Page 29 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Nineteen

W e haven’t left the house in two days.

There’s plenty to do around the Cruz estate, but I’m tired of sitting on my hands. I was the one who found the killer when no one else could, and now they put me on the sidelines where I’m forced to wait in silence.

Professor Cruz gives us minimal information. They’re working on it, but Caldwell is still evading them.

Great.

There’s more information I could give. I realize this on day two. I’m sitting on secrets others may not know… things like his mother’s shop, like the apartment above it, and the magical nature of the shop.

There’s a chance they already know, or so I reason with myself. It’s a place for their kind, not mine.

Why did Caldwell show it to me? He took me into his world and told me things I know are true. He opened up when he didn’t have to… and when it came time for the kill, he didn’t choose me .

Why, after weeks of priming, didn’t he choose me? It would have been easy. We were always alone…

Those thoughts linger, too, but I chase them away. There’s a reason, and I’ll never know what it is. It doesn’t make me special. It just makes him evil.

He killed Poppy.

Margaux and I spend our days watching terrible reality TV, playing card games in her family’s tearoom, and wandering around the strange home.

Each day, I discover something new, like the alchemy room belonging to Margaux, a brief hobby of hers from youth. While I was trying—and failing—at softball, she was trying to discover the elixir of life.

We’ve walked two different paths, and I never knew. How could I have been ignorant for so long?

At night, I return to her father’s study. Margaux warns me against it after the first time, telling me not to obsess over the painting and the room. I can’t help it; the room calls to me.

I spend my evenings staring at the portrait, pouring through his books, and learning about things I’ve never known. The diary of the king of vampires—the first vampire, supposedly—is the most fascinating discovery.

I don’t know how to process a cliffhanger left by a now-dead vampire, but maybe by the end of isolation, I will.

It's the sort of thing I would have shared with Caldwell before everything went to hell. He would understand—or he would make me think he does. Caldwell would ask to read the book, and we would come up with our own ending…

I can’t miss him, but I miss who I thought he was.

Margaux is the only one keeping me grounded. Her constant presence in the daytime is a distraction from the horrors that wait for us outside the walls of her family estate.

We sit together for each meal, and tonight is no exception. The dining table is large, spanning across the room. Margaux and I only take up one tiny corner.

She drinks rather than eating, and I’ve grown used to it. While she can eat, the liquid diet is more important to her body. Her goblet contains a combination of wine—it really is her favorite—and a healthy dosage of AB negative. Apparently, that’s her favorite as well.

There’s no fresh source for her to drink from, but she stopped complaining after the first night. If I were a more generous friend, I might offer her my neck, but I don’t know. It feels too dangerous. I put my life in enough danger already.

They hired a chef just for me, and I don’t know whether to be appreciative or suspicious. It’s a good way to keep me from leaving the house, and I have to remind myself I’m not a prisoner.

Tonight, the plate in front of me is heaped with rice, steak, and asparagus. Each night, the portions are enough to send me to bed with a full stomach, but my appetite isn’t what it used to be.

Nearly dying can do that to a person.

I push the asparagus around on my plate, feeling Margaux’s watchful eyes on me.

“You like asparagus.” She swirls the wine in her glass.

“I do.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Of course, she can tell there’s a problem—but asking what the problem is… it’s stupid . She should know.

I press my lips together to keep from saying as much, not wanting to fight with the only person by my side in this isolated hell .

“Just not hungry.” I push the plate away. My appetite is gone after only a few bites—and that’s more than I managed to eat the previous nights.

“And why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” I laugh, and the sound holds no joy. “Maybe because I almost died three nights ago. Maybe because I found my boyfriend covered in blood.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Were you two official?”

“Well… no… actually, kind of… but!” I throw my hands in the air. “That’s not the point. You’re focusing on the wrong things. How much longer do we have to stay here? I feel like a caged animal.”

She frowns, leaning closer. “But you’re not. We’re here because it’s safe. We have excellent security?—”

“There was security at school.” Venom coats my words. “That didn’t do any good. You know what kept me safe? Me. I keep myself safe, and I do it better than anyone else can. I want to go home.”

I don’t want to go back to Strode. What I’m longing for is my parent’s home. I crave a time before my life was one haunting after the next. I want to forget about this stupid world and bathe myself in garlic perfume—the way my oddball mother does.

More than anything, I want to pretend I don’t know about this world. If I can find a moment of peace in my mother’s fake remedies, I can relax.

“No, you don’t.” She scoffs, leaning away.

“I do!”

“You want to go looking for your so-called boyfriend. We both know if you left right now, you wouldn’t crawl off to bed. You wouldn’t eat a proper meal. You would go looking for trouble. That’s why I asked permission to keep you here with me.”

“And you feel safe here?”

“Yes! There is nowhere safer. I’ve lived here my entire life, and harm has never come to me within these walls.”

“That’s because you weren’t with me,” I say. “I’m cursed.”

I’ve always felt it. My parents were perfectly happy before I was born. My mother abandoned her career to take care of me and became so paranoid about my safety that she lost herself. My father was so stressed by my existence that he started living in casinos.

The curse has been following me, ruining my life, for as long as I can remember. But now? I’m more certain than ever that I’m the problem. I bring wretchedness wherever I go.

What level of hell have I fallen into to find myself in this situation?

“You are not cursed,” she says. “You are nosy. Any terrible thing that happened to you was because you couldn’t sit still and keep to yourself. You go looking for trouble, and you call it a curse.”

I rub my temples, heaving out a slow sigh. “I can’t keep arguing with you.”

“Fine,” she says. “Then?—”

She’s cut off by a doorbell ringing—a melodic tune, nothing like the modern doorbells. It’s the first time I’ve heard the sound.

“—eat,” she finishes, her eyes wide. “Please, just eat.”

“But there’s someone at the door.”

“Oh, we are not answering that door! You have no clue who could be out there.”

The look Margaux gives me is enough to make me feel insane—but I already feel that way. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter that she’s right about me; curiosity itches at me, begging me to stand and make my way to the door .

I want to know who’s behind it, and it’s pure nosiness that drives me. But I’m right about her, too. Margaux will always stick her head in the sand when she’s given the option.

She continues ranting. “It could be Mormons—though, at this hour, I doubt it’s them.”

“It’s not."

“It could be a neighbor asking for sugar, and you know what? I don’t think we have any. How embarrassing.”

“Or,” I say, “it could be your father.”

“He has a key.”

“It could be the investigators.”

“It could be Caldwell.” She picks up her wine glass, draining it. “And you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No.” My stomach sinks. The word is barely audible. “Why would you say that?”

“It would be something to itch your curiosity. A little danger to get yourself in. That’s what you live for, isn’t it? That’s what you always lived for.”

“Stop. That isn’t funny.”

Caldwell is the last person I want to see. I want to know that he’s been taken care of—so I can finally rest. Why doesn’t Margaux understand that?

“You were so offended to find out my secret, but I think you knew all along,” she says. “You were five years old, walking up to the strangest person you could find. Why? Because you needed answers, and you knew I had them.”

My mouth opens, but I can’t find a response.

Margaux rises to her feet, fingers snapping as she waltzes from the room.

“Come on, then,” she says.

“Sit down!” My voice cracks.

“You’re the same as ever. You still want answers, so let’s see who it is. I would like to see Caldwell. If the others are having such trouble taking care of him, I’ll do it myself.”

I finally find my voice. “Margaux!”

She ignores me, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and makes her way through the maze of a house as if she built the floorplan herself. I have no choice but to follow, trailing behind her, sparks of fear and anticipation shooting through my body.

Without another word, she leans in, her eye pressed to the peephole. The doorbell rings again, and Margaux huffs, her eyes rolling.

“Your boyfriend is impatient,” she says.

“What? No.”

In an instant, my world has turned upside down. We threw around the idea of it being Caldwell, but I’m not expecting to see him.

He cannot be this stupid. How did he get away with so many murders if he’s this reckless? My heart races, hands clammy and shaking.

“And he is oh-so-predictable.” She steps back, undoing the bolts and locks from the door.

“What are you?—?”

Before I can get the question out, Margaux flings the door open. Her smile is all fangs, baring larger teeth than I have ever seen. Her eyes flash red in the dim light.

As promised, Caldwell is the one on the other side. His hair is messier than ever, his clothes are wrinkled rather than pristine, and his glasses are splattered with rain—or tears. I don’t allow myself to care about which it is.

Behind him, rain pours. I’m speechless, my throat tight with nerves.

But Margaux is not.

“Benjamin, darling!” She takes his hand in hers, pulling him into the house with enough force that he stumbles in.

Caldwell falls, his back pressed against the floor, and Margaux stands above him with hunger in her eyes.

“I haven’t had a fresh meal in days,” she croons.

He turns his head to the side, his eyes meeting mine with desperation. My heart stops. He’s afraid. Of course, he’s afraid; a hungry vampire towers over him, and she’s salivating from her fangs.

“Wait!” The words come from my lips without permission.

I’m possessed, a softness still curled up in my heart for Caldwell… and it makes me sick. I tear my gaze from him, turning to Margaux.

“Why should I?” Margaux asks.

“We should call the investigators,” I say. “This isn’t… you don’t want to… I don’t want you to regret this.”

“Regret doing away with the man who killed Poppy?” She scoffs. “I would never. I’m not that weak.”

“You told me you’ve never killed someone before,” I say softly.

“I—” She falters. “Well… that was the truth, but I think this is a good first time, don’t you?”

I shake my head.

As much as I want to see Poppy avenged, it can’t be done if it hurts Margaux in the process. Margaux is strong, but that doesn’t mean she’s a killer.

I can see in the way her expression softens, as if she’s looking to me for permission.

Our guards are down. It’s the perfect time to strike, but Caldwell remains on the floor, with his hands lifted in surrender.

“If I may?” he asks, speaking for the first time.

Margaux and I exchange an uneasy look.

We shouldn’t let him talk; we don’t know the extent of his magic, and we know for a fact he’s not to be trusted. But… as it tends to, my curiosity gets the best of me.

“Make it quick.” I turn to Caldwell and fix him with a blank look. “These may be your final words.” A bluff, of course, but we must do something to keep the upper hand.

Trembling like a leaf, he reaches into his pocket and takes out the watch I’ve come to know so well. With his back still pressed to the floor, he lifts it and lets it dangle over his head.

“If you’re willing to hear me out,” he says, “I can prove I’m not the killer.”