Unlike public schools throughout the United States, the Academy of Peculiars Library was organized historically rather than the usual Dewey Decimal System, which organized books by subject. The very end of the library signified the beginning of the school with books that were centuries old. It was much more delicate back there; gloves were required and you had to sign up for a timed spot. Since no one else was present in the library, including Mrs. Fitch, save for Jane, there was no wait time, no timed length. As long as she wore her gloves and was extra careful, she could hole up in this section for as long as she needed.
The first things she searched for were yearbooks. They were relatively easy to find, on one of the first shelves. Jane had to use a stepstool to get to them and could only remove one at a time, thanks to their girth. The first yearbook she grabbed marked the inception of the academy: AD 412. It was then that Jane realized she had no idea how old Michael was. He looked no older than twenty-five at the most, but she overheard he was centuries old, like Daryl. Her head started to pound—this was going to take much longer than she figured.
Well, no time like the present to start. It's not like you're doing anything else, anyway.
"Jane?"
Jane immediately sat straight up in her seat in the library. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until Daryl had said her name and she felt the dried drool on the corner of her lip. In what she hoped was a stealth move, she wiped it off with the back of her hand and masked it as an itch.
Daryl furrowed his brow as he regarded the pile of books on the small circular desk she sat at, with notes scattered across the surface, some stuffed within the pages of the books. She had a colorful array of pens as well, and each color seemed to represent something different. He shook his head, unable to believe someone could be so organized and cluttered at the same time. He noticed the side of her left hand was smudged with ink, and he bit back a smirk.
"May I ask," he inquired with a tilt of his head, "what you are doing?"
"Research," she told him automatically. She blinked once, twice. "Ethan said Michael used to go to school here. I was trying to look at old yearbooks to try and get some kind of information on him."
"Why?" Daryl asked.
Jane pressed her brow together. "Well, because," she replied, "he's the suspect in Cillian's murder."
"Yes. And?"
Jane gave him a face. "Well, I want to know why?" she told him.
"Bullshit," he said, his tone firm. It surprised her to hear him say a bad word. "You're distracting yourself. What I want to know is from what."
"How do you know I'm just distracting myself?" Jane asked, doubt evident in her tone.
"Michael is the primary suspect," Daryl agreed with a nod of his head. "We already have his motive. What more do you need to know? Why go through his past?"
Jane opened her mouth to respond, thought about it, and subsequently shut it. Why was she here? She thought she had a good reason when she first came down here, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember it now. Daryl, loathe as she was to admit it, was right. There was no reason for her to look into Michael’s past besides morbid curiosity.
"So?" he asked, looking at her expectantly. "Why are you distracting yourself? Ethan is a licensed therapist if you need to talk to someone about your ordeal."
"Ordeal?" Jane asked, her tone flat. "I wouldn't call it an ordeal. I was unconscious the whole time." She shook her head. "I’m here because I want to be. Because I chose to be."
"Ah," he murmured. He took a seat next to her so their knees were touching. Jane had to pointedly think of anything else, lest her thoughts take over her face and make it obvious that his knee was all she could think about. "You're not happy with my decisions."
"I'm not happy that you think you have a right to make decisions about me and for me without at least asking what I want first," she all but exploded.
"Am I not your partner?" he asked, egging her on even more.
"Yes! Yes, you are. But you're not being my partner if you tell me what to do. We can discuss things. I can tell you what I want and you can tell me what you want, and if they're not the same things, we can come up with a compromise we both agree on." Jane paused, catching her breath. "I know you're right. About me and Sophie being here. But it would have meant a lot to me to know that you take my opinion seriously."
"You're the only person I take seriously," Daryl told her, and she could tell he was being honest. He stopped, still looking with those black eyes. "What is it? I can tell there's something else."
Jane's face was set on fire and she started fiddling with her skirt so her hair swooped down and hiding her profile from his view. There was no way she was ready to share what else had been occupying her thoughts. At least not yet.
From nowhere, he grabbed her wrist with his hand so she couldn't play with her skirt any longer. His head was tilted down, and when he spoke next, his lips were like ghosts to her ear. "Stop doing that," he demanded. "It ... does things to me."
Jane was frustrated. She stood up without warning and collected her notebooks and pens, her hands shaking the entire time. She knew she'd have to return to clean up her mess, but she needed to make a point and leaving right now was the only way to do it.
"That's the point!" she told him and disappeared amongst the stacks of books.
It didn’t take long before Daryl caught up with her. He gently grabbed her elbow so she would turn around and look at him, his eyes filled with questions, burning questions that needed answers right this second. If she was insinuating what he thought she was insinuating …
“Just forget it,” she told him, her defiance clear in her tone. “Just forget what I said.”
“How can you possibly think I’ll be able to forget that?” he asked, raising a brow. He paused, watching her, trying to figure her out, trying to read her like one of those old textbooks still scattered across her desk. “Do you think I don’t want something to happen between us?”
Jane furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Surely, you must know,” he told her. “You must know that there’s nothing more I want to do than to connect with you in every sense of the word. I want to feel your legs wrapped around me and your breath on my neck. You have no idea the things I’ve fantasized about doing to you, and some of them, you’ll never know simply because I don’t think they’re appropriate for your knowledge. I’ve dreamed about what it would feel like, what it would sound like, what it would smell like. You have no idea. But I do not think now is the appropriate time to engage in such an activity.”
Jane clenched her jaw. “Why do you get to decide that?” she asked. “What makes you the one with that power?”
“It has nothing to do with power,” Daryl told her, his eyes softening. “Jane, just because we’ve shared dreams where the action has taken place does not mean it’s our reality. And it’s important for me that our first time is as perfect as it can be. You are not some woman I do not care about. You are the person I am in love with, and you’ve been through a lot. When the time is right, and we can focus on solely each other, I promise you it will happen.”
Jane nodded feeling her face flush at his words. She couldn’t believe she was yearning for sex more than he was—or, at least, that was how it felt.
“Jane.” He picked up her chin with the crook of his index finger so her eyes met his. “Please don’t ever doubt my feelings for you. Please don’t ever think that you want this more than I do, or that I don’t want it at all. I can guarantee you that you are wrong on both counts. Do you understand?”
Jane nodded once, her face hot and flustered. She still couldn’t believe they were talking about this. It was embarrassing. But, on the other hand, he had reassured her. He made her feel good and desired.
“Soon,” he added. “I promise. We will consummate these feelings soon, and it will have been worth this agonizing wait.”
23
Sophie couldn't sleep. Even Will snoring soft
ly beside her couldn't ease the tension between her shoulders that spread through the rest of her body like a persisting illness. She tossed and turned for at least two hours, and it frustrated her even more so than it normally would have because sleep wasn't coming, no matter how badly she yearned for it. Her sapphire eyes stared up at the ceiling, and she knew that by the time she was finished, she would have it memorized like the back of her hand. After another hour, she decided she couldn't take it anymore.
She slid out of bed, holding her breath so she wouldn't make a noise. She didn't want Will to wake up; if he did wake, it would ruin everything. Luckily, she knew he was a deep sleeper, and as long as she didn't bang into anything or make any loud noises, she'd be able to slip out of the room unnoticed. She changed into workout clothes on the off chance that he did wake up and question where she was going. In fact, she already had a story prepared, and it wasn't even a lie.
"I couldn't sleep," she would say. "So I wanted to get my mind off of everything by working out."
It wasn't the whole truth, either.
She tossed her hair up into a messy ponytail and left Will's flat without saying anything. She refused to look back because her heart was already pumping guilt instead of blood, and she didn't want to feel any more of that than she had to lest it deter her from her goal for tonight, this morning, whatever time it was. Once her sneakers were on and she had her school ID tucked in one of pockets, she was out the door. Her heart hammered in her chest as loud as the waves crashing onto the shore. It was as though she expected Will to pop up behind her at the last minute, and even though she had an explanation prepared on the tip of her tongue, she suddenly realized she was not prepared to withhold the truth effectively. He would be able to tell something was up, and she couldn't risk it. Not when she had to get to the bottom of everything tonight.
Once she was out of the building and enveloped in piercing cold, she felt her body relax. If she made it this far, she knew she was out. For now.
Before walking any further, she looked left, right, and then left one more time. She needed to make sure no one followed her. From there she headed to the gate, the one Jane had introduced her to where they snuck off campus to the underground club.
"Sophie?"
She had almost made it, too.
But Jane stopped her. And she wasn't alone.
"Jane?" Sophie asked, furrowing her brow. "Brielle? What're you guys doing out so late?"
"We were going to ask you the same question," Jane said, her green eyes narrowed, trying to read Sophie the way she read an opposing soccer team. "I was going to be offended that you're going out without inviting us, but your outfit says you're not going to do any dancing."
Sophie paused, thinking for a second if she should tell her friends what she was doing. She wasn't sure if they would support her or judge her or, worst of all, compel her to stay and tell Will everything. Though it was dark, she could see her friends clearly. Jane was in the school uniform with a jacket too big for her frame—if Sophie had to guess, she would guess it was Daryl's. Her hair was messy and her eyes were rimmed red. She looked tired, like she was studying for some exam or reading a book she couldn't put down. Brielle, on the other hand, looked relaxed. She had a soft smile on her face and her brown eyes looked warm even behind her thick bottle cap glasses. Her chestnut hair was in a French braid, and Sophie couldn't help but wonder if Brielle did it herself, and, if so, if Brielle would teach her how to do it. She'd always wanted to learn, and none of her foster moms had ever taught her.
These were her friends, she realized. They might not agree with her decision, but they would have her back, even if Will wouldn't. And she could understand Will's perspective, too. He was trying to protect the most important person in his life and would do whatever it took to ensure her safety, even if it meant riling her up and pissing her off. If their positions were reversed, she knew she would undoubtedly be the same way with him.
"I'm going to Michael's," she told him. "Something’s not adding up with this whole Cillian thing. I don't think he did it."
"What?" Brielle said, and it must have been Sophie's imagination, but it appeared as though her shoulders sagged forward slightly with relief. Like the last of her burdens had just been lifted. Perhaps that was why she appeared so rested. "Why do you say that?"
"I know it's an obvious choice," Sophie conceded in a voice just above a whisper. She knew ears would burn if they could only hear, and she didn't want to give anyone a reason to overhear their conversation. "Especially since he was blackmailing you. I know he threatened to kill Cillian since he raped Jane. But think about it. He said he would kill Cillian for his violent behavior with another act of violence. He didn't. Instead, he figured out how to keep Cillian alive by using Brielle and her ability."
Jane gave Brielle a long state. "Yeah, I'm not seeing how it could be anyone but Michael," she said.
"Okay, okay." She wasn't doing a good job of explaining this. "I can't tell you why, but my gut says he didn't do it."
"What?" Brielle asked.
"This isn't a biology thing, is it, Soph?" Jane asked, skeptical.
"No." Sophie shook her head furiously, her red hair shaking around like flames dancing in the dark. "I can't. It's just." She paused. "It's a gut feeling. I don't doubt that Michael is dangerous. I don't. I don't think he can't kill if he chose to. I just don't think he would do it. If this is about me, why not try to take me again? Why make it about Brielle or Jane? Cillian is just a name to me. I haven't been directly involved in him. His body was on the gate, not my room. Whoever did this wanted everyone to see it, not just me. I think if Michael did do it, he would make it more personal to make sure I knew it was about me. But Cillian's death has nothing to do with me other than the fact that Michael might be responsible for it."
Jane took a moment, then nodded her head once. “Okay," she said. "What do you need from us?"
Brielle nodded her head in agreement. Sophie almost collapsed in gratitude.
"Well," she said, her voice coming out shakier than she intended it to. She was just surprised that they were so open to helping her. That they were so supportive. She was ready to cry about it, which surprised her because she wasn't an emotional girl. "I need to find Michael. I've been to his place when he kidnapped me from the diner. I was hoping to figure out how to get there by recognition."
Brielle grinned. "This dark?" she asked. "I don't doubt you could do it, but it's crazy difficult, especially if you don't know where he lives during the day."
"Yeah," Sophie agreed. "I was going with it as I went along."
"I'll just do a sweep," Jane said with a shrug of her shoulders.
"Are you sure you're able to?" Sophie asked, concerned. "I'm not questioning your abilities, but after everything you've been through the past, shit, few weeks really, I don't want you to push yourself when you should be resting."
"Actually, Jane, she's right," Brielle told her, pushing her glasses up with her index finger. Her hands were shoved in her pockets, and it was hard for her to look Jane directly in the eyes. However, her voice came out steady and sure. "You can do your sweep, but if we're going out to look for Michael, you should stay here. The scars on your back need to heal, and the best way for them to heal is through sleep. Deep, uninterrupted sleep."
Jane's eyes flashed defiantly, and it looked as though she was prepared to give her a smartass retort, something along the lines of why should they trust her word when she was lying to them the whole time. Surprisingly enough, to Sophie at least, Jane bit back her reply through the popped jaw and the clenched fingers.
Brielle seemed to recognize it as well. "I'm sorry, Jane," she murmured. "I don't mean to tell you what to do or to assume that I know what I'm talking about. But I do. At least medically."
Jane nodded. "I know, I know," she said.
"I know it's going to take a while for you guys to trust me again," she said. "I really messed up, and I know an apology isn't going to make up for it. But I
promise you, I won't stop trying."
Now, Sophie looked at Jane and they both shared a smile. Jane nudged Brielle with her shoulder.
"Don't beat yourself up so much about it," she told the Brielle.
"Yeah," Sophie agreed. "Who knows what we would have done if we were in your position?"
Brielle smiled. "So Jane will stay here?" she asked. Her eyes looked over at the blonde, and though they were still wary, still unsure, there was genuine worry written in them. She didn’t want anything else to happen to Jane because of her, and even if she had to be a nag about it, she would. To her, it was worth it.
"Only if you guys check in with me every half hour," Jane said, her eyes going between the two women. Her chin was tucked and her lips were thin; to Sophie, this meant she was serious. The thing about Jane was if she was serious about something, it meant she would be stubborn about it as hell. "All you need to do is close your eyes and focus on me, and I'll feel you."
"You need to sleep," Brielle reiterated. Sophie hid a smirk. Brielle was ballsy, that was for sure.
"I will once I know you both are safe," Jane said. She was being polite, but there was a jagged edge to those emeralds that warned the Aqua not to argue with her.
Sophie felt her heart grow. She couldn't put into words what she felt in this moment. "Thanks, guys," she said, trying to do her best. "I mean it. I'm lucky to have you guys."
Brielle squeezed her shoulder and Jane bristled with discomfort.
"All right, all right," Jane said, waving the compliment off as gracefully as she could. "Are we ready for this?"
Sophie's eyes glistened with determination and her fingers curled into a fist. "Let's do this," she said.
24
Jane closed her eyes and pictured Michael. The guy was tall with copper colored hair and pale green eyes. He had a curt chin and a small nose. His teeth were straight, and the few times she did see him, he was always clean-shaven. His hair was combed to the side, each lock in place, almost like Daryl.
Stranger Series Box Set Page 65
