Page 17 of Love Immortal

Sixteen

I ’m somewhat relieved that Gothic lit doesn’t meet during the week of midterms. I ache for Dacian’s company, but I also don’t trust myself not to act like a fool in front of him. I’ll have to learn to keep my cool. I can’t let anybody know the effect he has on me. Not to mention that I haven’t even started working on the essay he assigned. Every time I think of the theme, I get heart palpitations. I’ve no idea what I’m going to write.

I guess I’ll have the four days of fall break to figure something out. There won’t be much else to do, anyway. In the aftermath of Anita Hernandez’s murder, all students are strongly advised to leave campus, so the place will be a ghost town. Having nowhere to go, I’ve applied for special permission to stay. I’ll probably be haunting West Hall by myself. Last year, I spent both this break and Thanksgiving at Fiona’s—her parents were very kind to host me—but this time, they are all traveling to St. Thomas for her cousin’s wedding.

“I feel bad leaving you here,” she confesses during one of our late-night midterm study sessions at the library. “But I can’t miss Sasha’s big day. She only picked this date because it was during my break. Are you sure you don’t want to stay at our guest house? You can drive over with me.”

“By myself? Without you?” I ask incredulously.

“Mom said you’re welcome to. It’s not fun being alone in an empty dorm. She also doesn’t like that they never found who murdered that woman. She wants you to be safe.”

I shake my head, touched. “Nah. Please thank your mom for her generosity, but I’m good. It’s just four days. And don’t worry about me. Enjoy the beach and the party!”

“God, yeah, I can’t wait.” Fiona sighs dreamily. “I could use some sunshine after all this dreariness.” She gestures at the nearest window, which is being pummeled by endless streaks of rain. “But I’m gonna give you my hotel info. Call me if something happens, okay? And don’t go hiking in the woods alone if you get bored. I don’t think they ever found the missing hiker either.”

I chuckle. “Nothing will happen.” It’s not like I ever venture out into the woods anyway. And I have plenty of reading to do, so boredom will hardly be a danger to me. But Fiona gives me a pointed side-eye until I acquiesce. “Okay, okay. I’ll call.”

In the end, something disturbing does occur that very week, but despite my assurances, I never get to tell Fiona about it.

Midterms fly by faster than expected, and then it’s fall break. My grades won’t be posted till next week, but I feel pretty good about them. I spend most of Wednesday lunch trying to reassure Fiona that there’s no way she failed her psych test with the amount of studying she did. She leaves that afternoon, feeling a bit more optimistic about it, and the whole campus clears out within hours.

I still have my shift at the library on Friday before it closes for the weekend, and I’m grateful since I don’t have anywhere else to be. But it’s a very slow day. Jessi is gone for the break, so I’m manning the front desk by myself. There’s a total of three phone calls I have to answer, and a couple of professors stop by, but no students show up. Or so I think. I head down to the vault to return some works one of the language faculty requested and see a figure standing by the shelves, facing away from me.

I startle. “Eric?” What is he doing here, and more importantly, how did he open the vault? He couldn’t have slipped past me at the front desk, and he certainly shouldn’t still have his librarian’s key from the summer.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at the shelf, muttering something to himself. A foreboding sense of wrongness comes over me. I’ve never liked being in closed-off underground spaces with no windows and only one exit. Despite all the books around me, I can’t help but feel like I’m locked in a tomb. In the silence, the fluorescent light buzzes and flickers above me, and the air feels cold, as though someone has cranked up the AC. There’s nothing I want more than to get out of here, but it’s my job to make sure Eric leaves too. I take a few steps toward him. “Eric, the vault is for employees only. You’re not supposed to be here.”

This finally catches his attention. But when he turns around, I wish he hadn’t. Something is off about him, almost like when he had that outburst in Gothic lit but dialed up a few notches. His eyes are wide and red like he hasn’t been sleeping, and he’s still mumbling something dazedly as his gaze focuses on me.

“Evergreen?” he says, his voice gravelly, as though he didn’t expect to see another person here. “What do you want?”

The gall. I should be asking him that. It’s a Herculean effort to restrain my annoyance and repeat myself for the third time. “Eric, this section is off-limits. If you’re looking for a book, I’ll get it for you. Otherwise, please leave immediately.” It’s absurd to suggest that Eric wants a book, but what else am I to think?

Eric frowns, and his eyes turn absent again, drawn back into his own thoughts. “Books…yeah, it’s the stupid books. It’s all their fault.” He shakes his head, his face twisting into a hideous grimace.

What the hell? Is he drunk ? I need to get him out of here before he pukes on some antique manuscript. “Eric, I have no idea what you’re on about, but you need to go.” I move toward him, ready to escort him out by force.

But he doesn’t even hear me. “I hate books!” he growls at the shelves instead. “Hate you! Hate you! Hate you!”

I stop in my tracks. The anger I’ve been repressing for months blazes up in me. This guy took away my internship and made my summer miserable. I know he never wanted the position, that he got it only because his rich family bought it for him, but to hear him say that he hates books?

“What is wrong with you?” I snap. “You show up here like you freaking own the place just so you can denigrate hundreds of years of intellectual labor? What does an imbecile like you even know about creating something of value? You live your spoiled little life where everything is handed to you. Get out of here before I?—”

I gasp. In the blink of an eye, Eric closes the distance between us and shoves me into the nearest metal shelf, which knocks the wind out of me. He claws at my hoodie and snarls into my face. “What do you know about me, Evergreen, huh? You know nothing! NOTHING!”

Fear prickles at the base of my skull. Alarm bells start shrieking in my head. I’ve never been afraid of Eric. Unlike Grady, he just doesn’t look menacing. But right now, there’s a weird, disturbed energy about him. I swear it feels like I’m one wrong word away from him murdering me.

As calmly as I can manage, I say “Eric, let go of me.”

For a moment, he simply heaves, his face manic.

Then suddenly, his arms twitch away, and he backs off, but a creepy smirk turns up his mouth. “It’s you, then,” he mutters under his breath like he’s made some kind of decision. “Gotta be you.”

“What?” I scowl, shaken. But he doesn’t say more. Flashing one last murderous glare at me, Eric stomps out of the vault.

I exhale with a shudder. It takes a long moment for my muscles to unclench.

It’s astonishing how deserted a place as big as Camden can look without the students milling about. In the time it takes to walk back to the dorm from the library, I don’t encounter a single soul. The sidewalks and parking lots are all empty. I don’t scare easily, but I feel a little on edge after the incident with Eric. I have no idea what any of it was about. I kick the dry leaves irritably. The silence that has taken over campus is eerie in a way that gets under my skin. I almost regret not taking Fiona up on her offer to stay at her place. But it’s too late, and anyway, why am I suddenly such a scaredy-cat? I’ve spent plenty of time alone. The room I rented over the summer was above someone’s garage out in the boonies, and the owners were often gone camping and kayaking. Being by myself didn’t frighten me then. Besides, four days of quiet should be good for me. I’ll take a stab at that essay and hopefully sleep. I haven’t slept well in a few days. Despite how awkward I felt in front of Dacian, I’ve been secretly wishing the fog dream would return. That he’d be in it unconcealed, letting my eyes feast on him. There isn’t anything wrong with just dreaming of Dacian, right? If those fantasies never leave the quiet chambers of my mind, they won’t hurt anyone.

I kick my Chucks off by the threshold as I step into my room, which is awfully stuffy. The building’s heat is on full blast again, and the radiator is clicking loudly. What a waste when literally no one but me is around. I crack open the window just a smidge to let some air in but tell myself not to forget to close it again, knowing my propensity to wake up freezing in the middle of the night.

I try to read Jekyll and Hyde , which is my next assignment for Dacian’s class, but I quickly become drowsy and decide to call it an early night. I turn the lights off, gently pat my box of letters good night, and burrow snugly under the covers.

But peaceful sleep fails to come. For several hours, I toss and turn in my bed, unable to get comfortable. I open and close the window in a futile attempt to regulate the temperature before giving up and just leaving it open. As fresh, icy air fills the room, I finally manage to drift off. But my dreams are strange. I think Dacian is in them, except I don’t see him—I just know that he’s somewhere in the woods around campus. And there’s someone else there, too, and a sense of danger. I feel it acutely. Worried about Dacian’s safety, I try to find him, but I keep going in circles and getting lost in the trees.

Then I suddenly hear his voice calling from the darkness, and it sounds so real that I shoot into a sitting position, fully awake. Breathing heavily, I look around my room, my heart pounding. It doesn’t make sense, but I swear Dacian’s voice wasn’t part of the dream. I strain to hear any noise around me—perhaps some students stayed behind and are throwing a party, or maybe the TV in the common room was left on. But West Hall is quiet. Oppressively quiet.

Prickly anxiety begins to crawl over my skin. What if Dacian really called me? What if a murderer is lurking outside, and Dacian needs my help? I know this isn’t logical, but I won’t be able to sleep again until I check. Rubbing my forehead tiredly, I crawl out of bed. I throw on my sweatshirt and sneakers and head outside.

The moment I step out of the residence hall, the October chill bites my skin, and I shiver. The nights have grown cold in the past week, the temperature dipping below thirty degrees. My hoodie isn’t thick enough to protect me. But my head is instantly clearer, and that feels good.

I couldn’t find Dacian in the incomprehensible maze of the dream landscape, but I know how to get to the woods in real life. I walk briskly through the back courtyard, making my way toward the looming darkness of the trees. It’s quiet save for the crunch of fallen leaves under my feet. When I’ve walked for a few minutes without encountering anything or anyone, my erratic heartbeat slows and I calm down a little. The walkway bends around the athletic facilities, and after I pass them, I have an unobstructed view of the woods. There’s a narrow hiking trail branching off from the path. I gaze at the twisted shadows of the tree trunks ahead. I think it’s safe to turn back now. It was just a nightmare, intense but not real.

But just as I’m about to call it quits, there’s movement in the trees. I stop abruptly. Is that a person? I squint, trying to make out the shape, but it’s too dark. The sole streetlight nearby doesn’t reach that far.

My heartbeat spikes again as I take a few steps along the trail. When my eyes adjust to the darkness, that’s when I see it: a figure crouching under an old maple tree. No, not one figure—two. One is splayed on the ground, his body twitching as though trying to resist, his right leg bent unnaturally, probably broken. The second one is hovering above him, pinning him down. I can’t see either of their faces, but there’s a wet gurgling kind of sound coming from that direction.

Dread rolls over me. I need to get away from here and call security. But before I can force myself to take a step, I realize the silhouette on top looks familiar.

“Mr. Bathory?” I say, shocked that I actually found him.

The figure freezes. Slowly, he turns to face me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. It is indeed Dacian; his striking face is unmistakable in the pale moonlight. Only his eyes…they aren’t the two fathomless abysses I so often find myself lost in. Instead they are glowing bright red like some hellish creature from a horror story, and his mouth is smeared with something dark and wet. It’s dripping off his sharp chin as though…as though he’s been drinking it.

My mind goes fuzzy. My gaze falls to the grass below Dacian, and the person I find there, motionless, is Eric Stockton. Oh my god. I cover my mouth. Just hours ago, I saw him in the vault, but now there’s a gaping hole in his neck that’s gushing blood as though he’s been mauled by a wild animal. No, not an animal—Dacian. He’s the only one here.

My stomach roils. I stagger back a step. This breaks the silent spell.

Dacian’s bloodied mouth opens. “Mr. Evergreen—” he says. His arm rises as though to beg me to stay. But my instinct to run finally kicks in. I don’t fight it anymore.

I charge across the lawn to the back courtyard of West Hall faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I nearly lose my footing on the slippery grass and tumble through the hedges, but in my terror, I don’t dare look over my shoulder, not once. I don’t stop until I’m back in my room with my door shut and my key turned in the lock.

I force myself to stay by the door, listening. I have no idea if Dacian followed me inside or if he knows which room I live in. I strain for the sound of footsteps, any sign of pursuit, but all I hear is my own ragged breathing. Temporary relief washes over me, and I let my forehead fall against the wooden doorframe. As I close my eyes, images of what I saw swirl in my mind like pieces of a broken mirror.

Eric…he looked dead . Or soon to be dead, what with the severed jugular and that amount of blood pouring out of him. A part of me tries to conjure an explanation that isn’t supernatural, that doesn’t rely on Dacian being something I can’t even say out loud, but it comes up empty. There was so much blood on Dacian’s face, dripping from his mouth. And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened on campus. I feel nauseated once the realization hits—this is how the woman who worked in the dining hall died. Once I discard all those garbage rumors about cartels, the only facts I know for certain are that there were bite marks on her body and that her blood was drained like someone tortured her. But maybe the blood was taken for a different reason.

My mind feels like it’s about to explode. Was it Dacian who killed Anita Hernandez and dumped her into the river to hide the evidence? But how is that possible? Dacian, who went out of his way to get the library job for me, who read me a poem like his heart was shattering, who looked at me like I meant something to him… has he been lying to me this whole time? Has he just been waiting for an opportune moment to corner me alone because he…he’s…

I can’t even make myself think the word.

Not daring to flick the lights on, I quietly pull away from the door, too afraid to make a sound. I’m alone, and he’s looking for me. Whatever reason he had for not killing me earlier is surely gone now. I’ve learned his secret; he won’t let me get away with it.

Tap-tap-tap. I hear a knock against the glass.

I jump. It takes a moment for me to realize that it came from the window behind me—the one I left open. Seized by terror, I turn around slowly. Bathed in shimmery moonlight, Dacian is outside—outside my third-story window—and his feet aren’t supported by anything.

My knees wobble at the impossible sight. He’s found me already. On instinct, I dive into a corner, hoping faintly that its shadows will conceal me. But on my way I crash into the sharp corner of my desk, hard.

“Careful, Mr. Evergreen,” Dacian warns as I yelp in pain. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.” He’s wiped the blood from his face, but that does nothing to erase my memory of him covered with it. The ominous red glow has yet to leave his eyes.

Shuddering like a rabbit about to be slaughtered, I back against the wall, but it’s no better than a child hiding from a monster under their bed. Because the shadows are Dacian’s friends. With unnatural swiftness, he zooms forward, right up against the window, peering through the open crack like an owl on a hunt. The crimson glow of his eyes casts light onto the white windowsill as they lock with mine. “You know I can still see you, Mr. Evergreen. You can’t hide from me. Yours is the only beating heart inside this building.”

A sickening wave of horror envelops me. Can he really hear that? He could be bluffing, trying to scare me, but what would be the point? In a frenzy, I wrack my brain for information about those who haunt the night in search of blood—anything I can remember from movies and books.

They don’t reflect in mirrors, and they’re scared of sunlight—I’ve never seen him near a mirror to know for certain, but that second one clearly isn’t true. Sometimes, they can shapeshift into bats—I don’t know about that, but Dacian can definitely fly. They can have extraordinary strength and healing abilities—again, I’m not sure. But Dacian killed Eric and took a chunk out of his neck with his teeth. What other abominable things is he capable of? If what he says is true, there’s nowhere to run from him. He’ll just break through the window and kill me too.

“Let me in. We need to talk,” Dacian says again. For some baffling reason, he’s not rushing in, just hovering outside like a black cloud.

I frown. Why is he bothering to ask permission? Is this some kind of sick game? Is he trying to make the food come to him?

“Mr. Evergreen, please don’t be unreasonable,” he says, more insistent this time. His scarlet eyes bore into mine through the crack. I can tell his patience is starting to wane. But still, he makes no move to lift the sash or break the window. This doesn’t make sense.

Then, more trivia springs up in my brain. It takes a moment for me to piece it together.

When Dacian asks again, I shock myself by refusing him out loud—“No!” It’s dangerous testing this theory of mine, but I’ve got nothing left to lose.

Dacian’s long eyelashes flicker in surprise, casting odd shadows in the light coming from his eyes. But he doesn’t lash out, and most importantly, he doesn’t attempt to force his way in. His fingers tap the window frame impatiently. “Don’t be stubborn, Mr. Evergreen. This is in your own best interest. Open the window. Now!” he commands. Then he unleashes the full intensity of his gaze on me.

I can feel the great churning pull of it, the trance I often find myself in when I’m alone with him. It lulls me. For a second, I wonder if it’s best to stop resisting. I want to go to him. I want those eyes to look only at me. I want to feel his hands on me, corporeal and not just midnight imaginings. The desire is so deep and overwhelming that it’s feral. I almost succumb to it. Almost.

“No!” I shout again and rise to my feet defiantly. How dare he use his vampire tricks on me? Yes, vampire —I can say it now. I know what he is beyond any doubt. A bloodthirsty, devious vampire who lied to me, who manipulated me. A murdering monster, and I?—

I liked him. The hurt in my chest splinters into tiny little shards—and then spins into a fury. I liked him. I wanted him. How stupid was I? Led to the slaughter like a gullible lovesick lamb.

But I won’t go down so easily. Of all the myths about vampires, I’m certain now this one is true—he can’t come in unless invited, and I’m not inviting him, no matter how much he tries to dazzle me.

“Fine,” Dacian hisses, no longer feigning politeness. In his mouth, I see two sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight. I flinch from pure shock, from this blunt confirmation of his identity. Dacian straightens and backs away from the window, watching me for a long moment as though debating something. Slowly, he schools his expression into submission, and the tension in his face seems to relax a little. “Resist all you want,” he finally says, and there’s a calm, unnerving confidence in his voice, one that borders on arrogance. “But you will let me in, Mr. Evergreen. One way or another. In fact, you already have.”

My world goes topsy-turvy. But before I can demand to know the meaning of his words, Dacian’s body transforms into silver mist and then dissipates like it was never there at all. Stunned, my mouth drops open. That mist—I know it. I’ve seen it before. I’ve felt it before.

You already have , echoes in my mind. One way or another.

My legs fold as the fight goes out of me, and I slide down the wall. The mad thudding of my heart drowns out the blast of panic in my head, leaving only one thought standing: Dacian Bathory doesn’t need to break the window to get to me. For weeks, he has been visiting me in my dreams. And I welcomed him. Gladly.