I should want to go back to the library right now, but what if doing so only renders more disappointment? I’d rather live with a spark of hope. At least for now. And despite every blaring alarm going off inside my body, I want to stay here with Jude, too.
At dinner, I felt like a clamshell.
But now?
I want to open up.
I’m dying to share.
So I tell him everything he’s missed, starting with the missing clock in the display case and the drawing of the faceless man, which I showed to Rafe, who confirmed the drawing looks an awful lot like Vorat. I don’t mention Rafe’s claw marks. Jude doesn’t seem to like the idea of me showingRafe a drawing. Somehow, I think he’d like it even less if he knew I did so while Rafe wasn’t fully dressed. I tell him instead about Lily’s second sketchpad and the cassette tapes. When I’m finished, I capture my lip between my teeth and wait for his response.
“I’d say it’s impossible,” he finally says, “but I’m not sure that word is real anymore.” He exhales slowly, his breath fogging the air. “There’s a drawing of hers hanging in the billiard room.”
“There is?”
He nods. “Nothing monstrous or prophetic. It’s just a tree. The one in the Midnight Garden, I think.”
An owl hoots in the distance.
A star streaks through the sky.
Jude lets go of the railing. He leans back on his heels and flashes me a crooked smile. “So, Opal Bogaard is a fan of your podcast.”
“Can you believe that?”
“It’s a good podcast.”
My face goes warm.
Jude looks up at the stars—bright glitter against black velvet—and I’m struck by the beauty of his profile. “I re-listened to episode nine of season two yesterday.”
My insides go as warm as my face.
It has nothing to do with the heater andeverything to do with Jude, re-listening to episodes on my podcast.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he says.
I lift my eyebrows at him. “It’s about werewolves.”
“A little bit about werewolves. And astrology, which I admit, I’ve never taken much interest in. But I do love the stars.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “There was a short stint of time where I thought I might become an astronaut.”
“Like Neil Armstrong?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye—a brief, amused glance accompanied by an adorable shrug. “My first year at boarding school I took an astronomy class and a Greek mythology class. The combination had me fascinated with the constellations.”
I look from him to the sky. “I can always find the Big Dipper, but never the little one.”
“Those aren’t technically constellations. They’re asterisms.”
“What-erisms?”
He chuckles. “Asterisms. Familiar star patterns that help us locate constellations. The Big Dipper is part of the Great Bear, or Ursa Major. It’s easier to see because the stars are brighter.” He leans toward me and traces the sky. “See those two right on the outer edge of the Big Dipper’sbowl? If you draw a straight line up, you reach Polaris.”
I follow the direction of his finger.
“That’s the end of the Little Dipper’s handle, which is part of Ursa Minor. Or Little Bear.”
I swallow, trying very hard not to notice how close he’s become. “So, Orion’s belt. That’s an asterism, too?”
