Page 54

“Is she going to be okay?” Desmond demanded.

“We have to get out of here,” Celia said. “It’s completely dark. How did we stay out so long?”

I hardly heard her. I was looking at Bryony, and she was looking at me. My hand tightened over her arm.

“I saw you,” she whispered, and I couldn’t read the look in her eyes.

“What?” I asked, stupefied and feeling foolish.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen,” she said.

“Let’sgo,” Desmond said. He grabbed his backpack and kicked dirt over the fire. He stamped out the coals, and we booked it away from the lake.

My heart hammered in my chest, and nausea roiled through me again and again. I’d looked into Mary Beaumont’s eyes, and I’d lost myself. It had been like there was no difference between thinkingmeandherandus. Or rather, that there was a difference, but I could slip quietly between them without a ripple.

The shadows were moving, unfurling themselves from the creases in old tree trunks, sliding slickly from the damp hollows beneath the rocks. Nearby, a lithe six-legged beast peeled itself free from the dark hollow of a tree, its eyes burning white.

“I thought you said there weren’t any hounds at Harrow anymore,” I croaked.

“There weren’t,” Bryony said, her hand twisting my sleeve in its anxious grip.

We moved at an uneven lurching pace. The bushes rustled madly to our left. Celia yelped. Then came the rasping sound of nails on tree bark. On the right, and then behind us, and then above, and we started sprinting—

A light flicked on right in front of us, and we skidded to a halt. I threw up a hand to ward off the bright beam, barely able to make out the shape behind it. Something buzzed within me, a vibration in my blood.

“What the hell are you kids doing out here so late?” Roman demanded.

“We lost track of time,” Celia squeaked. “We’re trying to get back. We’re sorry.”

“Just get inside where it’s safe,” Roman rumbled. We traipsed past him. Roman didn’t turn back toward the house. He kept walking, deeper into the trees. “He had something,” Bryony whispered to me, tilting her head toward mine. “He was carrying something in a duffel bag. Did you see?”

I shook my head. The light had blinded me too much.

“I don’t like that guy,” Bryony mused.

“You don’t like anyone,” I reminded her.

“I like you,” she said, and I looked at her with surprise. She smirked at me. “For now. We’ll see if it lasts.” She’d stopped walking. We were at the edge of the patios now. Desmond paused on the steps, looking back. “I can’t go inside,” she reminded me.

“Will you be safe getting back home?”

“The shadows don’t bother me,” she said. “And I don’t think anything else is out tonight.”

“Good.” I hesitated, feeling intensely awkward and deeply unwilling to say goodbye. “Did you learn anything tonight? Anything useful? For yourself, I mean.”

“I’m... I’m not totally sure what I learned,” Bryony said. She had an odd expression on her face, a little smile that was somewhere between pleased and puzzled. “I’ll have to see how things play out. But...”

“What?” I asked.

“Just be careful. Harrow is a trap. If you let yourself stop believing that, you’ll be lost to it.” She lifted my hand to her lips and pressed the softest, faintest kiss against my palm. Then, gently, she folded my fingers over a leather-bound charm. “I’ll see you soon, Rabbit.”

And then she was gone, drifting like a ghost across the lawn. My whole skin tingled with the touch of her lips, and grinning like an idiot, I stumbled up the steps.

17

THE HOLIDAYS WEREa blur of tradition and ritual. Thanksgiving came and went, and my cousins disappeared back to Atwood School. Christmas planning started the instant they were gone and didn’t let up. It left me exhausted. I dragged myself through every day, pretending to have opinions on trees and ornaments, menus and mistletoe. Every night I collapsed into my bed and hardly dreamed at all.

Bryony hadn’t kissed me since that night, on my hand or anywhere else. I hadn’t dared ask if she wanted to. But we walked by the lake and ate lunch at the folly and talked about things other than figments and shadows. It had been nice for a while to pretend that things were normal.