She sat up, pushing back the bedclothes, and swung her feet to the floor. As she picked up her scattered clothes and began to put them on he watched the bat tattoo in the center of her back. It moved when she moved, its outstretched wings flexing as she bent and straightened. He reached out to draw the backs of his fingers across it, and she jumped.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that you have the softest skin.” He wasn’t permitted to admire it much longer, though, as she pulled on her sweater and stood up to step into her jeans. He still hadn’t moved. He was too comfortable where he was, and not yet ready for this amazing thing to end.
When she had finished dressing she turned to look at him. She looked pale with her lipstick worn off. “If you want to skip dinner, I can tell Mo that you’re not feeling well.” Mo was the faculty resident in the upperclass boys’ dorm, and responsible for noting down those who were absent from dinner.
William grinned. “I feel very well,” he said. “I feel awesome, actually.” He sat up in bed and took her hand. “Why don’t you stay too? You can call Gail to tell her you’re skipping dinner tonight.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m going on. You can stay if you want, but don’t run it too fine.” Visitors weren’t allowed in the dorm rooms after dinner hour; if William was caught leaving after that time he’d get in trouble.
He gave in. “No, I’ll come. Just give me a second.” Then he paused. He felt weirdly self-conscious about getting out of bed naked in front of her.
“I’ll be in the lobby,” she said to his relief, and slipped out the door.
She had seemed a bit abrupt. He wondered if he had said or done something to annoy her. What was the etiquette in these situations? Should he have not watched her dress? Maybe she was feeling shy as well.
After he had finished dressing and checked in her mirror to make sure he looked presentable (he had to wipe off the lipstick smears on his neck, even though he was tempted to leave them as bragging points) he found her in the lobby with two other senior girls. They were in the middle of a conversation about someone he didn’t know who had landed a pro acting job, and were so engrossed that they hardly registered his presence.
The way to the dining hall led them past the bronze statue of the school founder, Josiah Cavanaugh. He stood as if gazing across the grounds at the mountains on the horizon, one hand planted on his hip, the other loosely holding a top hat by the brim. It was a long-standing tradition for students to toss coins into the hat for good luck before a performance. William hid a secret smile as he passed the dignified fellow in his frock coat and handlebar moustache. He couldn’t imagine his luck being any better than it was today.
Maddie and the other girls chattered among themselves all the way through dinner, but he didn’t mind. He just watched Maddie, for once not having to be surreptitious about it, and thought his own thoughts.
He had confided in his older brother once about Maddie, about his frustration that she kept choosing guys who were bad for her. His brother had shrugged. “Mysterious-and-unpredictable is like chick crack,” he’d said. “The guy they can’t figure out is the one they’ll crawl over broken bottles for. Yeah, it sucks for us, but every now and then they get tired of being jerked around and you can scoop one up on the rebound.”
Score one for the rebound, thought William contentedly.
Later that night, as he lay in bed waiting for sleep, his thoughts were still full of Maddie. Was she sleeping now, in her solitary room? Was she awake and thinking of him? He hoped he had made her as happy as she had made him.
He sighed without meaning to, and from his bed across the room Clark said, “You awake?”
“Mmph,” said William, noncommittally.
“What are you in such a good mood about?”
Clark’s emotional radar really was astonishing.
“The color turquoise,” said William, and went to sleep with a smile on his face.
Breakfast wasn’t compulsory as dinner was, and he knew that Maddie tended to skip it, so he looked forward to seeing her at morning break. When it came, he was out of his seat and halfway to the coffee bar before the bell stopped ringing.
Maddie was already at their usual table, and he was glad to see she was alone. She was stifling a yawn and emptying packet after packet of Splenda into her coffee. The sight of her made his heart swell until it felt like his ribs would crack.
He dropped his bookbag beneath the table and slid into the seat beside her. “Hey,” he said, and before he could think better of it he leaned over and kissed her. It was not an entirely successful kiss; he had caught her by surprise, as she was starting to look up at him, so his lips landed half on her chin.
“Hey,” she said, sounding taken aback. Her eyelids looked heavy, as if she hadn’t slept much, and it made him feel protective of her; he wanted to fight away whatever had kept her from her rest. “What was that?” she asked.
“That was one for the blooper reel. Let’s try it again. Morning osculation, take two.”
But she drew back. “You’re acting kind of—”
“Happy? Jaunty? Devil-may-care?”
“Boyfriendly.”
“So what?” He glanced around at the other tables; no one seemed to be paying them any notice. “PDA’s never embarrassed you before.”
She took a long drink of her coffee. Then she met his eyes. “William, I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, but yesterday was just a one-off.”
He couldn’t have heard her right. “A one-off?”
“Yeah. It was nice, but it doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
Was she joking? He saw Clark and Blake across the room, and knew that he and Maddie didn’t have much time left alone. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “After class, how about we—”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. She was so calm, her voice so reasonable.
A humiliating thought sprang into his mind. “Was it not good?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Was I not good?”
That did seem to break her calm. “It’s not—you were fine, you were great, but it’s not about that. I didn’t mean for you to think it meant anything.” She seemed to hear how the words sounded and tried again. “Look: it happened, it’s over, nothing has changed.”
He stared at her. “How can you say that?”
“It was just one friend giving some comfort to another.”
“So I’m what, your fuck buddy now?”
Her eyes went cold. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“Well, that’s how you like your men, isn’t it? It must be why you finally slept with me.”
For a moment he thought she was going to throw her coffee in his face. “This conversation,” she said tightly, “is over.”
“You seriously expect me to just act as if this never happened?” He knew he should keep his voice down, but it was beyond his control.
Clark and Blake were standing by the table, coffee in hand, eyes full of questions. Time was up. Maddie spread her hands and gave him a look that was the silent equivalent of Well, duh.
There was a ringing in his ears. He watched Clark and Blake sit down across from them, saw Clark’s lips move, but there was no sound. He shook his head to clear it, but pinpricks of light were beginning to crowd at the edges of his vision. Clark’s face took on an expression of concern.
He stood up and picked up his bookbag. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from the ground as he walked out of the coffee bar, away from the startled Clark and Blake and the calm, poised Maddie. Her voice followed him as she said indulgently to the others, “I’ve told him he should switch to decaf.”
He walked through his classes like an automaton. He couldn’t have said what the teachers talked about, or if anyone had spoken to him. But the numbness was wearing off by the time his classes were over. The band didn’t practice on Tuesdays, but he didn’t feel like being around the guys anyway. Nor did he feel like going back to the dorm, where Clark might be able to suss out what was bothering him.<
br />
He went back to the music building, to the auditorium. The music department’s grand piano was in the center of the stage, left there after some recent performance, although it should have been moved off to the wings. He sat down on the bench and looked out over the rows of empty seats. The acoustics were perfect here; when he cracked his knuckles it sounded like the fourth of July. Outside the tall windows the afternoon was just beginning to mellow into twilight. A group of guys were playing soccer on the side lawn; he could faintly hear them shouting to each other.
Once to get it out of my system, he thought, and I’ll never play it again. His fingers poised on the keys, he shut his eyes, breathed once, and began to play “Elvira Madigan Revisited,” his variation on the Mozart piano concerto that encapsulated all the hopeless love and longing he had been storing up for all the time he’d known Maddie.
There was no concealment to it, no ambiguity. It cut straight into the pain he’d felt all the times that he’d watched her go off with other guys, soothed her as she cried over them, burned silently as she flirted. It was all there, and once upon a time he had thought that some day he might be able to play it for her and show her how he felt. Now he knew what a stupidly naive idea that had been.
He jabbed at the piano keys more savagely. This was garbage, this sappy stuff. What had made him think she’d be flattered to hear such emo crap? He abandoned it and began to improvise, deep thundering chords and a scornful run of sixteenth notes above it like her laughter. Faster, louder, until his hands were drawing forth a savage dance: a witches’ sabbath for Maddie, the cruel enchantress, digging the still-beating heart out of the suitor splayed like an offering on the altar of her vanity.
He was barely conscious of the darkness filling the auditorium, of the sky outside the windows filling with storm clouds, the shouts of the students as they abandoned their game and ran for cover. The wind rose, shrilling around the windows and doors, but he just played louder, stamping on the sustain, his hands stabbing out the cruel music of his disillusionment. Maddie laughing, tossing her black hair. Maddie’s mouth, eager against his. He pictured her crying, begging him to take her back. In his imagination the music snatched her up, flung her around without mercy, tossed her into the churning river to be carried far away.
A tremendous crack of thunder jolted the auditorium, sounding as if it had broken the building in half. Lightning dazzled briefly, and then even over the galloping music he could hear the rain hurling itself against the windows. The wind shrilled on. He grinned humorlessly and played all the louder. He and the thunder were competing now. His fingers were a blur on the keys; tree branches clattered and squeaked against the windowpanes. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks, he thought: you’ve got nothing on the storm inside.
But then came the bright loud buzz of a power source in distress, and in one final boom the lights went out. The storm had knocked out the electricity.
William got up from the piano and felt his way down the stairs at the edge of the stage toward the windows. The trees were bent nearly double; broken branches littered the ground, and the rain was streaming horizontally against a sky the color of a bruise. He leaned his hot forehead against the cool glass and listened to the storm, felt the wind rattle the panes. In the dim light he saw something on his hands and held them up to the window. His fingers were bleeding.
Staccato applause sounded from the back of the auditorium. Startled, he looked around and saw a figure in grey emerge from the darkness and approach down the side aisle.
“Bravo, young man. You have quite literally played up a storm.”
William was in no mood to make polite with a stranger, especially one who had been listening in. “I didn’t know anyone was here,” he said. “I thought I had the place to myself.” It was the closest to rude he allowed himself to be.
“I like to lurk,” said the man simply. “I hear a lot of interesting things that way. My card.”
William took the business card and held it up to the window, but there was too little light for him to make out what was printed on it apart from a large capital letter A. He could scarcely see the stranger, either. He had an impression of a grey business suit, pale hair, and a glint of eyeglasses, but that was all.
“I represent a powerful figure in the world of music,” said the man. “If he takes an interest in you, and from what I’ve just heard I’m sure he will, it could mean great things for you. International exposure, a place in the pantheon of musical greats—even immortality.” He let the words sink in.
“No thanks,” said William shortly. Wild exaggeration didn’t endear him to this agent, or whatever he was. He headed back up the steps to retrieve his bookbag from where he had dumped it next to the piano. “I’m not interested in a patron.”
“Surely you wish for your music to reach the biggest audience it can? A talent like yours should be shared with the world. The party I represent can make that happen.”
“I’m going to do my best to make that happen by myself.” He probably wouldn’t have been this obstinate if this guy hadn’t intruded on something so personal. “Thanks, but like I said, I’m not interested.”
“Not even if signing with my employer meant getting everything you dream of? Perhaps you don’t want the fame or the money, but what about appreciation? Adoration? Revenge?” He chuckled at William’s startled silence. “Music as tormented as what you played just now comes from only one place: the heart that has been betrayed.”
“That’s a pretty big assumption,” he said, hedging. It was actually a little uncanny. But on second thought he had pretty much bared his soul just now. Probably it wasn’t too much of a stretch to guess that a girl was behind all that rage and pain.
The eyeglasses glinted in the dimness. “I’m offering you the chance to make this young lady—any young lady—crazy with longing for you. She will be at your mercy. You will hold all the power.”
Power.
Maddie at his mercy.
Shouldering his bookbag, he walked to the edge of the stage and squatted down to hold the business card out to the stranger. “I won’t be needing this,” he told him. “I appreciate the offer—I guess—but I’m not ready to sign with anybody yet.”
“Are you absolutely certain of that?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Frankly, dude, your sales pitch is weirding me out. I don’t have any interest in becoming some power-crazy star who loses touch with reality. I just want to make music. But I’m sure you’ll find other kids on campus who’ll be more open to what you’re offering. Eric Nash, for one.” Eric would love the chance to wield celebrity like a taser.
A shrug. “Very well. I’m sorry we won’t be doing business together.”
The rumble of thunder drowned out anything else he might have said. The rainstorm, which had seemed to ease up during their conversation, was renewing its force.
William sat down on the edge of the stage and let his legs dangle. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. He got his phone out of his bookbag, saw that he had fifteen new texts from Maddie, and began to delete them unread.
Chapter 6
Joy had managed to get a sonogram appointment the morning after the council meeting. Not that there was any particular reason to doubt the results of the last one, but Tanner hadn’t been there for it, and she wanted him to see his daughter. And although she didn’t admit it aloud, she was a little alarmed at how much bigger she’d grown in just the few days since Samhain.
But seeing the image of little Rose on the screen reassured her. She was so perfect, down to every eyelash and fingernail. Joy was entranced. Before she got pregnant she had never thought much about having children; she had half assumed she would, some day, when she was older and married and settled. She hadn’t been prepared for the joy that would grow in her along with the baby, or the fierce instinct to protect her.
Beside her, Tan drew in his breath. “She’s amazing,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Joy’s forehead.
The do
ctor frowned. Joy’s regular doctor hadn’t had an opening on such short notice, so this was a woman she had never met, a Dr. Fowler. “Your records say you’re only twenty-six weeks,” she said. “This is a full-term baby.”
“No, that can’t be right,” said Joy. “I know she’s had a growth spurt recently, but…”
“This is no growth spurt. Even if that were possible, you’d have horrible stretch marks, when in fact you don’t seem to have any stretch marks at all.” Dr. Fowler tapped on the keyboard of the exam room computer and then turned toward her again. “Do you have some ID with you?”
“Of course,” she said, puzzled. The ultrasound technician still held the transducer to her belly, preventing her from getting up, so Tanner fetched her wallet out of her purse for her. Joy extracted her driver’s license and school ID and handed them to Dr. Fowler. When the doctor said nothing, but looked again at the sonogram image and then the computer screen, Joy asked in trepidation, “Is something wrong? Is the baby okay?”
Dr. Fowler gave them a big, fake smile. “Mr. Lindsey,” she said, “we’re going to be discussing some icky details about your girlfriend’s lady parts, so maybe you’d like to go down the hall and get a soda or something. Just for a few minutes, then it’ll be safe to come back.”
Tanner gave the doctor a level look. “Dr. Fowler, if you want to speak to my fiancée alone, you can just say so.”
“Fair enough,” said the doctor, dropping the fake brightness. “Give us about ten minutes?”
“Okay.” To Joy he said, “I’ll be just down the hall if you want me.”
The doctor’s caginess was scaring her. As soon as Tanner was out of earshot, she asked again, “Is everything okay with my baby?”
“Everything looks perfectly normal—for a forty-week baby.” Dr. Fowler sat down on the chair Tanner had vacated and fixed Joy with pale blue eyes. She was a plump middle-aged woman, and she was probably a comfortable, motherly figure under other circumstances.
Casting Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles) Page 6
