Page 1 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

P anic threatens to join me in my grief. The feeling is an old friend.

So was the person in the casket.

I’m breathless, desperate to supply oxygen to my brain. It’s my first funeral, the perfect way to mark my first major loss. Anxiety is nothing new to me, but no amount of slow breathing can convince my thoughts to settle.

I hope I look better than I feel. I took time styling my dark French bob and picking out something to match the dress code—a simple black number. While the dress looked lovely in the mirror, it’s suffocating now. The high neckline threatens to choke me.

I didn’t bother doing my makeup, which I’m grateful for. I would have cried it off.

There are prettier churches in Maine, but the one her parents attend is a small Pentecostal one in a bland building. It was a cafe before I was born, supposedly.

The walls are an underwhelming beige, and they’re covered in generic paintings bought from a thrift store. An angel waits on one side of a bridge as two children pass. Her mother has the same painting in their home. Poppy would have hated it. She was an artist, and a lover of anything strange.

She always hated it here. When we were teenagers, we used to meet outside of the building on Sunday afternoons. Poppy would cheer that she was finally free.

This is her goodbye to the world, and it would not have her stamp of approval.

But it doesn’t matter. She isn’t here to speak up for herself, and her parents wouldn’t have listened. Except she is here. Her body is in the casket. I can see her , but it’s nothing like her. She isn’t alive; she’s gone.

Poppy Bernard was the light of my life—she was the light of everyone’s life. Her spirit touched anyone who met her, and now she has left this terrible, disgusting world. Her long, golden hair splays under her in the casket, and her expression is the picture of peace. I want to fucking scream.

Why didn’t someone save her?

How could someone do this to her?

How did she die?

Why am I the only one who cares?

The lock on my grief comes undone. I can’t hold it back any longer. Tears stream down my cheeks forcefully.

Her parents are feet away, sobbing in each other’s arms, and even if they stuck Poppy in this ugly place, I want to join them. They’re mourning together, and I have no one to share my grief with. Poppy left me here—alone.

I need a moment.

I return to my pew at the very back of the church, lowering my head until it’s resting in my hands. I sob. My chest heaves. My body shakes. I stay that way until someone disturbs my mourning. A cool hand rests on my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. I tense and lift my head.

It’s Margaux. She wears a black veil to cover her face—perfect to hide her feelings, if she has any.

There is not a single tear stain behind the veil.

We’re facing the same loss, but Margaux has something I don’t—composure.

Her lipstick is a deep, rusty crimson—the color of blood.

It’s another thing that makes me shudder: the reminder of her drink of choice.

“Are you all right?” she asks. The concern in her voice sounds genuine, but I already know she is not to be trusted.

She wants me to think she’s here for me , but I know there’s an ulterior motive. It’s manipulation. My eyes still burn, threatening to water as I blink tears away. It isn’t her fault, technically, but Margaux reminds me of Poppy. The three of us met in kindergarten and…

It doesn’t matter!

“Don’t. I’m fine.” I shrug off her hand. “It’s surprising that you received an invitation. I wasn’t expecting to see you. That’s all.”

My excuse doesn’t explain the tears, but I won’t show weakness in front of her. Never again.

“Of course I did.” She frowns. “Poppy is one of my oldest friends, and—her parents are either unaware, or do not care about the petty drama the two of you were constantly causing.”

“Petty?” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a low hiss. “Did you come to her funeral to call her names? I see. You’re the only weirdo between the three of us, but you’re not afraid of—curses and bad energy, and… whatever!”

All things my mother warned me about, though I never listened. Maybe that’s where I went wrong.

“And you’re the only petty one.” She rolls her eyes. “Regardless, the point stands. I belong here as much as anyone else.”

“You don’t.” I stare ahead, folding my hands on my lap.

Already, the crowd in the church is thinning. The hordes who showed up for Poppy don’t linger for long. They pay their respects, and then they’re gone.

I’m the only one haunted by her.

I continue, “Poppy’s parents might not know about our petty drama, but you know she didn’t like you. Not after what you did.”

“What, exactly, did I do?”

“You know!” My voice rises higher than I mean. It’s enough to attract a few turning heads. I flush red, slumping in my seat. “You know,” I mutter, softer this time, shaking my head.

“You’re embarrassing both of us,” she whispers. “Can you hold it together?”

“No, Margaux. I can’t .” I stand. “We’re at a funeral. We’re at Poppy’s funeral. She was only twenty-five, and now—she’s gone! How are you so untroubled?”

“One of us has to be, otherwise the world would be in shambles.”

“It already is. Poppy is dead!” I move through the aisles, desperate to reach the nearest exit.

I already know Margaux is following me outside, her shoes clicking against the hot pavement behind me. Summer is in full swing—it’s a scalding, sticky day, but Margaux catches up to me without breaking a sweat.

“You couldn’t give us one day?” She laughs bitterly. “It’s our best friend’s funeral, and you can’t even pretend to forgive me!”

“No!” We’re outside and I stop holding back, unbothered by others listening in. At least God can’t hear us now. “She is my best friend. Your kind killed her!”

Margaux has lied to me too many times to count, but I don’t believe she was the one to kill Poppy.

“What do you mean?” she asks with a sharp tongue.

“Nothing!” I laugh, marching in the opposite direction. “Go! Enjoy yourself! If you can get back inside without bursting into flames.”

“Tobey!”

She calls my name, and even though I want to keep running, I turn with fresh tears streaming down my face. She stares at me, her lips pressed together.

“I would have done anything to save her,” she says. “I would betray any vampire, anyone, if it means she gets to breathe again. You know that.”

Underneath her veil, a single drop of blood trails down her cheek. Vampire tears, I realize. It’s the first time I’ve seen my old friend cry. She stares at me in desperation, doing nothing to hide her bloody tears.

She doesn’t deserve it, but for once, I believe her.

“I know,” I say. “But it’s too late.”

She’s my only living best friend, and after today, I will never speak to her again.