I nodded as the two of them left me standing alone in the hall. Professor Roberts’ fearful expression flashed in my mind, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it. Especially during a party thrown in her honor.
Pushing the encounter aside in favor of making a quick exit, I adjusted the strap on my bag and headed for the door.
“Elle, wait!”
Caden jogged down the hall toward me. I tensed, not ready for another confrontation. My expression must have revealed my desire to flee his presence because when he caught up, he held out a hand, trying to convince me to stay in place.
I narrowed my eyes on him while I thrust my arms into my jacket. “You have thirty seconds, and if you came out here to gloat, you can turn right back around. Just be careful you don’t trip on your way back inside.” Sarcasm leached from my voice as I tugged on the zipper of my jacket. The slider got stuck halfway up, and I ground my teeth in frustration.
“I’m not here to gloat.”
“Then what is it?” Giving up on the zipper, I tossed my hands in the air. “What is your problem? I’ve known you all of three hours and had literally two conversations with you. That’s not enough time or interaction for you to hate me, and yet here we are!” My voice kept rising even as I struggled to tamp down my growing anger.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, gripping the ends. “I don’t hate you. That’s not what this is. I can explain.”
“Oh, good to know! Guess what? I don’t care. I’m still fired, and while technically it is my fault, I’m petty enough to lay all the blame on you.” I dropped my head back, gazing at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. Although considering the way my night started, it shouldn’t be a surprise.”
Caden’s brows drew together, and he moved closer. He looked almost concerned. “The way your night started . . . What happened?”
I wasn’t buying his out-of-the-blue good guy demeanor.
“No way. I am not getting into it with you.”
He moved another step closer. We were almost touching now. His voice held a strange note.
“Did you see something on your way here?”
See something?Why would he ask that question? I crossed my arms over my chest and studied him with a fresh set of eyes. He was the same devastatingly handsome man who’d walked across the patio carrying wineglasses, but there was also a curious quality about him. I was suddenly struck by a few questions of my own.
“Do you go to Thornbridge University?” I asked.
“No.”
“You have family here then.”
He shook his head, and an icy feeling spread across my neck.
“What’s your last name?”
“Bishop.”
Not Clarke.A sneaking suspicion wormed its way into my mind. Could he be connected to the Spellwork Organization in some way? It was an odd coincidence for me to have stumbled across the symbol and met someone with magical abilities all in the same night. Add to that the ghost sighting and my feelings of unease in the past few weeks. But what did it mean? That he was following me? For what purpose? The track my mind took was paranoia at its finest, maybe even a little narcissistic.
Okay,a lotnarcissistic. Even if it was remotely possible, with my luck, they wouldn’t send a GQ model.
“Are we playing Twenty Questions? Because you haven’t answered mine.”
There was only one way to test him. I had to catch him off-guard and gauge his reaction. I angled my head back until our gazes locked.
“Fine. To answer your question, I saw a ghost.”
That didn’t silence him the way I thought it would. He reached out, placing his hand on my shoulder, and leaned in.
“What did he say to you?”
The hint of his cologne assailed my senses, almost distracting me from the absurdity of his question. Not, “Ghost sightings are rare,” or, “That’s crazy,” but, “What did he say to you?” My mind spun. This night was getting weirder by the second.
I planned to ask him how he knew the ghost had spoken to me, but the words died in my throat. Above our heads, the lights winked out, submerging us in darkness.
