Black Bird of the Gallows(18)

“Hello, Reece.” I’m determined to keep this casual, light, despite the beady-eyed crow watching me. Despite the nerves crawling up my throat. “Cramming for the history test today? It’ll probably be multiple choice. Mrs. Bryan usually alternates essay and multiple choice, and the last test was essay, so…” I shut my mouth. Shut it, Angie.

He looks up again with narrowed eyes. “I’m prepared. Are you?”

No, not at all. “Yes.”

“Good.” A tight smile pulls at his mouth. “It’s good to be prepared. Quite an interesting mine you have back there. I went exploring a bit after you left. Brought you something.” He digs something out of his pocket and holds up a deep purple amethyst, smoothly faceted and wide as a quarter. Light fractures through the translucent stone as he turns it in the sunlight.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, genuinely charmed by the thing. “You found that in the mine?”

“Yeah.” He takes my hand and places it in my palm with a wink. “You like purple, don’t you?”

My fingers close around the crystal. I’ve been receiving a lot of interesting “gifts” lately. I’m not sure I want them. I drop it in my pocket. It’s going straight to my glass bowl with the other goodies I’ve been given. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

I don’t think I’m imagining the knowledge curling in the set of his lips, the glint in his eyes. Do I like purple? This is ridiculous. He knows exactly who I am. He’s deduced I’m the purple-haired DJ he saved from the man with the shifting face. He saw me close up, without my glasses. He called me Sparo, not Angie, but that just means we’re playing an elaborate game of psychological chicken, and he’s waiting for me to crack. This gift—like everything else about this boy—holds double meaning.

“So.” I take a deep breath, frantically groping for the rules of this game. This is beyond my skill set. “What did you think of The Strip Mall?”

“You were there?”

I roll my shoulders. Keep it casual. “Everyone goes there.”

“If you had been there, I would have noticed.”

What does that mean? That I stick out or that he finds me noticeable?

Maybe he really didn’t recognize me. It’s possible, I guess; maybe he has bad eyesight. “My friend Deno works there. You may have seen him. He was assisting the DJ. I stopped in to say hi.” My words crackle like plastic to my ears. I can only imagine how fake they sound to him.

“Oh yeah. Deno.” He shrugs. “The show was okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” My pride thins like an overinflated balloon. “People say Sparo is the best DJ around.”

“She was okay.” He enunciates into his history book. “But compared to some other clubs I’ve gone to, her set was missing something.”

My throat closes up tight—a clear signal to stop right there. But, no. “Missing what?”

“I don’t know. Originality? Authenticity? It doesn’t take a genius to spit out other people’s music. When I go to a show, I like to hear something new, be surprised. That didn’t happen.” He snaps the book shut and glances over my shoulder. “The bus.”

I turn to see Mrs. Pierce’s yellow monster turn the corner and begin lumbering up the hill.

Warning bells clang in my head, but my mouth still opens. Words come out. “You know, I know Sparo, and I can tell you she works hard on her sets.” My voice is full of sharp, personal affront. The opposite of casual. The opposite of normal. “Her original music is good, too. She’s just waiting for a better venue to debut it.”

“Oh, you know her, do you?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Look, your friend’s problem isn’t the venue.” Reece’s lips tilt into a crooked grin. “Or her talent, I’m sure. And she’s hot up there on stage—seriously. The stuff she played was just…limited, you know? She plays it safe.”

The crow caws again. It sounds annoyingly like laughter. But honestly, I ceased coherent thought after—She’s hot.

Okay. He actually said that. And “hot” has a very clear meaning in that context, unlike the “adorable” I got on Saturday morning. My mouth feels stuffed full of cotton. My heart pounds like a kick drum. I grasp the handrail and get on the bus.

What do I do next? Oh yeah, find a seat.

I must look off, because Mrs. Pierce’s eyes narrow on me. She flicks a suspicious look at Reece’s retreating back and leans toward me. “That boy bothering you, honey?”

I blink at her, surprised and—oh hell, embarrassed. “Uh, no.”

She raises a brow and shuts the door behind me. “Must’ve been running, then. You’re mighty flushed.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Reece swing into a seat. He looks up at me. His mouth isn’t smiling, but his eyes are.

Fantastic. If my face was red before, it’s in flames now. I duck my head and practically dive for the first empty seat. It’s a three-seater, diagonally in front of his.

Reece Fernandez thinks I’m hot. I heard him say it.

Just then, the boy in question leans forward and taps my seat. “Hey. Angie.”

My stomach flips over. What now? “Yeah?”

“Tell your friend Sparo to watch it outside that club at night. I saw a sketchy-looking dude hanging around.”