Page 71 of Darkest Obsession

I thought we had already established the fact that I was… I swerve into my proper lane and Clover grabs onto my bicep, gripping very tightly until the vehicle stabilizes. She doesn’t stop glaring at me, even when she releases her lobster grip on my forearm.

“That was horrible.”

“Fun. Horribly fun.”

She rolls her eyes.

“There aren’t even good restaurants around here.”

“We’re driving two towns over.”

“Will I survive that?” She grumbles as I swerve to avoid hitting a woman and her dog.

“It appears that you have every intention of curtailing your survival by entering one dangerous situation after another.”

“I was handling things,” Clover huffs.

Still, that person could have hurt her. I hate the thought of anyone laying their hands on her. I grip the steering wheel with rage at this unknown assailant. I have to stay focused on solutions rather than outrage.

“Does that mean you need to come up with another plan?”

“No. I need to look for anyone with a slash mark on their arms,” Clover says. “I got ‘em. The night wasn’t a complete failure.”

I like that she doesn’t give up.

“Great. I’ll help.”

“Whatever. I didn’t need you standing outside my window.”

Yes she did, but she doesn’t know that yet. I don’t want to keep the real reason for my presence from her.

“I got another email from… you know who.”

“Ew. They aren’t Voldemort. We can say their name.”

“Spicy freak,” I mutter. “Has to be a girl.”

I wanted to wait until we got to breakfast to confess the email to her, but Clover has a way of dragging words out of me — more words than any other person. I really do prefer grunts and short answers. Saves time. Saves effort.

“Maybe it’s time we suck it up and go to the dean or something.”

“We could try.”

Clover and I glance at each other. I sense we’re thinking the same thing, that going to the dean will only make this person flip out worse. Still, they’re not all powerful. If Clover can get them to run into the dance studio… we could set another trap. Perhaps it’s time to finally involve someone else.

“It has to be a student,” Clover says. “That means they’re bound by school rules. A dean could find out who it is.”

“If they take us seriously.”

“Yeah.”

I pull up to my secret breakfast spot — a small restaurant frequented so much by Crispin Barclay that he ended up buying it. I love this place. Violet took me here once when I visited for the weekend. Unfortunately, that was the weekend I tried to hint to her about mum and dad’s divorce. Not all memories here are fond…

“This place looks cute,” Clover says.

I want to put my arm around her, make a new memory here with her that would blot out the memories of my parents fighting and screaming, or Violet holding back tears to keep very British as she found out our family was falling apart.

“Great breakfast,” I offer Clover a simple response instead — one that keeps my family drama far out of it.