Reborn Series Box Set (Books 1-3.5)
Page 38
Not all of her posts are about the Greeks. Some appear to be half-hearted attempts to uncover injustices—star athletes taking steroids, exam cheating scandals—but most of them are about couples getting together and breaking up, fashion blunders, who’s gay/straight/a secret heiress/moonlights as an escort. Fluff. Often there’s an accompanying photo of the subjects—oblivious to the camera, of course. It’s a little creepy, and I’m surprised no one has stepped in yet to either find out who this person is, or to shut the site down completely. I have no idea who Lady Blah Blah could be, only that she’s taken it upon herself to be Thurston’s personal Gossip Girl.
And that she’s probably not an Alpha Rho.
Next, I watch the infamous sex tape again. Just like I thought, the girl in the video doesn’t have a lower back tattoo. I know Alec’s roommate wasn’t lying, though, when he claimed he’d spent the night with Rebecca. He really thought he had. There’s only one person that could make him see Rebecca in real life but resemble her enough—from behind, in a dark room—to trick the camera, too.
So I guess the Alpha Rhos have been telling the truth all this time. They didn’t post the photos. It’s not Rebecca in the video. The resurgence of our rivalry escalated out of a misunderstanding. Now I’m even more certain that they had nothing to do with Carly’s disappearance.
Chapter 16
“Where are you from?” asks my new guide. We’re finally approaching a break in the crowd. There aren’t any booths or pushy merchants here, only families, groups of tipsy adolescents and the occasional affectionate couple on their way home.
“I’m from a small village in a far, far away land called New Jersey,” I tell him. Now that there’s breathing room and I’m not afraid of losing him, I unhook my arm from his. He glances over, frowning. Maybe in disappointment—except the corners of his mouth are always slightly turned down, so it’s hard to tell. “But I go to college at Thurston.”
He raises his eyebrows. “College?”
“College,” I repeat. “It’s a…place of learning. You don’t have places like that here?”
He shakes his head. “We have other ways of passing down knowledge and skills. What is your skill?”
I pause, not really sure what he’s asking me at first. “Oh. I’m a math major. You know…numbers and equations and logic and stuff.”
“Numbers and logic,” he echoes. “You must be a very rational person. Impatient with phenomena that may not be explained by your numbers and equations.”
“Everything is math,” I insist. “But I think I know what you’re trying to say—and no, I’m not always a rational person. Actually, I believe quite a lot of pretty irrational things.”
“Do you believe in destiny, Carly?” He says it casually while he’s watching his feet walk over the dirt path.
Okay, this is turning into a really deep conversation for just meeting this guy a few minutes ago, but I’ll bite. I don’t know what to expect next, anyway. For all I know, this could be one of the prince’s tests.
“Yes,” I tell him “I have a good friend that doesn’t, though. She’s run into this guy a few times in her life, and he keeps telling her fate is trying to push them together, but the whole concept really freaks her out. I can see why. It’s scary, this idea that we’re not really in control of our own destinies. That no matter what we do—what path we take—we may end up in the same place because of some outside force guiding us toward our destiny. I don’t really know if it’s true.” I shrug. “But it doesn’t really scare me, either. I kind of like the idea. It’s romantic. Do you? Believe in destiny?”
“My people know of a force that guides us toward specific places, times and even other people,” he says. “It isn’t an irrational belief for us. It’s quite logical.”
We both stop talking when we hear joyous cries and raucous laughter up ahead. The orange and red flames of a bonfire flicker in the near distance, crackling and popping in the air. I can just make out wisps of gray smoke unfurling against the night sky. The dark silhouettes of revelers twirl and dance around the fire. Their limbs undulate like reeds in the wind, their movements unpredictable and frenzied.
As we get closer, the heat from the fire makes my skin tingle. Someone is beating on a set of hand drums, and the erratic rhythm courses through me, my arms and legs itching to move. Something primitive stirs inside of me, a wildness that longs for nothing more than fire, music, dancing and the night.
My guide gives a hesitant laugh. “What are you doing?”
His question draws me out of my daze, and I realize I’m swaying my hips to the rhythm of the drums. “Dancing! Come on.” I grab his forearm and pull him into the circle of dancers. “Dance with me!”
He cracks a half-smile but remains unmoving for a time, watching me blankly as I jump and twist and whirl around and around. At one point he catches me mid-turn and tugs me into him, matching my rhythm and movements. We dance and dance, coming closer and closer to each other until we’re locked together, hips gyrating deliciously in sync. Perspiration beads on my skin. My mind is foggy with heat and smoke, and all I’m aware of is the pop of the drums and the feel of his warm, solid body against me, of his hardness grazing my hip.
We dance until the fire dwindles to a heap of glowing embers. The drumming stops. The hollers and laughter fade as people start to leave. I realize my legs are tired, and I sag against his body.
“That was fun,” I say breathlessly. Even though the fire is almost out, I still feel warm and tingly all over, like a wire humming with an electric current. Keeping my hands on his shoulders, I pull away to look at his face. “Wasn’t that fun?”
He nods without smiling. “Best night out I have had in a while.” His eyes glance down at my lips and back to my eyes again. I notice his hands firmly clasped on my hips. Part of me wants his hand to slide lower, to that place at the juncture of my thighs now pulsating with anticipation. The other part of me realizes where this might be headed and wriggles out of his grasp.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, the space between his eyes crinkling. “You have someone.”
“Yes. Well, sort of.” I whisk past him and get back on the road. In a moment he’s caught up with me, matching my determined pace. “I had a boyfriend up until recently. I’m not sure what we are now.”
“But that’s not what’s bothering you,” he says.
“I need to get going. I’m on a…mission for someone. The prince,” I explain. “I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted.”
“I see. Well, I said I’d be your guide—and I stand by that offer. Where do you need to get to?”
I stop midstride. “I don’t really know.”
“If you don’t know, I can’t be of much help.”
“He didn’t really tell me much about it. Just something about the mind and the body and the heart. I already had the brain teaser. I guess a test of physical strength is next. I just don’t know…” The rest of my words get swallowed by a huge yawn.
“Well, if there is a test of physical strength coming up, I don’t think you’re ready for it. You need to rest.”
“I took a nap earlier. I’m fine.” Except for my feet and legs, which are sore from dancing, and maybe from all of the walking I did today. And the iron weights pushing on my eyelids. “I’m wide…awake,” I say, stifling another yawn.
“Come on.” He takes my elbow and steers me forward. “I know a place where you can get some rest.”
***
I stare up at the thick trunk of a gnarled, ancient tree.
“A tree,” I say slowly. “You expect me to sleep in a tree?”
He shrugs. “It’s a beautiful night to sleep outside.”
“But it’s a tree. People don’t sleep in trees. People sleep in beds. There’s an entire village of buildings back there. You said you were from here. You must live in one of them.”
“I know the city well, but I don’t live there. Come on.” He positions himself at the bottom of the tree and wa
ves me over. “We can watch the sun come up.”
“But there has to be an inn back there, or something—hey!” I cry out as he gets a shaky foothold on a piece of bark and takes off up the trunk. He scales it in a just a few swift, fluid movements and hoists himself onto one of the lower, heavier branches. He crouches there like a panther and beckons to me again.
“Come on!” He extends a hand down to me. “I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I tell him, already unzipping the back of my dress to make room for my wings to emerge. This time when I summon them, they immediately unfurl behind me, feathery and pure white. The first time they surfaced was in the ladies’ room at the Riverfront Bar and Grill. I was too busy puking into a toilet to fully take in their magnificence. Later, I decided they reminded me of the wings the Victoria’s Secret models wear. Angel wings. I guess since halflings don’t have souls, I’m not much of an angel. But, as I straighten my shoulders and flap them once, twice to launch myself into the air, I feel proud and powerful.
The branches shake, leaves rustling, as I land unsteadily on one of the higher branches. He gapes up at me, green eyes flashing in the dark, trembling with incredulous laughter.
“You certainly do not need my help,” he says and climbs from branch to branch until he catches up with me. I sit down and let my body reabsorb my wings. We carefully nestle into the place where the branch meets the trunk and lean against the rough bark. There’s really no way to keep our shoulders and legs from touching.
“So, if you’re not from the city, where are you from?” I ask him. Looking out, I see a ruby glow peeking above the horizon. We must have been talking and dancing all night.
“Further north,” he says.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh, yes. There are nine of us.”
“That must be nice. I only have one. A younger sister.”
He shrugs. “I suppose it is. We don’t always get along, though. I’m closest with my twin sister.” He grows silent. When I glance over at him, he’s staring at the sunrise without really seeing it. His eyes are pensive, and he’s looking at something very, very far away—something I can’t see.
“I’m worried about her,” he continues. “I think she needs my help, but I—I can’t help her. I can’t protect her.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. His face takes on that wary look he had on when I first saw him at the marketplace. “She’s confident—she pretends like nothing bothers her—but I’m the only one who can see that’s not always true. Quite a lot of things get to her. People always let us down—even those that are supposed to love us the most.”
“I know how that goes,” I whisper, returning my attention to the horizon to avoid his searching gaze. “I thought I was protecting my sister once, too.”
“What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” I almost choke on the words. My throat starts to constrict. I am not telling some stranger from another world about this. Alec doesn’t know. My sorority sisters don’t even know.
“Sorry. I know it’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. I just find it difficult to talk about.”
“Is it worse than your own mother keeping you and your siblings locked away because she thought you were evil?” He says it all in one breath.
“It might be tied,” I admit. I put a reassuring hand on his arm. His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t move away. “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
“Maybe she was right to,” he mutters.
The words raise goosebumps on my arms. I take my hand back. “Unless you’re comparing, like, Jesus and Hitler, I don’t think many people are either completely good or completely evil,” I tell him. “Most are in between. Although I think Jeffrey might have been evil. Or at least what he did to us was evil.”
“Who’s Jeffrey?”
“Oh, he’s…no one.” I hadn’t realized I’d said that last bit out loud. “He was our stepfather. Our father left us when I was six and my sister was four. My mother remarried Jeffrey three years later. He was a financial advisor. He was smart, looked clean cut. Seemed really nice when he was dating my mom.” I don’t know what has suddenly compelled me to tell the story I wasn’t going to tell. Maybe I feel a slight obligation to share because he just opened up. Or maybe I’m snatching the opportunity to get it off my chest—to tell someone who doesn’t know any of my other friends, someone I know I’ll never see again, after tonight.
“But after they got married, he…changed,” I continue. “My mom was a lawyer, and sometimes when she had to work late, he would come into my room, and…well, you know.” A tear trickles down my cheek, and I hastily wipe it away with the back of my hand. Like the remains of a wrecked ship rising out of dark waters, memories resurface, threatening to break the barriers I’ve worked hard to erect. My companion’s face is impassive as he listens to my story. “He used to tell me that if I refused or if I told anyone, he would hurt my sister. I thought…I thought I was protecting her. I found out later he was doing the same thing to her, anyway.
“It stopped when I started junior high. I guess I was too old for him.” Bitter bile rises in the back of my throat. “I didn’t tell anyone until my senior year of high school. Then, I finally told my mom. She didn’t believe me at first. Then, it sort of seemed like she started to—only she said it was my fault. That I must have done something to provoke it.” His stoic face and the leaves of the tree and the ever brightening sky are melting together as my eyes fill with tears. “I couldn’t believe that my own mother refused to take my side. I thought about killing myself. The only reason I didn’t was because I wanted to be there for my sister. Once I got accepted to Thurston, I decided that I was never going back home.”
“And did you? Ever go back home?” he wonders.
“I have no home to go back to,” I say through choked laughter. “The summer after I graduated high school, Jeffrey and my mom were killed in a car accident. I think the police officer who told us thought there was something wrong with me. My sister burst into tears. I didn’t shed one. I didn’t even cry at the funeral. I felt more…relieved than anything. No. It was more than that. I was happy. I was so…happy.” My voice cracks on the last word. The dam breaks, and tears flood down my cheeks. I bury my face in my hands, shoulders heaving as I sob. I know he’s still there—I sense his solemn presence beside me—but he doesn’t try to embrace me or stroke my hair or whisper consoling words into my ear. To be honest, I’m glad he doesn’t. I don’t want to be reassured. I want to have a good cry. And it’s nice just having someone close by.
Finally, my tear ducts dry up, and I lift my head, sniffling. An apology is on the tip of my tongue until I see his face—the face I thought was devoid of feeling. His cheeks are moist, his eyes reflecting an almost ancient sadness—a depth of pain I’m not sure an ordinary human could bear. I want to kiss his tears away. I want to throw my arms around him and tell him everything is going to be okay. I want to be the one that helps him trust people again. I want him to be that person for me.
And then I remember.
“You never told me your name.” I shrink away from him as far as I can without toppling out of the tree.
His eyes cloud over, turning a milky jade. “It doesn’t matter.”
“This is a trick,” I realize. “You’re him.”
His lips part like he’s about to protest. Then, they curve into a wicked grin. A beat later, I’m sitting next to the platinum blonde, leather clad prince. He’s taller and broader than his dark haired, brooding alter ego and takes up most of the branch. I feel myself start to slip off. His hand darts out and wraps around my hip to steady me.
“Watch yourself,” he says, pulling me toward him much closer than necessary. “You might fall.”
“Breaking every bone in my body is starting to sound pretty good right now,” I snap.
He places a hand on his chest. “Ouch. I didn’t realize I made such vile company.”
“Who said I was lying?” he asks innocently. I want to wipe that smug, impish smile off of his beautiful face. “Congratulations are in order. You passed my first test.”
“Gee, thanks. Do I get a gold star?”
“You get to continue on your journey. You’re one step closer to earning your freedom. But don’t get too cocky—it’s only going to get harder and more perilous from here.” He withdraws his arm from me and hops to his feet. I grab onto the tree trunk as the branch dips dangerously.
“What’s next? Give me a hint.”
He strides down the branch, stops near the end and turns to face me again. “No can do, my little bird. The discovery is part of the fun!”
“Maybe for you,” I say to the back of his head. He steps out as if to jump out of the tree, but pauses with his foot dangling in mid-air to look over his shoulder at me.
“Did you like him?” he wonders. “The young man from the village?”
“Well, I was starting to,” I admit, “before I found out he wasn’t real.”
“Reality. Illusion. It’s all the same to me, anymore,” he says before doing a pencil dive out of the tree.
My heart grinds to a halt in my chest. I crawl carefully down the branch and peer over the side.
There’s not a trace of anyone in sight.
Chapter 17
Back at the house, the rest of the executive board—well, except for Carly—and our fall pledge class are congregated in the living room for their first new member education session. As members of the board, we’re supposed to introduce ourselves and our positions. Between classes, scrambling to get homework done during my breaks, worrying about Carly and trying not to think about that person I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know is back—I completely forgot about it.