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“Yeah, it really sucks when someone takes advantage of a metaphysical connection and uses it to violate your trust, doesn’t it?”
He looked hurt. “That’s not the same. I needed your help to save my life.” I had brought up an unusual and invasive moment in our past when he’d used a bond between us to sneak into my dreams. He hadn’t done it since, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that was easy to forget.
“And Lucas did this because he thought it was necessary to protect his pack. You’re not as different from the wolves as you’d like to think.”
“Why are you defending what he did?”
In truth, I hated that I understood Lucas’s motivation as well as I did. It proved he really was a part of me now, inside my head and heart, making me more empathetic to his actions. “I’m not saying what he did is right. I guess I just understand the logic. However flawed it might be.”
“You don’t care that he’s using you,” Holden said, giving me a sad look he’d honed to perfection over several centuries. That look must be a real panty-melter for women who loved doe-eyed poets.
We were standing in front of an old brick building, a trickle of brave students moving down the paths in groups, trying to get from one building to the next without freezing to death. Holden and I wore no hats or scarves, and our jackets and gloves were more about comfort than actual necessity. Still, it was impossible to miss the cold space between us.
“He might be using me. But it’s not like he’d be the first.”
Lucy Renard’s dorm room wasn’t anything like I imagined a young woman’s dorm room to be. Her space was neat as a pin, everything in its place, and I bet if I lifted the edge of her comforter, the sheets would be tucked in with pristine hospital corners.
If Lucy had run off on some impromptu vacation, she wasn’t a very gifted packer. The room’s closet was divided in half, and each section had been labeled, one for Lucy and one for her roommate Katie. Katie’s side was more how I pictured most rooms on campus to be—a big heap of wrinkled clothing stacked up with no rhyme or reason.
Lucy’s side put the shelves at Bergdorf to shame. The clothes were hung according to color, and the hangers were evenly spaced. Everything looked ironed, and tucked into the top shelf was one of those plastic boards people used to fold their shirts into perfect little rectangles. Her shoes were neatly sorted in what appeared to be the most used at the front and special occasion at the back.
Her toiletries were still in their cubby at the top of the closet, and there was only one pair of shoes missing.
“How old was this girl?” Holden asked, startling me. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Eighteen.”
“Have you ever seen an eighteen-year-old this…meticulous?”
“I’ve never seen anyone this meticulous.”
On her desk was an alphabetized stack of folders, one for each class, but they only held old assignments, nothing to indicate any sort of sinister plot against Lucy. I fired up her laptop and was delighted to find that her webmail stored her password for her.
Mom. Re: Valentine’s Day Card. Boring.
Andy B. Next Tuesday! I opened that one. It was just a message from a classmate asking if she was going to be at the bar next week. Lucy hadn’t replied.
G.H. Seminar Selections. G.H.? I clicked on the link, hoping it was a coincidence.
Lucy,
Professor Mayhew mentioned you wanted to do your presentation on Spencer’s The Faerie Queene. Several other students have expressed an interest in this same poem. Why don’t you come by my office on Friday, and we can discuss some other options?
Sincerely,
G. Holbrook
“Son of a bitch.” I slapped the laptop shut and scrubbed my face with my hands. So Gabriel knew Lucy. And he’d asked to meet with her roughly the same time she’d gone missing. Then he’d gotten accused of murdering another girl who happened to be in the same literature class as Lucy. I was all for minor coincidences, but this stunk to high heaven.
“What?”
“Do you ever get the distinct impression you’re being played?”
He arched a brow and looked at the closed laptop. “Did you find something?”
“No. Nothing yet. But I have about twenty minutes to make it to Lucy’s Medieval Literature class.”
Medieval Literature was an evening class held in one of the older humanities buildings on the Columbia campus. The room was small, only holding enough seats for about fifty students, and the whole place smelled of dust and stale coffee.
