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“I’ll see you there.”
Byron nodded and hurried me down the stairs, all the while I grinned. I’d seen Byron nervous and anxious and stressed to breaking point but shy? I nudged him with my elbow when we burst out onto the campus, the weather miraculously holding. “You’re so cute.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, scowling.
I laughed, and for a moment I forgot about Alastor accusing me of summoning Nightmare, and the fact he—and Nightmare, and all her followers—could find me again at any time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAT
My head swam, stuffed full of so much information I feared it would erupt. There was only so much I could learn about scientific principles before I hit my limit, and my laptop had obviously agreed because it froze halfway through the lecture and refused to start up again. I was tempted to blame Nightmare for that too, but I knew that was reaching.
Then again, she had fucked with my car…
“Stop it,” Byron hissed, slapping Honey’s arm. We were sitting halfway up the lecture theatre, the whole thing arranged like an indoor coliseum, with a big mullioned window beside us. Honey had insisted on sitting the closest to it, and now I knew why: so she could bird watch. I didn’t begrudge her the twitching hobby, but it would have been great if she didn’t make a demonic guttural chattering every time a bird landed on the trees outside the window. “Don’t make me muzzle you, Honey.”
She shot him such a sour look, I was surprised he didn’t wilt on the spot.
“Pay attention,” I warned them both, my eyes straight forward so Professor Radclyffe didn’t single us out. His stoic, clipped introduction had warned us that any childishness or misbehaviour would have us kicked out not only for the lecture but his entire semester. I was right to be glad he hadn’t caught me returning to campus late at night.
Honey chattered again, but at least she turned away from the window with a sulky hiss. Byron laughed under his breath, typing a few notes on his laptop.
“Did you find anything in the library?” I whispered as Professor Radclyffe launched into a new tirade.
“Nothing Nightmare related, but I’ve only just started looking.” She squeezed my hand. “We’ll find something.”
I expected Byron to shoot us a strange look if he overhead, but he was too busy studying his laptop. Relief sagged my shoulders a fraction. I wanted Byron to stay out of this for as long as possible.
I opened my mouth to suggest going to the library with Honey after my next lecture—they were both abandoning me for their own classes this afternoon—but there was a loud commotion when Professor Radclyffe tapped the riding crop he was using in lieu of a cane1 against the desk of the red-faced guy who hit on me at the party. The guy grabbed the end of the cane—and Radclyffe jerked as if he’d been electrocuted.
Voices rose, filling the lecture theatre. Around the ruddy blonde guy, people jumped back.
“Shit,” Honey breathed, blue eyes as wide as saucers. “What just happened?”
“Oh, calm down,” the guy laughed, a little high, a little crazy. “It’s just a hand buzzer.”
I shot Honey a look, but she didn’t see the guy at Halloween; Byron had been with me instead. Unease spread through me, restricting my breathing when the guy laughed again, eerie and high, and I remembered what he'd worn that night: a clown costume.
Maybe he was a jerk anyway. Maybe this was normal behaviour for him. But clowns were famous for shocking people with hand buzzers. Radclyffe threw his crop onto his desk and rubbed his hand, his skin probably scarlet red.
“Get out,” he seethed, throwing a hand towards the door. “And never return to my class.”
Blonde Clown snorted, climbing out of his seat. “You can’t take a joke, Radclyffe. You should lighten up.”
“Out!”
I jumped at the shout, and beside me Byron swore under his breath.
“What a dickhead,” he muttered, watching the clown leave. I wondered if, beneath his perfectly ordinary if a tad horsey face, the blonde guy still wore the face paint he’d caked on for the party.
“This… is not good,” Honey whispered, sitting so stiffly I had no doubt her hackles would be raised if she was a literal cat.
The curse was showing itself, the secrets becoming harder to keep. And this was just a clown; what about the more obvious, more dangerous costumes worn that night?
“No,” I agreed as Radclyffe yelled at the rest of us, ordering us out and snapping directions about chapters to read. “It’s not good at all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
