lowered, away from Blake this time.
“Oh, hello, Gwenn. I didn’t even notice you sitting there,” Victoria retorted, breaking my thoughts.
“I think we’ve established that you’re not very observant, Victoria, no need to point it out,” Gwenn said.
Victoria stroked Tristan’s cheek. “I don’t want to sit near these people. Let’s go somewhere else,” she whispered loud enough for all of us to hear.
Tristan grinned at her and led her away without another word. I sensed Blake following them.
Before I could turn to ask Gwenn about Blake, Tristan, and Victoria, Bastian walked up to our table with a confused expression. “What did they want?” he asked, nodding his head in Victoria’s direction as she ran her fingers through Tristan’s hair.
“Actually, how do you know Tristan?” Gwenn asked, turning to me as Bastian sat down next to me with his tray. I felt the warmth of his arm next to mine, and my shoulders relaxed.
“He helped me,” I confessed, not wanting to tell them anything about the day I got lost and how Tristan had come to my rescue. They both leaned in and raised their eyebrows for more details.
My shoulders slumped dramatically. “I got lost in the rain and the fog, and he found me and took me back home.” I was suddenly mortified by the entire incident.
“See, he’s not as bad as the other two,” Bastian immediately pointed out to Gwenn, who rolled her eyes.
“What about Blake, is he really that bad?” I asked quietly, desperate for more information.
“Blake?” Bastian asked, lifting his eyebrows.
I nodded. Maybe Bastian had a better opinion of him than Gwenn did. They both stared at me for a moment. Could Bastian and Gwenn sense my enthusiasm and eagerness to find out more about Blake? I grimaced at the thought of it.
“His dad pretty much owns Greyhaven. They’re the oldest family here,” Bastian replied breaking the silence. “His family and all their friends are—unique.”
“Unique how?” I asked, leaning forward, unable to contain my curiosity now.
“What Bastian is trying to say, Ev,” Gwenn said, turning to me now. “Is that Blake may be good looking and mysterious, a
nd he has that whole ‘darkness’ thing going for him, but he’s not someone who you want to mix with, none of them are.”
“Oh,” I replied, trying to glance at the table where they were sitting without being too obvious. I turned my head slightly, and my eyes immediately met with Blake’s. I turned away, and my heart quickened. Why was he looking at me? Why was I so addicted to looking at him?
Bastian and Gwenn had already moved on from the topic of Blake and were talking about some girl who had just entered the hall. I looked around at all the students. Most of them were striking, some more than others.
“Is every single person in this town really beautiful?” I muttered.
“Yeah, I mean, look at Bastian for example, a model in the making,” Gwenn joked, grinning at Bastian, who was clearly just as striking as the rest of them. “Actually, Ev, you kind of look like the rest of them too.” She fought a grin.
Before I could protest, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and I followed Bastian and Gwenn out into the hallway, keeping my eyes ahead of me. The rest of my classes were uneventful, and of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about Blake no matter how ridiculous I knew it was. I had always been sensible, always, and suddenly, I wasn’t at all.
Our final class was art. Gwenn left me with Bastian and made a run for her biology class, which was on the other side of the building. I walked into an elaborate art studio. The easels with individual side tables for the materials made my old art class look like Kindergarten. I breathed in the smell of oil paint and turpentine and smiled. I had always loved the smell of fresh, crisp paper, canvas, oil, acrylic, and pastels. My shoulders eased as I inhaled the familiar smell until I spotted Victoria’s long blond hair. Her back was turned to the doorway, and she was talking to Tristan and Blake.
“Great,” I muttered as my throat constricted with a mixture of dread toward Victoria, and insatiable curiosity toward Blake.
Bastian craned his neck to see what I was looking at and then patted my back. “I forgot that those three took this class. I should have warned you so you could have come mentally prepared.” He narrowed his eyes at them.
“We will be starting with our self-portraits today,” the young art teacher with long black hair and an extremely top-heavy lip declared. “Each of you has a blank canvas and a mirror with your name on it, including you, Miss Austen.” She spoke curtly and with a slight lisp, turning to glance at me.
I had never been talented when it came to portraits, especially portraits of myself. This was possibly going to be my worst piece ever. We all started outlining our faces on the canvases, everyone silently staring at their perfect faces and blue eyes in the mirror. I kept glancing at the student in front of me, who seemed just as inept at this as I was. At least there would be one other failure in the class.
At the end of the class, Ms. Hamilton instructed us to clean the oil painting brushes with turpentine and prepare our work areas for the next day. I followed Bastian to the basin with my jar of brushes soaked in turpentine and was about to start cleaning them when I felt something wet splash onto my hair. The first thing I did was gasp but regretted it instantly. I inhaled an acrid smell—the cleaning solution for the paint brushes.
“Oh my gosh, Emily, I am so sorry,” Victoria’s voice rang out.
She had thrown an entire jar of dirty turpentine on my long black hair. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned around to face her. Everyone was already watching us, waiting to see what I would do.
Throw your turpentine in her face. Just do it.
I took another deep breath, which I nearly choked on, considering I had a chemical dripping all over me. My hands shook, and I set my jar of turpentine down to stop myself from throwing it at Victoria, jar and all.
“It’s okay,” I said in the calmest tone I could muster. “It happens.” I gritted my teeth and turned my back on her.
I placed my brushes down next to the sink and walked to Ms. Hamilton, who had watched the entire scene in silence. I noticed Blake staring at me from the back of the classroom, his eyes narrowed, watching my every move.
“I’m going home,” I said to her, trying hard not to scream. Victoria had finally managed what nothing or no one else had since the accident: to make me furious. And I didn’t even care that all their eyes were on me.
I left the class and heard the chatter as soon as I closed the door behind me. The tears of sheer and utter frustration at not playing out my anger ran down my cheeks, and I didn’t even bother to try to stop them. I just want to go back home. I had to stop myself from breaking into a sob when I realized that this was my home.
Chapter Nine
The drive home from school had been slow, my vision blurred by tears I was trying not to cry. I had to wash my hair three times to get the smell of turpentine out. I stood in front of the fogged mirror and wrote guilty on it before walking back into the bedroom and launching the damp towel across the room. It only drifted a few feet before splatting on the wooden floor without any of the aggression with which I had thrown it. Sighing, I grabbed a clean sweater, which was hanging on the back of the dressing table’s chair, and a pair of leggings from an open drawer. I was about to tackle brushing the knots in my hair when the doorbell rang. I slumped. It was probably for Kate. I considered ignoring it just as it rang again.
I moved down the hallway, trying to ignore all the portraits of miserable people as I passed, but as I neared the painting of the boy with the piercing blue eyes, staring directly at the artist while the blond woman sheltered her face with her hair, I finally realized where I recognized Blake’s eyes from. The doorbell rang again, and I couldn’t pause at the painting any longer.
“Evelyn.” Gwenn smiled as I opened the door.
“We were worried about you,” Bastian added, stepping out from behind her.
“I’m fine, furious, but fine,” I said, stepping back so they could come in.
“This place is a lot darker than I remember it,” Bastian muttered as he walked up to the gossip chair.
“You’ve been here before?” I asked.
“We both have.” Gwenn smiled, craning her neck to look at the spiral staircase. “Kate left Greyhaven for a while, and the house was empty and apparently haunted, so all the kids would come here on dares to spend the night.”
“Haunted?”
“It’s not,” Bastian replied, rolling his eyes at Gwenn. “We spent a good five nights here, and nothing ever happened.”
“When was this?” I asked, grinning at the thought of a bunch of kids daring themselves to sleep here.
“About a year ago?” Gwenn said, craning her neck, trying to remember.
Kate said she’s always lived here.
I suddenly remembered the painting on the stairway.
“Hey,” I said, turning to them. “This is weird, but can I show you something? And I need you to tell me the first thought that comes to your mind.”
“Ah, sure?” Gwenn said, her eyes searching.
“It’s up here,” I said, walking up the first half of the spiral stairs to the corner. They followed me and then came to a halt when I did. I craned my neck to stare at the massive oil painting in front of me.
“Who does that boy remind you of?” I asked. It was Blake, as a younger boy, of course, maybe fourteen, but it was unmistakably Blake.
“God, that looks like Blake,” Gwenn replied, squinting up at the little boy in the painting.
“And his sister Ravenna,” Bastian added from behind us.
“This painting is from the 1500s.” I turned from Bastian to Gwenn. “How is that possible?”
“Um—I have to go,” Bastian suddenly announced, already making his way down the stairs.
“What?” Gwenn said, turning away from the painting as he reached the entrance hall.
“Yeah, sorry, I have—my mom, she’s expecting me,” he said
, grabbing the school bag he had left on the gossip chair. “See you both tomorrow.” The heavy front door shut, leaving Gwenn and me standing in the dusty perfumed stairway.
“Okay, bye then,” Gwenn mumbled, a frown etched on her face. She looked back at the painting and stared at it for a moment before turning back to me.
“You know,” Gwenn said quietly, meaningfully. “When I first moved here, I had this feeling that something was very strange—as in, not at all normal. I kind of just got used to it all, but when you kept mentioning the blue eyes and the beautiful faces, I remembered what I first thought when I got here.”
My stomach lurched, and my pulse quickened. Had something happened to Gwenn too?
“Like what?” I asked, not wanting to tell her about my dreams and apparent hallucinations just yet.
“Nothing in particular, nothing that I could ever put my finger on.” She threw a glance at the painting. “Like they’re some sort of cult that you and I will never be part of,” she mumbled as she touched the boy’s face.
“I don’t know, maybe.” I shook my head. A cult was unlikely. Wasn’t it? I inhaled the perfumed air and looked directly into Gwenn’s eyes. The tension in my back started to ease. For the first time in almost a month, I felt that I wasn’t alone. Logically, I barely knew Gwenn, but there was something about her. She was an outsider here, and so was I. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t think I’m crazy—”
She jerked her head back and raised her brow. “Okay, try me.”
It took me all of ten minutes to explain the strange man, Tristan finding me in the middle of nowhere, my ankle healing faster than it should, Kate and Tristan clearly knowing something and trying to hide it, and the woman in my dreams, who was lingering outside the curtained passageway.
When I finished, she examined my expression for a minute. “We have to see what’s in that passage,” she said, her eyes wide, a smile curving her lips.
I threw a glance at the curtain. She was right. If we were going to find information anywhere, it was probably in there.
The Eternal Page 8
