Keeper(16)

“Right. So you obviously just moved here. I mean, Lothbrook’s a pretty small town. Everyone knows everyone—that kind of thing. I haven’t really seen you around much.”

Ty shrugged. “I guess I make it a habit of staying out of the spotlight.”

“Yeah, except for those random fights in the alleyways,” I pointed out. “Right? I’m assuming from the color wheel that is your face that it’s a pastime of yours.”

Ty laughed and a slight flush colored his cheeks—which in fact was covered in various degrees of fading bruises. “Sometimes I make an exception.”

I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Geez, when did I turn into a five-year-old? Ty’s knack of answering questions with complete non-answers was getting on my nerves, though. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of frustrating?”

Ty smirked again and moved a little closer. He smelled like laundry detergent. He leaned toward me. “Not today. But it’s still early.”

Narrowing my eyes, I put my hands on my hips, meeting his challenge. The tips of my ears blazed hot—though I wasn’t sure if it was my annoyance or his proximity.

Behind me, someone cleared her throat.

Mrs. Runyan, my English teacher, was staring at me from the door of the classroom. “Ms. Styles, are you planning on joining us for class today?”

“Yes, I am. Sorry, Mrs. Runyan.” I dashed into the classroom and plopped down in my seat without waiting to see if Ty would follow. My seat in the back of the room was directly underneath the air conditioning vent, and despite the heat still burning my face, the cool air made me shiver. Mrs. Runyan led Ty into the room and pointed him in the direction of an empty seat. Ty caught my eye as he made his way down the aisle and grinned before settling in at his desk.

I pretended not to notice.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Runyan began giving directions for an upcoming persuasive essay. Her even monotone droned on and on about the role of persuasive writing and how to make and argue a claim.

While she lectured, I made a valiant effort to pay attention and stay focused, but my eyelids were drooping. The caffeine rush from the coffee was fading fast, and the insomnia-induced drowsiness was getting harder to fight.

Using the beefy boy in front of me for cover, I put my head on my desk and closed my eyes. Just a few minutes . . . Just a few minutes to rest my eyes.

Mrs. Runyan’s voice was already fading into the background.

Just a few minutes.

And with that, everything around me faded away.





CHAPTER SIX


JOSEPHINE


Athick plume of smoke blackened the sky.

Josephine’s heart pounded against her ribcage, and every visceral cell in her body screamed for her to run.

The warning of the blood moon—the very thing that had driven her from her bed in the first place—was lost behind the pillar of charcoal haze. An eerie orange glow broke through the trees as a symphony of discordant sounds sliced through the air, shattering the usual quiet of the night.

Josephine broke into a run, ignoring the pain of the branches that clawed her bare skin. She had forgotten her slippers when she left the house, and now the soft soles of her feet were paying the price. Blood squished between her toes, but she didn’t stop running. Cold fear crawled up and down her spine, a strange juxtaposition against the heat that coursed through her body as she ran.

Her neat braid was coming undone, and long tendrils of dark hair whipped around her face. The emerald amulet hanging around her neck thumped painfully against her chest as she ran.

She was getting closer now. The sounds were becoming more defined: the horses whining in the stables, their frantic squeals sharp and panicked, the loud pop and crack of wood burning, glass breaking.

She burst through the tree line, her eyes wide and searching.

Bright orange flames danced, almost mesmerizingly, along the woodwork, igniting everything they touched. There was no saving it. The house that had taken two years to build, the place that had become her home, was lost. In minutes it would be nothing but a pile of ash and blackened rock. Josephine bit back a scream as the inferno burned.

Several feet away, two men dressed in black surveyed the work of the flames. She had never seen them before.

Where are father and mother? What about Mercy? The servants? Her mind was racing. Henry! Oh God, where’s Henry? An image of their earlier rendezvous flashed before her eyes. The picnic by the river. His sweet smile. The caress of his warm lips against hers. A sharp pang pierced her chest at the thought of her beloved. She couldn’t stand still any longer.

Without even thinking about her actions, she sprinted toward the house, her long nightgown billowing around her like a sail.

One of the men cried out as she raced past, but they wouldn’t be able to stop her—she was too fast.

Inside the house, the scorching air was thick with smoke, and her lungs screamed for oxygen. Her eyes watered from the thick smoke, making the limited visibility even worse. She tried to find her bearings, but she could hardly see two feet in front of her.

“Mother!” she cried out, choking and gasping. “Father! Are you here?”

She kept moving forward.

With every rapid heartbeat, a spasm of pain ricocheted through her skull. The loud sounds that had been deafening only moments before were now distorted and muted, as though she were swimming and her head had slipped beneath the surface of the water.