Page 91 of Roses & Ruin

“I love Hayden,” I say, “but I love you too. I have my whole future to spend with Hayden. It’s, like, only these few years I get to live with another girl.” I smile wryly. “Even if she is a vampire.”

“Huh.” Delia blinks at me, shaking her head. “I didn’t expect that.”

“What? You thought I was gonna just run off with Hayden? Forget about you? Live happily ever after?” I try not to let myself be hurt by that.

“Sorry. Yeah, kinda did.” Delia lets out a breath, rubbing her brow. “Truth is, he always kind of does that. Runs away. Forgets his old pal Delia. I super get it, though. He usually only gets a year with you. I…” She looks off into the middle distance, thinking. “Things are different this time, though. It’ll be different this time. Right?” Delia looks at me, and something desperate clouds her eyes.

I stand up and take her hands in mine. “I promise,” I say.

Delia looks down at our hands. “Okay. Good. Great, even.” She steps back, laughing self-consciously. “I don’t think the fucking blankets are in here. I’m gonna comb through the kitchen.”

“I’ll check the bedroom.” I walk backward down the hall. “In the meantime, come up with three movies you wanna watch, and I’ll do the same. We’ll vote on it.”

“Yeah.” Delia blinks at me, thoughtful. “Yeah, okay, sounds great.”

I push open the bedroom door, flip on the light. It’s cold in here, bare. Her bed’s not set up yet. There’s just a pile of iron rods in the corner and a queen-size box spring and mattress pushed up against the wall. I go to the window, look up at the night sky. The thin sliver of moon makes the snow softer, the white less brittle. A large snowy owl lands on the bare branch of a nearby tree. It watches me, steady and silent.

I hope Delia knows I mean it. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had, in this life, obviously, but if I had to guess, I’d say in all my other lives as well. I chew my lip as I pull open the first cardboard box. This one’s full of clothes. I shuffle through them, searching for blankets.

I hold up a cute teal sweatshirt. Marc Jacobs. Huh. It’s so nice, feels expensive. I wonder if Delia would let me borrow it? I drape it over my arm and keep digging through the clothes. Maybe there’s a pile of blankets beneath the wardrobe stuff? And if I come across other cute clothes on the way, well, so be it.

I pull out a thick peacoat, and something falls out of the pocket of the teal sweatshirt draped on my arm. Looks like Delia’s student ID. I stoop down and grab it. I’m about to call Delia when I see something impossible at the bottom of the cardboard box.

I freeze. Stop breathing.

No. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Delia have this?

Feeling sick and clammy, I reach down and grab the AirPod case encrusted in minuscule taffy-pink jewels. I stare hard at the two bedazzled letters. RL.

Remy’s AirPod case. I take a deep breath, squeeze the ID in my hand, letting the hard edges dig into my palm. Then I get a look at the face in the picture.

This is not Delia’s student ID.

It belongs to an Amber Katz.

Red curls, pretty face, big smile. It takes me a second to place her. The girl from Autumn Fest. She got a tarot reading. The cards said someone would change her life that night. My belly lurches, the student ID slipping from my hands. I blink desperately at the AirPod case, heartbeat clamoring.

That’s when I notice a speck of blood on the bejeweled L.

“Ro? You okay?” Delia says from the doorway. “Felt your heart kick up a few notches, and I…”

I don’t turn around. I stare at the owl for a long moment, then try, as quietly and smoothly as possible, to fish my phone out of my pocket.

“You know I can see you doing that, right?” Delia deadpans. “Look at the owl again.”

I do. It lifts one leg from the branch, waves at me. I whirl around, and Delia’s right there, in my face. She wrinkles her nose. Her wide brown eyes are impossible to read.

“Sorry, Ro,” she whispers, and then I feel her flood into my brain, and everything goes black.

Chapter 31

Needles of pain prick every inch of my skull, the lids of my eyes. When I try to open them, I suck in a sharp breath, shut them again. The lighting is low, wherever I am, but it’s enough to hurt.

It’s freezing, and I’m sitting on something hard. With a groan, I bring my hands up to massage my temples. I open my eyes again, slower this time, let them adjust. My vision is blurry; odd, dark shapes surround me. I hear a soft sound, like a girlish sigh. Delia, I think.

And then I remember.

Panic bursts through me, and terror has my vision clearing shockingly fast.