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I have a piece of red chalk in my dresser drawer. Pulling it out, I put it in my pocket. Thankfully, I have a yellow raincoat hanging on the back of my dorm door, so I put it on, pull up the hood, and head out. John stares at me as I push through the doors and back out into the icy rain.
Mr. O’Day told me if I ever needed to contact him to go to a bodega on Hyland Boulevard. It has an overhang out front. The front of the entrance to the bodega is covered in green and white tiles. I’m supposed to color in one of the white tiles with the red chalk. Of course, not any white tile—it has to be the fifth from the top on the right-hand side.
It takes me the better part of an hour to get there. Thankfully, no one is around. I color in the tile, then turn around and trudge the long trek home.
I’ve never had to do this. So far in our relationship, Mr. O’Day has always found me.
Now, to get home and prepare for the next phase of my plan.
Wraith
The boy colored on the tile like his life depended on it. It’s unusual for me to be in New York, but the hairs on the back of my neck have been tingly for a few days, and then Jonathan Stonewall tripped one of my internet searches. He’s looking for Ann, again. Part of me wants to put him in the ground, but I know if I do that, the Scorpio Society and the founding families will stop at nothing to end me and everyone I love.
If it weren’t for Ann, I probably would’ve ended Simon too, but she seems to think she’s in love with him. He looks cold as he thrusts his hands under his yellow raincoat and rushes back into the rain. The real question is—what does he want?
I know from my surveillance he had a meeting with Stonewall. Sitting down, I put my cell phone to my ear and dial Simon. He can’t be very far away, even if he’s hurrying in the rain.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Simon. What do you want?” Straight and to the point. I hear his intake of breath, and he mutters a curse word.
“How did you get back to me so quickly?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Right.” He sighs into the line. “Can we meet?”
“Sure. When and where?”
Simon chuckles. “Yeah, like it’s that easy. How about now at the campus library?” His sarcasm leaks through the line.
“Not the library, too many eyes. How about you come back to the bodega, walk across the street, and travel to the third floor of the abandoned townhouse? The one with the white paint on the steps.”
“You’re here?”
“See you soon.”
Within moments, Simon’s jogging back. He disappears from sight as he enters the building. I’m sitting in an old ripped red armchair, clearly left here by earlier tenants in better days. That’s the problem with society—when things improve, those who started the neighborhoods are forced out as money and power move in. It won’t be long before this whole side of town is skyscrapers and yuppies with their pet pooches.
“Hello?”
He sounds apprehensive.
Good.
“Hello?” he calls out again.
I don’t answer. It’s a small apartment, so he’ll find me if he keeps walking.
Simon stumbles through the doorway and freezes when he sees me.
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
The boy shuffles from foot to foot, pushing back his yellow raincoat. “You could’ve yelled out. You know these old buildings are a haven for drug addicts and worse.”
“I’m the worse.” Chuckling to myself, I hold out a hand toward the old wooden chair against the wall. “Take a seat.”
