“It’s better when it’s a present,” Sterling said, with a ten-year-old’s irrefutable logic. “Open it.”
She shrugged, though she felt like refusing just to avoid following an order from a male. The tab made a ragged zipping noise as she pulled it back, leaving her holding a strip of corrugated cardboard as wide as her pinky finger. Really, was there anything closer to pure bliss than a delivery of new books?
Actually...a whiff of Gray’s warm cinnamon scent drifted her way at just that moment. She caught sight of his shoulders, made even wider by his storm cloud-colored coat, and remembered what they looked like without the coat. Maybe there was something better than a new book after all.
But she couldn’t indulge in that here, in front of a pair of adolescents. So she settled for pulling back the cardboard and stared at the contents of the package. It definitely wasn’t something she’d ordered. She’d just gotten paperbacks, and what she was looking at was one big book, an inch wide, at least a foot tall, and bound in leather.
She dumped it out into her hand, letting the white paper receipt flutter to the rough wooden floor.
As she felt the pebbled leather hit her palm, it came back to her with growing horror. She had ordered this. A long, long time ago. Before she’d even come here. Back when she’d thought Pippa had been murdered.
Slowly, but unable to stop herself, she turned the book over. Light glinted on the golden letters sunk into the leather. The Atlas of Ancient and Medieval Architecture. She breathed the same as normal, but all the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the air. Her lungs worked, but she had a horrible feeling of suffocation, just the same. The letters appeared and disappeared before her eyes—until she realized it was just her, blinking at them.
The book was ripped from her hands. A square-jawed face appeared in her vision, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring in pure anger. Gray had a hand wrapped around her upper arm like a manacle. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She looked down to see Sterling’s eyes had filled with tears. Silently, water dripped down his face in a steady stream. His skin was the color of whitewash.
“Boys.” Gray shoved the book’s cover into her chest, forcing her to stumble backward. “We’re leaving.”
All Sadie could do was hold the atlas to her chest, clinging to it and watching them leave. Only Argent looked back at her, wagging his fingers in a cautious farewell wave over his shoulder.
It must have been a full ten minutes later when she seemed to come back to herself, a few neurons starting to fire again. What the hell had just happened?
This felt exactly like the night Count Burana had visited. Everyone had known what was going on but her. She’d been missing vital information that made everything else make sense. Then, as now, if she’d only known that one thing...
The look on Sterling’s face. Hollow and haunted. It made no sense. They’d talked about Pippa’s death before, so why take it so hard now? Whatever it was, she had a feeling she wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Gray about it. He’d been so angry...
With effort, she forced herself to move. She picked up the discarded Amazon box from the doorway, along with the receipt, and threw them on the dining table.
What was she supposed to do with the book? When she’d ordered it, it had been a clue in a mystery. Not anymore. And she didn’t particularly want it sitting around Pippa’s apartment.
Maybe she’d donate it to the library. The irony of that made her want to laugh. Sort of. Not really.
She could talk to Mr. English about that, if he ever called. He might not. It had been close to two weeks since she’d talked to the secretary about him. For now, she’d just have to store the book. With a sigh, she went over to her bookshelves to find a place to fit it in.
Still weirded out by Gray’s bizarre reaction, she tried to figure out where to put the book. There was space on the top and bottom shelves, both of which had the advantage of keeping the book far from eye level. She didn’t care that Gray was bothered by it—though she definitely wanted to know what was going on there—but, mainly, she didn’t want a constant reminder of Pippa’s accident hanging around.
When she kneeled down to put the atlas out of sight on the bottom shelf, that’s when she realized it. Something had been bothering her about the atlas. Now she knew.
There was no way that Pippa’s death could have been an accident.
*
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******
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*
The New Year. Dread soured the pit of Sadie’s stomach, and not just because of what she now understood about the atlas. She laid a hand on the diamond panes of lead glass in Pippa’s window. The heat of her hand soon melted a palm shape in the frost, letting her look out onto the campus.
Through her handprint, she saw Strange Academy coming to life after two weeks of emptiness. All afternoon, cars had pulled up in front of Strange Hall and families had piled out. Younger kids clung to their parents, milking the last moments of togetherness. Older ones looked embarrassed when their mothers kissed them. Sadie watched this from her perch high above, seeing everything, but separated from all of it.
Over the course of the holidays, she and Gray had worked together during the day to look after the boys. And at night, they’d made love. But it was over now.
She’d spent the rest of the afternoon going through Pippa’s books one by one. Now that she knew for certain her death couldn’t be an accident, Sadie might be able to work out what had happened. She needed to figure out what Pippa had been doing that pissed someone off enough to drop a book on her head. Christian had mentioned notes between the pages of the books. But since he’d confiscated them, there wasn’t much chance that she could find evidence that way.
Still, it was her only option right now.
It wasn’t just her lack of success dragging her down. Classes would start soon, the beginning of months of faces staring at her like she was useless.
She ached to talk to her sister, but she didn’t know whether Chloë had forgiven her. She had the odd feeling that another rejection would crush her.
She tapped the carved wooden box sitting at her feet with a sock-covered toe. Her farewell present from Gray, left on her bed. She’d been asleep when he’d gone. She liked it that way. It meant she didn’t have to watch him go.
And she hadn’t shared her revelation with him. Or asked him about his reaction to the atlas. He wasn’t involved, she told herself.
She ran a finger over the box’s carved rose design, worn smooth by decades—or maybe centuries—of use. Little pieces of gold leaf clung in the deeper crevices. Gray’s gilt on the outside. Inside, Gray’s guilt.
A German sedan worth her year’s salary pulled up to Strange Hall’s entrance. The 6:15 bell hadn’t rung yet, but darkness had already fallen, and the white car had a ghostly glow. She didn’t have to see the driver to know who it was. She might as well say hello.
When she stepped out of the Strange Hall lobby, the cold winter night hit her skin. She tucked her long wool sweater tighter around her waist. The car’s owner was leaning into the car’s trunk.
“Your Excellency,” she said.
“Sadie Strange.” Count Burana didn’t look up. “I have told you to call me Orff.”
She saw him with new eyes and felt dim for not seeing the clues before. His oxblood leather coat could have been part of Gary Oldman’s wardrobe for Dracula, not to mention the little round sunglasses. Count Burana lifted a candy-pink Barbie suitcase from the trunk while managing to look lithe and dangerous.
“Papa,” a little voice said.
She turned to see Carmina, in a crisp pair of designer jeans and a puffy peach coat with fuzzy trim framing her pale face. Seeing Sadie, Carmina froze in. Sadie’s dormant guilt woke from hibernation, reminding her she hadn’t been able to stop Gray from getting Carmina suspended.
“Carmina,” she started. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for—”
Suddenly, po
werful hands gripped her shoulders from behind, locking her in place. Terror boiled through her blood, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. The count’s nose brushed her ear, and there was an odd noise as he inhaled deeply.
He released her. Panicked, she tried to dash for the safety of Strange Hall. Before she could, Burana spoke a single word in his native tongue. Sadie’s ears pressurized. Magic. Her feet locked in place. She shook with fear.
“Carmina.” His voice was cutting. “Go inside.”
Carmina turned, but her eyes stayed fixed on Sadie.
“Little One. Wait.” Burana lowered himself to his daughter. “Forgive me for being harsh. I will miss you like my soul.”
They whispered to each other in their lyrical language, then Burana kissed his daughter on both cheeks. When Carmina was gone, Sadie stayed silent. Touching family scene aside, she hadn’t forgotten what Burana was.
“You did not heed my warning about Gray,” he said.
Suddenly, the words struck her as funny. Sadie bit her bottom lip to hold back her hysteria.
Burana whirled on her. “Why does this amuse you?”
“I’m sorry. You just sound so much like—”
“Bela Lugosi.” He sighed. “On whom do you think he based that accent, hmm?”
Wind blew through the entryway, mussing Burana’s hair into a widow’s-peaked mess. It would have seemed sexy if she hadn’t developed a fetish for too-long black locks. Burana shrugged out of his coat and threw it over her shoulders.
“Fine. If I talk like this, would you take me seriously?” His voice had lost its rounded vowels and stressed consonants.
Her jaw dropped. “You’re American?”
“I am what I need to be. In the old days, someone might kill you just because you’re strange. Since my wife died, I haven’t been doing very well with fitting in. But you know all about being strange, don’t you?”
Irritation overrode her common sense and she glared at him. “What’s your point?”
“I’ll change my voice to fit in, but I wouldn’t sleep with someone just so they’d accept me.”
“You smelled him on me.” Sadie closed her eyes until she stopped trembling with anger. “It’s none of your business.”
The freezing wind billowed Burana’s thin linen shirt. He didn’t seem to notice, but ran his hands through his messed hair. It popped back into perfect salon style. “You helped my daughter. I will call you friend if you live long enough for me to do so.” Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes showed genuine concern. “How can you not understand you are in danger from him? Gray House men marry Meta women with strong Talents to preserve the bloodline, but also so they can defend themselves if their husbands go to the darkness.”
“Gray would never—” Her brain spun. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. He’d never hurt her, but he’d definitely gotten physical a couple of times.
Burana’s stare narrowed. “Your body betrays you. Your pulse has increased. I can hear your heartbeat.”
She took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. “I told him no. He insisted. But he stopped. He didn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sure he promised it would never happen again,” Orff said. “Give him what he wants until he tires of you.”
She felt the same aching acceptance she’d felt when she gave up trying to teach her students. The contents of the box had convinced her. Gray’s gift to her was dozens of vials of the prophylactic potion. The message was clear: He had no use for them. They wouldn’t work on April, after all.
It was everything she had left from him. That, and the bottle of scotch he’d left in her cupboard.
She took off Burana’s coat and passed it to him. “He’s tired of me now,” she said.
*
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****
*
Sadie threw open the door to Pippa’s apartment and dove for the phone, leaving her key in the lock. The phone was on its third ring at least. If she hadn’t popped into Carmina’s room after talking to her dad, she would have been here.
Desperate panic made Sadie’s hand shake as she grabbed at the receiver. Please, please don’t hang up, she willed. Please. “Chloë,” she said, a little too loudly. The words tumbled out of her despite her breathlessness. “You called me. I’m here. I’m here.”
“I beg your pardon.” There was only one word to describe the voice on the other end of the line. Proper. The British accent spoke of stiff upper lips and carrying on no matter what. It spoke of manners and breeding. “I was given this number, but there must be some kind of mistake. I do apologize for the interruption.”
She’d been expecting another call. Realization broke over her like the dawn. She gripped the receiver with both hands, clinging to the lifeline. “Mr. English?”
“Is this Miss Strange, then?” he asked, in his polished copper baritone—the kind of voice that made you feel clumsy for saying “uhm.”
“Thank you so much for calling.” Something in Mr. English’s voice made her want to tell him the truth. It might have been the fear that he would see right through her anyway. “I have to admit that this call isn’t about ordering books for the library.” She retrieved her keys from the door and kicked it shut. Privacy. She didn’t want anyone else overhearing this phone call.
“I suspected not,” he admitted. “I believe I would do the same in your shoes. In truth, I’m glad you contacted me. Your aunt spoke of you. She cared for you deeply. I would have introduced myself at the funeral if I’d been able to attend.”
He went on to explain that he’d experienced the symptoms of a stroke, but that the tunnel vision and garbled speech had finally been identified as the precursors of a vicious migraine. His voice filled with genuine regret for having missed the funeral. She thought back to her behavior of that day, screaming at her sister, and decided it wasn’t such a bad thing. Apparently the Metas had held their own memorial a week later.
As they talked, she gave up any idea that he might be deceiving her. In fact, she tucked her legs up under herself on Pippa’s brown-swirled couch, enjoying the conversation. He gave no sign of being anything less than honest. In fact, she felt a genuine regret growing in her chest. It would have been nice if Pippa had been open about their relationship. She could have known Mr. English in a happier time.
He explained that they had never hidden anything, but that living under a microscope at Strange Academy had made things difficult. Neither he nor Pippa wanted to get married, which meant they couldn’t move in together, not at a school. But she got a sense that they’d both been happy with the situation. And she thought she heard a twinge of pain in Mr. English’s voice as he remembered his loss.
She ended up not even asking him about the day of Pippa’s death. This man had done nothing wrong. She knew it without a single whiff of suspicion.
“Do you think you’ll come back?” she asked. “I would love to meet you in person.”
“I believe I will. Perhaps in the fall. I’m not sure I’m ready to retire quite yet.”
Now it was her turn for regret. If he came back in September, she wouldn’t be there. They would never meet. She drew in air and tried to give her voice an even tone. “Well, finding her must have been quite a trauma. It would be hard to come back.”
The silence on the line lasted for several heartbeats.
When he spoke again, his words were framed with hesitation, caution. “Who told you that I found her?”
“No one,” she admitted. “I assumed that it was you. But you weren’t the one.”
She heard him take a breath, as if to fortify himself. “I wish I had found her. It was a student. Unfortunately, quite a young student. His name is Sterling Gray.”
Her stomach filling with acid, she nearly dropped the phone.
Chapter Nineteen
In the dream, Gray fought a losing battle against exhaustion. His knees ached from hours of treading a black sea that stained his skin. Every muscle felt like
a chemical burn.
He stopped his frantic movement. For an instant, he floated. He breathed great gulps of citrus-scented air into starved lungs. He lay on his back and saw a dream sky, with the sun shining in a field of blue on one side and a white moon dominating a star-flecked night on the other. He gave himself up to the peace buoying his body on the calming waves.
It didn’t last. Something plunged him into the dark water. Gasping sent salt water blazing into his lungs. He looked up to see the water’s surface receding. He strained toward it uselessly as he plummeted further into the depths. He fought the pain in his limbs and tried to kick his legs, but couldn’t.
He looked into the inky depths. A woman dragged him down. The woman’s brown hair parted and he recognized her face.
A sound broke the dream. He jerked awake and gasped for air. He put his hands to his pounding temples to keep his brain from exploding.
The cell on his bedside table rang again. He ignored it. The sweat on his naked back caught the draft from the window. Dull morning light inched through the frosted pane of glass.
He let himself fall onto the pillows of his bed. His empty bed. The pristine one-thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets grated his skin in a way Sadie’s cheap duvet never did.
The phone rang again. This time, he picked it up. Before he even got it to his ear, a familiar voice raged at him. “You didn’t spend Christmas with April.”
“Why, hello to you, too, Maman. Happy New Year.”
“Don’t ‘Happy New Year’ me. You not gonna love this girl if you don’t spend time with her. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you as happened to me and your father.”
“When we’re married, I’ll spend time with her.” He thought of the cold waters closing over him and tried to untangle the twisted sheets from his legs. Maybe that was the problem.
“What’s the problem?”
Shit, had he said it out loud? “Everything’s fine between me and April.”
Strange Academy (Hot Paranormal Romance) Page 20