Kissing Midnight

by Rede, Laura Bradley

  Her voice is cold. “Oh, he’s very much alive.”

  “And what does he look like?”

  “He’s extremely handsome.” Her tone is wistful and resentful all at once. “He has ginger hair and bright blue eyes. His name is Deveraux Renard.”

  Ginger hair and bright blue eyes. Instantly I think of the boy in the student union, the one who was talking to the girl who saw me. I almost say something, but the look on Charlotte’s face stops me. Her expression has gone cold and hard. “What will you do when you find him?”

  “Oh,” she says, “We can’t do anything at all. Not to him.”

  “We?” I ask nervously, “You mean, you and me?”

  “No.” A cold wind is blowing off the playing fields. Snow flutters through her. “My sisters and I.”

  “Oh!” I brighten a little. Maybe one of her sisters will be friendly. “How many sisters do you have?”

  Her voice does a funny thing, almost like an echo, so it sounds like several voices speaking at once. “Hundreds.”

  “Really.” I take a step back. “And why are you and your sisters looking for this Deveraux?”

  “We wish to speak to the girl he is courting.”

  A feeling of dread is blooming in my stomach. “And what does she look like?” I ask carefully, “So I can help you look?”

  Her voice is almost sing-song. “Long dark hair and big brown eyes, skin the color of warm clay. So small and slight, like a little bird. Her name is Mariana Santos.”

  Mariana. The name sings to me. I know right away she’s talking about my girl—okay, she isn’t mine really. But now I know her name.

  And now I know I’m not the only one looking for her. “What will you do when you find her?”

  “Warn her.” Her voice is normal again.

  “About what?”

  She looks down at the snowy ground. “I can’t say.”

  This whole conversation is making me nervous. An instinct in the pit of my stomach is telling me to walk away and mind my own business.

  But then again, this involves the girl who saw me. Which means, in some way, it is my business.

  I override my inner alarms and keep my voice casual. “Come on, you can tell me. I can’t really talk to anyone else, right? So you know I won’t spread it around, whatever it is.”

  “No,” she says, “I really can’t say. I mean, the curse forbids me from talking about it outright. I may have escaped physically, but I’m still bound.” She looks distraught.

  I have no idea what she’s talking about— what curse? Escaped what?—but I’m pretty sure asking her won’t do any good. “If you can’t talk about it,” I say instead, “how will you warn her?”

  “We are trying to warn her by…less direct means.”

  I’m not sure what that means, and I’m not sure what to do. Should I tell her I’ve seen Mariana? Or, maybe more importantly, that Mariana saw me? But what good would that do her? After all, I haven’t seen her recently, and I don’t know where she is now.

  And, if I did know, would I tell Charlotte? Warning her about something sounds important. It sounds like she has Mariana’s best interest a heart. But I can’t ignore the strange way her voice sounded, or the intensity in her eyes.

  “What happens,” I ask as casually as I can, “if you don’t warn her?”

  “She dies.”

  She says it so simply, with such conviction, it knocks the breath out of me. That can’t happen, I think, but what am I supposed to do?

  All I know is I need to talk to Mariana more than ever.

  I need to find her, before something else finds her first.

  Chapter 10

  Saintly

  I spend most of Christmas Eve debating what to wear when I go out with Dev. It has been so long since I’ve just gone out to have fun, and I’m completely out of practice! Not that this is a big deal—we’re just going to go get coffee or something—but I still would like to look nice. Ordinarily I’d ask Delia to help, but she’s too busy doing stuff for the ball. Besides, it’s a little awkward, talking with her about Dev, even if Dev and I are just going out as friends.

  Finally, I decide to call Dev himself to try to get an idea.

  “Hey,” I say, “I was just wondering where we’re going tonight. You know, so I know what to wear.”

  “Well…” Dev draws the word out playfully, “I told you I was going to surprise you.”

  I frown into the phone. “And I told you I’m not big on surprises. No offense.” Honestly, I was never that spontaneous a person, but the lately I’ve become a genuine control freak, and after last night’s experience at the warehouse, I feel like I’ve had all the surprises I can handle.

  “Oh,” he says, “I think you’ll like this one.”

  “Oh,” I say, “I’m sure I will, but, you know, I’m sort of more into schedules. Plans. Things that can be written on calendars.”

  He laughs. “Okay, fine. On your calendar, please write…” He thinks a moment. “Write the sky’s the limit.”

  “The sky’s the limit?”

  “That’s what I said. Now see you at eight.”

  Before I can stop him, he hangs up.

  Super. Now what am I supposed to wear? Does “the sky’s the limit” mean something fancy? I seriously hope not, but, judging by Dev’s clothes and his car, he doesn’t lack for cash. I take my favorite dress out of the closet. It’s a standard-issue LBD, the one I bought to wear under my robes at high school graduation. It’s nice, but not exciting. And what if it isn’t stylish enough? I Google “Sky’s the Limit” to make sure it’s not the name of a nightclub where my little black dress might look hopelessly old school—or hopelessly high school—but no names of clubs come up. Ditto for band names and movie titles, and I can’t say I’m surprised: Bands and movies seem a little obvious for Deveraux Renard. A little… tame.

  A terrible thought comes to mind.

  I call Dev.

  “Hello, Saintly.” There’s a smile in his voice and a guitar solo wailing in the background. “I had a feeling you might call. What’s up?”

  “We aren’t going skydiving, are we?”

  He bursts out laughing. “We aren’t what?”

  “Skydiving! You know, leaping out of planes? Or hang gliding? Or… kite sailing?”

  “What the hell is kite sailing?”

  “I don’t actually know. But, we’re not doing it, are we?”

  He sighs dramatically. “If you don’t like flying, I’ll have to cancel the private jet.”

  I roll my eyes at the phone. “I’m not kidding. And it isn’t flying I dislike, it’s falling.”

  “Hmmm…” He lowers his voice. “But what if I told you, if you want to go out with me, you have to be willing to fall?”

  My heart does something syncopated. A little nervous thrill trips down my spine.

  But I am not falling for Dev. Not with all I’ve been through.

  I take a deep breath. “I guess I would say I prefer to keep both feet on the ground. I would say I want to go out with you, but not enough to risk life and limb.” Not enough to risk my heart.

  Dev’s voice is low and smooth, “What if I promise to make it worth the risk?”

  I lower mine to match. “Tell me what we’re doing tonight.”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “I told you, I hate secrets.”

  He chuckles darkly. “Then we’re not going to get along at all.”

  I sigh. “Listen, Mr. Enigmatic, I just want to know what to wear.”

  “Oh.” He thinks for a moment. “Something you can run in. Fire proof. That looks good in a mug shot.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Okay, fine! Something comfortable! It doesn’t matter what you wear. Frankly, I think you’d look beautiful in anything—or nothing,” he adds slyly, “As far as I’m concerned.”

  See? I think. Player. I’m glad we’re on the phone, so Dev can’t see me blush.

  “And don’t be ner
vous.”

  “Well,” I grumble, “What should I be?”

  “Bold, Miss Santos,” he says, “Be bold. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  There’s a click as he hangs up the phone.

  Bold. Something about that word rings a bell in my brain, but I’m not sure what. It’s certainly not how I would usually describe myself. Not lately.

  I look at the neat stack of freshly washed laundry by my dresser. Well, I can be bold. I pick out the most eye-catching color I can find: a soft sweater in a deep cranberry red. I pull it on, then grab a dark pair of jeans, my black boots and my favorite silver hoop earrings.

  I assess myself in the full length mirror. Okay, I’m not sure it qualifies as bold. In fact, I bet it’s pretty tame compared to most of the girls Dev Renard has dated. I fiddle nervously with one of my earrings. I still haven’t figured out quite why Dev agreed to go out with me. Is this just a pity date, I wonder, because I was such a basket case at the warehouse? Or is Dev honestly into me? I mean, there are a million pretty girls who would date him, Delia very much included. Delia does like him.

  But Deals likes everyone for about a minute, and then she inevitably moves on. She’ll lose interest soon.

  Besides I think, Dev wanted to be with me.

  “Is that so hard to believe?” I ask my reflection in the mirror. I mean, I may not look “bold,” but I don’t look bad. The deep red of the sweater brings out the warm brown of my skin, the shiny black of my hair. I pick up the big paddle brush from the dresser and run it over my hair. The motion calms me. Relax, I tell myself. After all, isn’t this why I’m here at school? To start over? To try to lead a normal life again? What’s more normal than going out with a friend?

  There’s a sharp knock at the door. I jump. “Who is it?”

  “Who do you think?” Dev says, “It’s me!”

  “Just a sec.” I ditch the hairbrush and swipe on some last-minute lip gloss, wondering if I should have put on makeup (like I almost never do). But it’s too late now. It will have to do. I open the door.

  Dev is leaning against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. I’m relieved to see he’s dressed casually, too, in well-worn jeans and a blue-gray sweater that makes his eyes look even bluer than before. His reddish hair is rumpled, and there’s a hint of stubble along the hard line of his jaw. “Hey,” he smiles, “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” I say, “Just let me grab my coat.”

  Dev steps in and looks around our tiny double with interest. “That must be your side of the room.” He points in the direction of Delia’s rumpled bed, heaped with clothes and magazines.

  “Wow,” I say, “You really don’t know me yet, do you?”

  “Kidding,” he says, “This is obviously you.” He surveys my side of the room: the flowered spread of my crisply made bed, the tidy row of text books on the shelf above my desk, the bulletin board with its highlighted exam schedule and bright colored postcards from my mother. I know it’s freakishly neat, but order reassures me. It’s the only thing I miss about Westgate.

  “Shall we go?” Dev picks up my coat from the back of the chair by my desk and holds it out for me. It’s such an old-fashioned gesture, it makes me smile. I shrug it on and reach back to free my hair from the collar, but Dev does it for me, the cool tips of his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he sweeps my hair up and smoothes it down my back, his palm resting momentarily on the small of my back before he steps away.

  “Ready?” He smiles back.

  “Ready,” I say, and I hope I am.

  We head out the door. The halls are quiet. Dev pushes the elevator button and we step in alone. I can’t help stealing glances at us in the mirrored elevator walls, and I’m relieved to see I don’t look nearly as awkward as I feel. In fact, Dev and I look good together.

  He catches me looking and gives me a questioning half smile.

  I look away quickly. “So,” I say to fill the silence, “I wanted to say thanks again for cleaning up at the warehouse last night and, you know…” What? Letting me cry on you? Not hating me for stabbing you with a fake knife? I’m not sure what to say.

  But Dev seems to understand. “No worries.” His smile is kind. “By the time I was done, I was creeped out, too. Anyone could let their imagination get run away with them in a place like that.”

  “I know,” I say, “But still, I don’t want you to think I’m usually so…hysterical. Or that I usually bail.”

  “I don’t think that. Would I have asked you out if I thought that?”

  “I thought I asked you out.”

  He grins. “That’s what I wanted you to think. Now come on.” The elevator stops and Dev leads me through the lobby and out the front doors. His car is parked on the street outside.

  As I slip into the passenger seat, I notice a small cooler in the back seat, beside the plaid picnic blanket he wrapped me in last night. I glance at him curiously. “Those for tonight?”

  “Yup.” He shoots me a smile as he turns the key in the ignition.

  “You do know it’s too cold for midnight picnics, right?”

  “The cooler is full of vodka,’ he says, “I figured we’d just get trashed.” He smiles at the horrified look on my face. “Kidding! No vodka. But yes, they are for tonight. And it’s not too cold for picnics if you know where to go.”

  “Which is...?”

  His smile widens. “The sky’s the limit, baby.”

  “I told you, I don’t like—”

  “I know. Surprises. But you don’t have long to wait. We’re only going a few blocks.”

  “A few blocks?” I look out the window. Campus is quiet. The darkened dorms slip by us. In a few minutes, we’re pulling over again in front of the closed science hall. It sits like a mausoleum in the dark.

  He parks the car and cuts the headlights. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “In the science building?”

  “What? Too nerdy for you?” He slips out of the car and opens the back door to grab the cooler and blanket. “I do have an intellectual side, you know. My first few nights in a new place, I always like to explore. The science building turns out to be a pretty cool.”

  “Cool, sure, but closed.” I don’t bother to get out of the car. “Do you even have a key?”

  Dev comes around and opens my door. “Yup. They handed them out at the last meeting of the geek club.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “No, I don’t have a key, Saintly, but I don’t think we should let a little thing like that stop us.”

  I stop in my tracks. “Are you going to break in?”

  Dev stops, too, frowning thoughtfully. “Break is such a violent word. I prefer to think of it as…keyless entry.”

  I glare at him.

  “Finessing the lock? Letting ourselves in so as not to trouble anyone?”

  “Getting expelled?”

  He smiles. “It’s not like we’ll hurt anything. We’re just going to slip in and slip out.”

  I glance anxiously around at the deserted street. “What if we get caught?”

  “We won’t.” Dev turns me toward him so his eyes meet mine. “But, hey, I understand, after what happened at the warehouse, you might be a little too nervous…”

  “I didn’t say I was nervous.” I keep my voice to a whisper. “I just don’t want to get expelled.”

  “No one is getting expelled.” He squeezes my hand. “We’ll just slip in for a minute. If you’re too nervous, we’ll come back out.”

  “Well…” I know he’s playing me. I also know getting caught would be a much bigger deal than he thinks. If my mother hears about me getting in trouble, she might decide I shouldn’t be at school.

  And it’s not just knowing someone might catch us, bad though that would be. I’m even more afraid that I’ll have another episode like last night at the warehouse. Suddenly, the entire idea of being out with Dev—of being anywhere but locked in my own little room—seems extremely stupid.<
br />
  But when your enemy is in your head, would being locked away even help? I was locked in a room at Westgate and it didn’t help me then. Is that the way I really want to live?

  Dev runs his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. His blue eyes are full of sincerity. “I really did want to show you something, Saintly. Something beautiful.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay. But we only go in for a minute.”

  “One minute.” He grins. “The clock is ticking.” He presses the folded blanket into my arms. Then, with the cooler swinging at his side, he sprints toward the science building.

  I follow a step behind.

  “Stay in the shadows,” Dev hisses. Crouching low and sticking close to the wall, he hurries toward the back of the building. I follow suit, hugging the blanket tight. When we reach the corner, we press our backs against the cold stone wall of the building. Dev peers cautiously around the corner. He’s clearly exaggerating his ninja-ness for my benefit, and it makes me smile.

  “The coast is clear,” he whispers dramatically. “Come on!” He darts around the corner, and I follow him to a back door. Dev stops when we reach it, dropping into a squat.

  I crouch beside him. “It’s too light back here!”

  “There’s no one to see us.” He pats down his pockets and pulls out something tiny that glints in the glow of the streetlamp. He slips it into the door lock and begins to jockey it around.

  My heart is beating so fast, I feel like a rabbit. “What if you can’t open it?” I ask, half hopeful.

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the lock. “This may shock you, Saintly, but I’ve actually done this before.”

  Click. The lock gives. Dev shoots me a triumphant smile as he eases the door open, just far enough for us to slip through. “After you.”

  I go, eager to be out of the light. And we certainly are. Inside it’s pitch black.

  I hear Dev rummaging in his pocket. In a moment, the beam of a tiny flashlight sweeps the room.

  I nearly scream. A dozen eyes glint at me in the dark.

  Dev claps a hand over my mouth. “Shhhh! They’re stuffed!” He plays the light over them more slowly and I can see what they are—a display case of taxidermy animals, their glass eyes reflecting the light. “Bio wing,” Dev whispers, “Natural history.”