Page 31 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

I can see through his eyes. Is Margaux seeing this, too? I stride through the courtyard. This is a new perspective. I’m nearly a foot taller. I peer through the thick frames of his spectacles.

What is more perplexing is that I can feel him. I know where he is and what his thoughts are. He’s on his way to me. My heart fills. It’s warm.

Is that his heart or mine? I don’t know the difference anymore, but I’m hot with embarrassment when I consider the possibility of Margaux feeling this, too.

She’s in the vision as well. How much can she feel? What can she see?

Caldwell’s powers are more jarring than Margaux’s. She may flash fangs and zoom around, but it is nothing compared to the plunging feeling of being thrust into his mind.

There’s a scream. It comes out of nowhere, sending my heart racing. I stop. My gaze roams around the courtyard. The pause lasts a moment—then, I sprint .

I know I won’t be fast enough. Others on campus are faster. The killer probably is, as well. I have to try.

Another scream urges me forward.

Why are they screaming? It’s unlike any of the other deaths. The killer is getting messier.

The sun is down. I can’t make them out at first, but there are two figures.

I, Tobey, recognize one of them. It’s the same student.

When I saw him, he was covered in blood, and Caldwell was beside him. This is different. There’s no blood. With wide open eyes, he looks at me with a plea.

No. I recognize both of them. Above him hovers a copper-haired woman with fangs at his neck.

“Stop!” I—Caldwell—yell.

Red eyes meet mine, and they belong to Amelia. Amelia’s movements are usually dainty and graceful. I—Tobey—would even call them adorable. They aren’t now. She’s an animal caught in a trap.

With sporadic movements, she lifts her head from the body—and with her fangs sunken into his throat, she effectively rips it out. I recoil. I’m sick to my stomach. Caldwell is, too.

I’m running, but it’s too late. Amelia is gone in a blur. I kneel by the body, my hands pressed to the gushing wound at the side of his neck.

“Please,” I mutter, my voice matching Caldwell’s low timbre. “Can you hear me? Listen to me. I’m going to go for help, but… please…”

But there’s no pulse, no breath, no response. It’s the vision. I know that. It doesn’t stop the tears from falling onto the bloody grass.

Are they Caldwell’s or mine?

“Don’t leave me.” Caldwell sobs .

Hope is gone. The killer is gone, and she’s too fast for me to catch up.

All that’s left is the mask next to me. It’s the mask of the plague doctor.

I move my attention from the wound, turning to the mask. With red, shaking hands, I reach…

My vision blurs as my fingers touch the mask.

I’m no one. I lose Caldwell’s feelings and his sight. I’m floating, watching…

The visions come through in fragments now.

Amelia is with the student, but it’s not the same one. There’s no blood.

No, it’s the first body I found on campus—the day I found the watch. It’s more than a body—but a living person. They’re at a restaurant with Amelia. It should be an innocent scene.

They’re alone together—it’s intimate and candlelit. I can’t see anything else. Her teeth are in their neck.

Not teeth. Fangs.

The vision changes again.

Amelia is with Poppy. I try to let out a scream, to tell her to run, but I can’t. There are no words where I am now. I am past the veil. I am watching.

Even Caldwell’s voice can’t come through me. I’m helpless.

Amelia’s mouth is against Poppy’s next.

Instead of screaming, Poppy giggles as the fangs sink into her neck. She moans. It’s not fear—it’s pleasure.

I desperately want the vision to stop. It does—it’s as if Caldwell can hear me. Another fragment comes through.

Poppy sits on a throne. Amelia approaches, and her smile is all fangs. The room is too dark to make out. All I can see is them.

The vision fills with fog. It is nothing.

I’m me again. I can feel my body—a foot shorter and so much weaker. I wiggle my fingers, my toes. My eyes flicker open. Caldwell and Margaux peer at me.

Neither of them is as disjointed as I am.

I don’t want to be me anymore.

“Take me back to Poppy,” I whimper. “Please.”