Page 40

KEENE

T oday, my study group and I learned humming could be a calming mechanism. It distracted a person from bad, intrusive thoughts and stimulated good chemicals in the brain, soothing the person into peace.

Good shit to know when you planned to become a doctor to women who were going to be pushing a bowling ball-sized child through their vagina. Just hum through the pain. It’ll help.

If only.

Realizing I was whistling, I paused and tipped my head, wondering if whistling had the same effect on an individual as humming did.

Huh, no wonder why I was typically such a happy guy. I whistled the bad moods right out of me.

Continuing the tune, I reached the second level of the library and started for my stuff I’d left behind when I’d gone to the bathroom, only to squint when I saw something out of place.

Slowing to a stop, I blinked at the cream-colored envelope sitting on my black backpack.

At first, I thought my mother had left me a note. Excited about the fact that she’d learned how to write on paper—so now we could truly communicate with each other—I lurched forward, only to see the notorious M logo from the Mistress.

“Holy shit,” I said, jarring to a halt and immediately glancing around. But I didn’t see anyone else up here on this level.

A new feeling of eagerness filled me, and I snatched the envelope, needing to know what she’d written this time.

Keene Dugger, I will only say this once. Stop looking for me. I promise you; you don’t want to find me. Sincerely, M.

I scoffed before a slow smile began to spread across my face. “Oh, darlin’,” I told the non-present mystery girl. “Wrong thing to say to Keene Dugger.”

It was like she was just begging me to keep after her.

Willing to play chase, I went to the parapet so I could look down onto the first floor. I almost expected some girl down there to be looking up, waiting for me to appear. But no one was paying attention to me. Dammit.

I’d been gone for less than a minute. Had she fled the library entirely or gone to hide somewhere within these very walls?

God, what if we were inside the same building together right at this moment?

Desire cloaked my flesh with an achy heat that made me crave sex. Remembering how her hungry hands had felt on me, I shuddered and went to the windows to look outside and down on the quad.

Except no one was glancing back at the library as if they’d just left a secret note behind.

When a cold breeze touched my arm and climbed up the back of my neck to play in my hair, I lifted a distracted hand and mumbled, “Hey, Mom.” Only to realize, “Hey…” I turned away from the window to face the rest of the library.

“Mom…” Lifting the note in my hand, I asked, “Did you see who left this on my backpack?”

She didn’t answer because she was a ghost, and I couldn’t really communicate with ghosts. But when even her chilly breeze left me, my shoulders slumped.

“Yeah, thanks anyway,” I mumbled and returned to the table to fall heavily into my chair. I was drumming my fingers against my backpack and scowling at the letter when I caught sight of a book floating toward me in my peripheral vision.

Squinting in question, I watched it approach and checked out the cover.

It was Anne Frank’s diary.

Looking up, I shook my head. “Wha?—?”

The diary thumped onto the table, abandoned as if being discarded. A minute later, another book arrived.

“ Follow Me ,” I murmured, reading the title of this one aloud, only to scowl in confusion.

The book shifted to my hand and bumped my fingers as if prodding them to do something. “I don’t…” I grabbed hold of the hardback, shaking my head and still bewildered. But it jerked away and almost yanked me out of my chair.

Thinking my ghost mother wanted it back, I let go, and the volume promptly fell to the floor.

I glanced down at it, only to watch it lift off the carpet a second later and return to my hand, bumping against my fingers encouragingly. I took hold of the book once more, and it shifted away, only to pause as if waiting for me to follow.

“Oh!” I shot out of my chair. “You want me to follow where you lead.”

The book moved up and down as if nodding its head.

I grinned. “Okay. Cool. Lead the way, Mom.”

So the book took off, zooming ahead of me; I almost had to jog to keep up with it as Mom led me down the stairs.

“Hey, slower,” I hissed before smiling tightly as some dude at a nearby table who glanced up to give me a strange look because I was practically sprinting down the steps.

Thankfully, the book slowed its pace. “Good. Perfect,” I said under my breath.

At the base of the stairs, we turned left and approached the checkout station.

My brow furrowed. Only Waverly was working behind the desk, and when I realized we were headed toward her, I tried to resist, not sure what my mother wanted. Was she trying to get me to check the book out so we could leave the library with it?

Thinking that must be it, I stopped holding back and continued ahead.

Waverly glanced up when I approached, and her brow knitted in question.

A second later, the book jerked on my hold so hard I lost my grip on it, and it flew forward, ramming itself right into Waverly’s gut.

“Oww!” she muttered, grabbing her middle and glaring at me as the book dropped to the floor at her feet. “What the hell?”

“I—sorry,” I mumbled, wincing in apology. “It…slipped.”

Picking up the tome with an irritated glare, she said, “I assume you want to check this out.”

I bobbed my head. “I…think so.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You think so? You don’t know?”

Before I could answer, the book came free of her hand and zipped toward me. I caught it before it could poke me the way it had her.

Waverly’s mouth sagged open. “How did you do that?”

I shook my head. “Do what? You dropped it. So I caught it.”

“Dropped it?” She lifted her eyebrows as if the suggestion were insane. “I didn’t drop it. It pulled free of my hand. And it flew horizontally .”

“Right…” I nodded slowly, giving her a look that clearly told her I thought she was losing her mind. “The book pulled free of your hand and flew. Sure. Sounds totally plausible.” Leaning toward her, I bounced my eyebrows and asked, “Been smoking the ganja before work again, Frankie?”

“Hey.” She scowled. “I know what I felt.”

“Of course you do,” I humored her with a straight face. “Now, can I check this book out or not? You can manage that while being high, right?”

“Oh! You are so…” Setting her jaw with irritation, she took a moment to control her temper before holding out her hand. “Just give me the damn book.”

“Sure.”

Except when I moved to set the hardback on the counter near the barcode reader, it had other ideas. It slid across the counter toward Waverly.

This time, she didn’t let it hit her; she dove out of the way at the last second, and the book skidded right off the other side of the counter and to the floor at her feet.

I winced as she blinked down at it because, apparently, the book did not want to be checked out.

Waverly lifted her face, her expression full of accusation. “Stop doing that,” she commanded through gritted teeth.

There was no way I could feign innocence any longer. I arched my eyebrows at her and muttered, “Fine. I’ll stop. But only if you explain this .”

Taking the note from my pocket, I lifted it between two fingers and sent her a hard glare.

Recognition immediately sparked in Waverly’s eyes, and my gut knotted. Shit. Mom really had led me to the source of the note’s deliverer, hadn’t she?

Way to go, Mother.

But it still didn’t answer my most pressing question.

“Who the fuck asked you to put this on my backpack?”

Waverly’s gaze jerked from the note to my face in surprise. “What?”

“I saw you set this on my stuff,” I lied. “Now, who gave it to you and asked you to deliver it?”

Mouth falling open, she blinked a few times before saying, “I—” And then nothing else came out.

“Are you serious?” I gaped, feeling betrayed. “You’re not going to tell me? I thought we were friends.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “We are ?”

“Oh my God!” I tossed up my arms in aggravation.

“Of course, we are. You think I just give money to little brothers of people who aren’t my friends?

You’re my anchor, remember? Not to mention that whole get-off-my-counter bit we have going on.

I amuse myself by annoying you. You amuse yourself by keeping me from checking books out.

Why the fuck wouldn’t you think we’re friends? ”

She blinked once before quietly mumbling, “I don’t know. Because I don’t have friends.”

“Well, you do now,” I told her in no uncertain terms before stepping close and lowering my voice as I pressed a hand to my chest. “Now tell this friend where the note came from, huh?”

When I lifted the envelope with the fancy M on it, her gaze tracked it briefly before she cringed and turned her attention back to me. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I blinked at her, thinking she was joking. But she continued to say nothing, and I realized she honestly planned on not telling me.

My mouth fell open. “Are you fucking serious?” Pointing at her nose, I commanded, “You’re going to tell me who wrote this note right now or else. Did you know her or not? What did she look like? Is she a student on campus?”

Apparently not a fan of being ordered around, Waverly tipped up her chin and sniffed stubbornly. “Well, now I’m definitely not telling you anything.”

“Frankie,” I growled in warning. “I’m not playing right now.”

Eyes narrowing, she snapped, “Neither am I. Go throw books at someone else and threaten them .”

When she turned her back on me purposely and started messing with the books on the cart, sorting them into some order, I ground my teeth in supreme frustration and fisted my hands before pressing them to my brow.

“I will pay you,” I tried. “Anything. Come on, Waverly. I just need a name.”

When she continued to ignore me, I scowled. And as if responding to my feelings, the Follow Me book lifted off the floor and poked Waverly directly in the center of the back.

“Hey!” She whirled around glaring, only to blink down at the book as it fell to the floor again. “How did you…?” Bending to pick it up, she frowned at the book in her hand, clearly trying to figure out how I’d lifted it from the floor while I was standing on the other side of the counter.

When her gaze slid to me in question, I said nothing, just lifted my eyebrows as if to say I’d spill my secrets if she spilled hers.

Not engaging, she scoffed. “Real mature.” And she spun away to slot the book onto the cart.

“Dammit,” I muttered, pressing my hands onto the countertop and leaning over it to hang my head. “Come on, Waverly. There’s got to be something you want.”

Pausing, she glanced over, and I swear I saw the lure of that something glistening in her eyes. She knew exactly what she wanted. I started to straighten eagerly, ready to get her anything, but she blinked, and the look dissipated before she sniffed. “From you? Nope. Nothing.”

“Gah,” I hissed, pushing away from the counter to furrow my brow in irritation. “Why are you being so…?”

She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for me to finish that sentence, but I didn’t continue.

Huffing out an irritated breath, I pointed threateningly. “This isn’t over,” I promised, and I whirled away to stomp off.

Xander had clearly gotten to her too.

As I jogged back up the stairs, a rush of cold air wafted over my hair. “Yeah, thanks for trying,” I told my mother. “Now I just need to know who actually wrote the note.”

In answer, she tugged on the note I had in my hand.

“What?” I glanced down in surprise to find that my mother had gotten another book and clamped it around my note as if biting it with pages of teeth.

This time, when she tried to lead me with the note via book, I followed much more readily.

And back down the stairs we went. “I swear,” I whispered to my mom under my breath, “if you take me back to that checkout counter, I’m leaving.”

I was not having another embarrassing, unexplainable encounter with Waverly.

But my mom steered me away toward a portable whiteboard that was sitting in the middle of the floor, with a handwritten message on it, saying that English 236 classes were being held in the computer lab.

The note and book didn’t stop moving until they plastered themselves directly against the whiteboard, and then the book slipped away to leave me holding the note up by myself.

Utterly confused, I started to shake my head as I squinted at the note. “I don’t—” But even as I spoke, I noticed what my mother had been trying to show me.

The penmanship.

Whoever had written on this board had written my note. I swallowed thickly as I studied the E’s and L’s.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. My mystery girl worked in the library.

My mom poked me with her book and then jabbed it in the direction of the checkout counter as if she were trying to point something out to me. I glanced over.

Waverly was still there, drawing something on a sheet of paper with a thick marker. As she finished, she turned and taped the sign that said those books were ready to be shelved to the end of the cart. The E’s and L’s matched the whiteboard letters perfectly.

I blinked, unable to stop staring.

Full denial spread over me.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no.”

My vision wavered, and I went dizzy as a cold sweat coated my skin.

How was this happening, though? It couldn’t be. Because there was no way Mystery Girl was Waverly . She didn’t attend parties; she wouldn’t have even been within a mile of my house last Friday night.

Except Xander knew all the details from Mystery Girl, and the two of them had become close.

And…

And…

Looks like a W to me , Alec’s words invaded my head. I looked back down at my note and swallowed thickly. Was that an M for Mistress, or a W for Waverly?

Shit.

But it couldn’t be her. Not Waverly. It could be anyone but Waverly.

In answer to my silent plea, Waverly lifted her hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and I caught sight of the tattoo on the side of her wrist when the loose long sleeve of her shirt sagged enough to reveal a black feather.

Panic seized me.

You mean, I make you combust? she had taunted. Right up into flames. Poof .

She’d even tried to tell me who she was that night; she’d used my very taunt about her not attending parties. And I never fucking caught on.

Jesus. Waverly Frank was Mystery Girl.