Page 11 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Seven

T his creepy school is making me paranoid. I can’t leave my dormitory without feeling like someone is watching me. It’s a prickling sensation, the kind that sneaks up the back of your neck.

A few days have passed since the body was found, and everyone has forgotten—everyone except me and Margaux. I won’t let her forget, even if I suspect she wants to dig her head in the sand like everyone else.

It’s broad daylight. I shouldn’t feel this familiar feeling, the fight or flight reflex, but this hellish campus offers no peace.

I glance around the courtyard with a sweeping gaze, casual as I step over the dirt path. It’s a perfectly normal afternoon. My classes are over, and I have the rest of the evening to figure out the stupid watch.

As far as I can see, it’s useless. I’ve done everything to try and reveal its secrets, but…

it may be just a watch, after all. I should return it to its owner, but something makes me hang onto it.

It’s that same intuitive feeling, the one I can’t ex plain—the one that makes me feel like someone is watching.

As if reading my mind, Caldwell appears, falling into step as if he had been there all along. Vampires and their ridiculous, unnecessary speed.

“Were you watching me?” I ask. My stomach flips. I force myself not to sound terrified by the question, lifting a brow as if it’s meant to be suggestive.

“No,” he says. “I saw you across the courtyard, walking alone again . I thought I would join you, if that’s all right.”

The watch in my pocket burns, threatening to put a hole in my good sweater.

“I’m not alone,” I say, smiling. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“Oh?” The comment catches him off guard, I think. He blinks, glancing away. “I was under the impression you were avoiding me.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Possibly the fact that I was .

I know it’s counterproductive. I have to get information from him, and avoiding him won’t help me do that. Margaux told me not to rush into it, but how much longer can I keep avoiding him?

“You’re right. How silly of me.” His eyes flicker back to mine before looking ahead. “In that case, will you oblige to a date with me? Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I yelp.

Caldwell does not want to date me. In another circumstance, I might believe it; some people are into being berated and brushed off. But in this situation, he must have ulterior motives. This is good for me—I can get information—and that’s all this should be.

My heart still flutters.

“It’s Friday,” he says, “which is often known as date night. While I’m not usually one for societal norms, I’ll make an exception for our first date. Unless you have other plans? Is there someone for me to be jealous of?”

I swallow nervously. “No,” I say. “There’s no one else, and—I have no plans. Tonight is fine. Great, even! Tonight is great !”

It isn’t a real date, but I’m still finding creative ways to embarrass myself. It’s been easy to brush Caldwell off, and I cannot believe he’s caught me off guard, eliciting this stupid, flustered feeling.

He’s making me ramble! I would rather bash my head into a wall than keep talking.

“I’ll pick you up from your dormitory,” he says. “Seven, sharp. Which room is yours?”

I should not tell him my room number. I don’t trust him, and there’s a killer on the loose! It’s asking for danger.

“Thirty-three.” I blurt before I can stop myself. “On the second floor. I have a terrifying vampire roommate.” The last part is for insurance—obviously.

“Noted.” His brows lift. “Tell your terrifying vampire roommate that I’ll have you home by curfew.”

“Curfew is nine,” I say. “Are you sure you want to promise that?”

“That gives us plenty of time for what I want to do.”

What he wants to do. I gulp, coming to a stop outside of my dormitory. I don’t like the sound of that, and I should run now, but…

“What should I wear?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, the kind of thing I would worry about if this were a real date.

That stupid little half-smile flickers on his face.

“Whatever you like,” he says. “In my eyes, you always look lovely. ”

My mouth pops open in surprise. If I’m supposed to reply, I forget how.

“And then—get this—he chuckled. ”

“He chuckled?” Margaux asks. “Is that supposed to be a big deal? Is it code for… something else?”

“Yes!” I say. “I mean, no! It’s not a code, and it is a big deal. He doesn’t so much as smile, and now he’s… chuckling! He’s chuckling at me , Margaux! I’m not funny!”

It’s exactly the kind of talk we would have had years ago—in high school, snuggled up in my twin-size bed. Now we’re talking about a strange guy who may have information on a murder, not Gabe from down the street.

Times may change, but some things are the same. I still have horrendous taste in dates. I’m sure Margaux would agree, but she is on her best behavior.

“You’re right.” She frowns. “You’re not funny. That’s very serious.”

“Thank you.” I pace around our dormitory. “Anyway—I only have a few hours to get ready for this thing. I don’t know what we’re doing and…” I sigh. “Will you help me?”

“You’re actually going out with this guy?”

“Um… yes!” I say. “We’re not really dating—don’t be silly—but it’s the perfect opportunity to get close to him.”

“You want to get close to someone you don’t trust while there’s a murderer on campus?” she asks. “That has got to be the stupidest?—”

“I don’t want to hear it! You told me to get more information, and this is how I’m doing it. Are you going to help me get ready or not?”

Besides, I still don’t know if he’s connected—just that he might have answers. Even that is a toss-up.

She presses her lips together, contemplating. “You need to share your location with me, or I won’t let you go.”

“You won’t let me…?” I relax, my pacing coming to a stop. I could argue with her wording and tell her she sounds controlling, but what’s the point? Margaux has good reason to be protective. “Actually, that’s… a good idea.”

“He didn’t give you a dress code?” She clicks her tongue, moving to my closet.

“No.” I hesitate. “He told me to, um… wear whatever I like.” I blush at the memory.

“Well, then. He’s not very helpful, is he?” She plucks a short, dark skirt from my closet, resting it on the bed. “That’s not the kind of man you want. I taught you better than this.”

“I’m not interested in dating him—or anyone! I have bigger problems.”

She ignores the other issues, pointing to the skirt on my bed. “You have black tights to go with this, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Good.” She continues ruffling until she finds a top she approves of—low cut and showing a little midriff.

I roll my eyes. “You do realize this isn’t an actual date, right? I’ve said that several times.”

“I do,” she says, “but you don’t want him to realize that.”

“I don’t…” I’m less likely to get information that way.

I inspect the outfit Margaux picked, pursing my lips. It’s a good choice. It will work for a simple dinner, and if he has something planned that requires movement, that will be fine, too.

I might even be able to run away from him in it .

“Actually,” Margaux says, “forget the tights. I want to see you in knee-high stockings and garters.”

Internally, I cringe at the suggestion—but it’s a good one. I keep it in the back of my mind, watching Margaux carefully.

“I think I’m missing something,” I say.

“What? Your makeup? We can work on that next.”

“No.” I pluck a loose thread from the shirt she laid out, avoiding her gaze. “A stake.”

Margaux morphs. She rests her hands on her hips and fixes me with a sharp glare. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I need a way to defend myself!”

“I’ll have your location!”

“And you’ll what?” I ask. “Run across town the minute you smell my fear?”

“Maybe I will.”

“I won’t use it unless there are no other options, I promise. I just want a way to protect myself.”

“And why should I believe you aren’t going to turn around and use it on me?” She lifts her head higher.

Margaux thinks after the loss of our friend, I would truly want to lose her as well. She thinks I could harm her.

The air between us is tense, filled with words that have gone unsaid for months, tension built that’s been waiting for release. She doesn’t back down, her piercing gaze fixed on me.

“Because you’re my friend,” I say. “You’re my oldest friend—the only one I have left. How can you think I would hurt you?”

She softens. It doesn’t take much to defrost her.

“You haven’t been treating me like a friend,” she says.

“Because I was upset with you,” I say. “We’re still friends . Best friends fight sometimes. We stop talking for a while. You know that.”

“Never for this long. We didn’t speak for months .”

“I know…” I shift uncomfortably. “But I need you now. I was taking some space. That doesn’t mean I want you to die . I want you in my life. I know you’re trying to protect me, but the best thing you can do right now is trust that I can look out for myself.”

“But can you? You came to the most dangerous place in Castine. You’re going on a date with someone you barely know. You’re reckless, Tobey. You’ve always been careless and brash, but I don’t know when it became this extreme.”

But she does know; she must. It happened the day we lost Poppy. I changed, and I don’t know how to go back. I don’t even know if I want to . We look at each other with unspoken words, neither of us daring to fill the space or acknowledge the obvious.

My care for Poppy trumps anything—fear, rationale, and self-preservation.

“I’m not careless,” I say softly. “I’m doing this because I care. Someone has to stop this, and it’s going to be me.”

Her lips form a small pout. “Why couldn’t you let me date the potential suspect?”

I roll my eyes. “Because, for whatever reason, he’s interested in me.”

“Or he’s interested in drinking you,” she says. “Or damning you with eternal life. Or?—”

“Okay,” I say, cutting her off. “Or any of that. Sure. Please, don’t make me spiral more than I already am.”

Margaux takes careful steps away. She steps lightly toward her dresser, rummaging in the top drawer until she finds what she’s looking for. What she pulls out is a pretty, polished, birch wood stake.

She holds it out with delicate hands and an unsure look on her face.

“Don’t use this unless you have to,” she says .

I take the item, holding it to my chest as if it’s something precious. It may be the thing that saves my life.

“I will,” I say.

“Please,” Margaux says, staring deeply into my eyes, “I’m serious. We don’t want to cause another needless death. There have been enough of those already.”

“I won’t. I promise.”