“You’re a monster.”
“I’m worse.” I channel all my pain into my voice, which comes out as a growl, and I’m not mad about it.
He says nothing. Maybe his silence is my answer, like he actually knows what sort of person my father has turned me into. But of course he doesn’t.
Reeve looks up at the daunting building we’re standing in front of. “If you’re nice for the next five minutes, I might help you carry those bags upstairs.” He snaps his fingers. “And before I forget, we recommend that all students leave their windows open at night. Fresh air lets the school’s many ghosts escape so they don’t hurt you.” He taps his chin. “Hmm…maybe keepyourwindows shut.”
I take a steady breath. Dear Gods, I’d forgotten how annoying Reeve can be. “Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts.”
He shrugs, gaze flicking away from mine. “Yeah, well, spend a night here and you just might.”
An athletic guy with warm brown skin jogs past us in an Endir hoodie, flicking Reeve on the shoulder in greeting. “Party’s on.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Reeve fires back, holding up his hand for a quick high five before the guy disappears into the crowd. The whole exchange lasted maybe two seconds, but it’s seamless—like Reeve has done this a hundred times before.
He turns back to me with the same easy grin, as if the interruption hadn’t happened at all.
I bite the inside of my cheek, annoyed for no reason that he has friends and a life—and I don’t. “Scared ofghosts, Reeve?” I taunt.
“Concerned.” He nods, his gaze catching mine again. “Maybe this is where I give youallthe warnings we give newcomers on campus who are too curious for their own good. That includes you, by the way.”
“I figured. All right, let’s hear the scary things. Get ’em off your chest and make it fast. I’m already bored.”
“You really are lovely.”
“Likewise.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Likewise.”
Reeve rolls his eyes. “All right, keep up. Rule number one, don’t go near the lake after midnight. Sounds weird and superstitious, but there have been many dares to do just that.” He shrugs as though any resulting misfortune was their own. “We aren’t sure if it’s because the lake is so dark that once they jump in, they get confused which way is up, but, point is, most don’t survive a midnight swim.”
“Awesome.” I’m a decent swimmer, but my fear of drowningpretty much guarantees I won’t be wading into any creepy lakes.
He ignores me. “Moving on, rule number two. Don’t enter the Hall of Ormir without being invited by someone. Basically, the state has lauded it as a historical landmark, so we want to keep it that way even if it’s creepier than shit.”
“Got it, creepier than shit, Hall of Ormir, get on a tour.” I nod. “Isn’t Ormir another name for Ymir? The original Giant in Norse mythology?” I wait for him to flinch or give me a hint that he knows more than he should.
Father always enjoyed sharing how he was responsible for putting every God and Giant to sleep, hiding their memories to temporarily end the war, as though he were a savior or something. But it doesn’t hurt to test his bragging, to see if everyone really is unaware. I can’t imagine forgetting who and what I am—although, oddly enough, the idea warms my chest.
“Pay attention, Rey. We’re only sharing useful facts today.” He offers me another insufferable wink, and I resist the urge to kick him in the shin. “The next rule, and I know this will be hard for someone of your refined breeding to resist, but please don’t drink the lake water. People say it has magic properties, but it doesn’t. It’s just quite toxic, and in every single scenario where someone has drank the water, they’ve had to be committed for at least three days in a catatonic state while also shitting their pants from all the bacteria. Zero out of zero, do not recommend. Actually, I changed my mind: go chug, little daughter of Odin. I’ll wait.”
My spine locks. Just for a second, my stomach tries to crawl into my chest.
He can’t know who my father is. Notreally. He already passed my earlier test…
“What does my being Odin’s daughter have to do with anything?”
Reeve blinks once. Twice. Then lets out a snort. “You’re notseriously going to stand there and pretend your dad isn’t the most notorious mob boss on the West Coast, right? I’m sure he’s already sent three guys swimming with cinderblocks today—and that’s before lunch.” He gestures vaguely in the air. “No doubt you inherited his same…joie de vivre.”
Relief hits me so hard, I almost feel a little dizzy, and a giggle escapes the back of my throat. “Time will tell, I suppose.”
He barks out a laugh. “Can I just say I missed our cheerful conversations, little mobster daughter?”
“Hey, my father has legitimate businesses.” Total lie.
The air shifts.
