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"I was assigned this room when I arrived last year," he explains. "Now, I refuse to change rooms. You'll see why."
Brendan's room is as orderly as he is with a broken-in leather couch, a recliner and an impressive floor to ceiling bookcase. His bed a built-in loft, like Ashton's, to allow room for the massive furniture. The space is predictably masculine, but it gives off a regal vibe I wasn't expecting. Then again, he does eat and dress like a forty-year-old man. Apparently he lives like one too.
"Take a seat," he offers, sliding open the cabinet next to the sink. He pushes the shelf so that the bottles of Evian swirl around and disappear, replaced by a row of liquor bottles hidden behind a secret compartment. "Drink?"
I shake my head.
Brendan pulls out a bottle of scotch and pours a small amount in a tumbler.
"You are not who you appear to be, are you?" I release a humorless laugh.
He smirks. "That obvious?"
"Maybe you're a changeling," I con
template out loud. "You look sixteen, but nothing else about you is..."
"Expect my stamina." He winks.
"And your maturity. But then again, fae are just as egotistical and flirtatious. Maybe you should go back to living under your hill. The Unseelie Court must be missing you by now."
"Are you about to tell me one of your fairytales, prince--" Brendan stops himself, grimacing apologetically.
Time to change the subject.
"Here's how this is going to--" I don't finish my sentence; a framed picture catches my attention.
"Lana?"
I stand and cross the room to his espresso stained, floor-to-ceiling bookcase that lines the entire wall. There's a roll-top desk built into it, and, as much as it surprises me, it's filled with books. Along with personal touches--pictures, golfing trophies, decorative art pieces.
I pick up the picture of the two teenagers, maybe a little older than we are now, and stare at it. They're sitting on the bow of a sailboat, their faces concealed by oversized sunglasses, but the smiles on their faces shine as bright as the sun.
"Who's in this picture?"
"The girl on the right is my mother when she was eighteen. I don't know who she's with. But I like the picture because she looks so happy."
"The girl on the left," I start, but have to pause to take a breath, "is my mother."
"Really?" Brendan lets out an amused chuckle. "No way."
But when I turn to him, his smile falls. He knows.
"Our mothers were friends?" I demand when I realize he's not surprised by this.
"Apparently." Brendan swallows down the rest of the Scotch.
Still holding the picture, I sit down on his couch. Brendan remains standing, leaning against the counter next to the sink.
"I've received three messages while I've been here. The first night, the message I know was written on my wall in glow-in-the-dark paint. The second message was in my work locker the day I started. You saw that. And last night I received another one. It was in my overnight bag when I came back from Lily's." I reach inside my messenger bag and hand it to Brendan. "At first, I thought they were threats, about the night Allie was hurt, because that seemed like the obvious secret--even though the messages didn't really make sense. But now ..."
Brendan stares at the picture. "You think it has to do with our mothers?"
"Maybe. But I still don't know what any of the messages mean," I say. "Have you received any?" He shakes his head, turning the photo over to read the message. "So whoever it is, is targeting me. And last night, after I received that picture, I started to wonder if maybe they were warnings, and not threats. Except ..."
Brendan looks up when I don't continue.
"I was locked out of the dorm last night because my phone was dead. I ended up spending half the night lost in the Court. I swear someone was in there with me, although I'm second guessing that now. It might've been in my head. But whoever's leaving these notes knew I was out there, because they left this."
