Page 44 of Hallowed Bones

The wind tears through the trees as I turn off the main road, boots crunching on dried leaves and dirt as I slip into the shadows of the narrow path Elodie and I had taken hours ago. It’s different now. There are fewer people, and it’s darker.

Streetlights vanish behind the tree line, swallowed whole by the dark. The second they’re gone, I feel an invisible pressure on my spine.

Cold licks at my nape. I stop on the path and dig into my pocket with trembling hands even as I silently beg this not to happen again. I just settled in here. Couldn’t I have had a little longer to appreciate being accepted? My fingers close around my phone like it’s a lifeline. The screen flares to life as I hold it up in front of me, too bright. I squint against the glow and swipe to the flashlight.

Relief washes over me as the beam cuts through the night—but it doesn’t last.

Because the second I lift it, a shadowy figure moves in front of me. Just inches away.

“Don’t scream,” Ezra says before I can make a sound.

I don’t scream. I’m better than that. Instead, I throw my phone at his head.

“Hey!” Ezra ducks in an annoyingly impressive reflex. My phone goes sailing over his head. “What was that for?”

“What was that for?” I scream. Behind him, the sound of my phone hitting cold, hard ground and clattering feet away a split second before its light goes out echoes into the night. “You snuck up on me like a serial killer!”

And now my phone might be broken, I mentally lament.

“I told you not to scream,” he deadpans.

I’ve never been closer to physical violence than I am in this exact moment, including two seconds ago, when I threw my phone at his head. For a moment, I stand there and stare at the shadow of him—wide, muscled shoulders, sharp, square-cut jaw, and the air of confidence he wears like a shroud. He’s just as attractive as his friends, but somehow, far more frustrating.

“Move,” I snarl, storming past him in the direction of my phone. My knees hit the path, and I pat around, squinting as only the light from the moon overhead illuminates the ground. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” If the flashlight clicked off, does that mean it’s dead?

“This path is too dark to take at night,” Ezra says. “It’s not safe.”

“You’re the one not safe right now,” I mutter, continuing the likely pointless search.

“What was that?” Ezra hovers at my back, not offering to help me look, because why would he?

“I said—” A fresh insult or threat is on the tip of my tongue, but before it slips free, my fingers skate over something slimy, and I cut myself off. “Ew, ew, ew.” I turn and wipe it off on Ezra’s jeans. If he’s there, he might as well make himself useful.

He doesn’t say a word. Finally, I touch the hard plastic shell of my cell. Lifting up the device, I press the button on the side.

“Find it?” Ezra asks as if he can’t see the answer. I ignore him in favor of staring at the cracked screen.

After several attempts to press the On button, the screen lights up. My inhale of relief is quickly stamped out as the glow flickers and goes dead a split second later. Emptiness echoes in the darkness of the forest path. I get to my feet slowly, shaking as anger boils in my blood. I whirl to face the man responsible.

“What”—I grit through clenched teeth—“and I cannot stress this enough”—I take a calming breath—“the fuck is your problem?”

Ezra stands there, little more than the outline of a man with bulky shoulders and a rigid countenance. Completely silent. Completely unmoving. A muscle beneath my eye twitches.

“Well?” I snap. Still, he doesn’t speak, and a nasty thought invades my mind.

Has Cameron talked to you yet? That was the question he’d asked me back at the lacrosse team house. Why does he want to know about Cameron and me? Did Cameron tell him about our kiss? Does it bother him? Then, on the heels of that thought, another question surfaces. Why would he?

The thoughts circle my head like cartoon birds mimicking the effects of a concussion. Am I wrong about Cameron? He wanted me to go to Ezra’s house, Bishop Manor. Why?

I take a step back. My stomach churns with insidious anxiety. “Is this fun for you?” I ask, my voice sharper than before, huskier. “Do you and your friends have some sort of bet going on? A game? See who can get the new girl to go crazy the fastest?”

Finally, he speaks. “No, of course not.” The clouds above part just enough to shine a light directly atop him as he raises his hands in a placating gesture. At least I can see his face now and know that he’s real and not yet another monster my deranged mind has conjured.

“Haven, just calm down and let me—” My back stiffens up at those words, the anger that had been slowly receding racing right back to the surface. Two more seconds and I would have been calm.

Fingers curling around the weight of my phone, I take a step toward him. “Never,” I say coldly, my tone rising in pitch with each word, “in the history of mankind has telling a woman to ‘calm down’ actually fucking worked, asshole!”

Lifting my phone up again, I do the only thing that I can with a useless, broken device. I fucking chuck it at him a second time, and to my greatest delight, it hits its mark—slamming right into his nose with a loud, satisfying crack.