Okay, Dru. Time to play this cool. “Thanks. I mean, for getting me in here, and all.” I retreated, suddenly very aware I was just in panties and a bra that were probably now ruined, and that he had dumped himself into the tub without even taking his shirt off. And I probably had dirt all over my stupid face. “You’re always, you know, around. When I need you. Thanks.”
Of all the things to say.
OhmyfuckingGOD, Dru, how stupid can you be? I made it over to the other side of the tub and hoped the heat would hide the red marching up my neck to plant itself in my cheeks.
Graves actually coughed. It was kind of decent of him. “No problem.” He headed for the stairs out of the tub, awkwardly swilling a lot of crackling wax around. He floundered up and out, almost slipped, grabbed the edge of the tub. “First one’s. Yeah. Free.”
He was probably just as embarrassed as I was. I sank back into the tub, reached out, and held onto the edge myself. I was feeling kind of like my arms and legs might fail me at any moment.
I hunched in the bath for a long while, shivering and shaking, and the only thing that got me out of there was the thought that one of the teachers might think I was drowning and come in to “rescue” me.
Or, you know, kill me. Because it seemed pretty obvious that the Schola, where Christophe had promised me I’d be safe, was a pretty damn dangerous place.
CHAPTER 11
When you’re up all night all the time, midnight is the middle of the day. It’s not late enough to be lunch yet, but it’s too late for breakfast, and when you’ve been chased and have rolled around in muck, are you hungry anyway?
I was. I was starving. But instead of being in the caf, I was sitting in Dylan’s office again.
Looking at the shelves of leather-bound books and waiting. It was just like the principal’s office, and Graves had vanished after handing me a fistful of dry clothes brought from my own room through the door of the girls’ locker room.
I didn’t like that. It was just numbers one and two on a list of things I didn’t like. Someone, maybe even Graves himself, would have had to go through the rosewood dresser in my room, and whoever it was even brought panties, for God’s sake. It was creepy. Thank God I hadn’t hidden anything in there. I mean, the panty drawer has got to be the first place anyone’s going to look, right?
And where was Graves? I had a funny squirrelly feeling in my chest when I thought about him not being here. I wanted to see him.
I wanted to see any friendly face. Nobody else here qualified except maybe Christophe, and he was nowhere around. I didn’t have any clue where he was.
Dylan was off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t sighing at me, or preparing to come in and sigh at me. Which left me all alone, my hair washed clean and dripping and my teeth clenched together. Not to mention with my head full of questions, and arms and legs that didn’t feel too steady.
I slumped in the usual high-backed, carved chair, staring at the books. They were a treasure trove of titles about the Real World, from demographic surveys on werwulfen to a whole section on witchcraft and black hexes, their spines lettered with crimson foil.
I bit on my right index fingernail, chewing along until it was nonexistent. Moved to the next nail.
What I wouldn’t have given to have a crack at some of those while Dad was alive. He might’ve liked it too. I wouldn’t have minded a peek at the hex books. Dad preferred human intel, asking questions in occult shops and bars where the Real World congregated. I’d been in and out of those places ever since Gran died and Dad came to pick me up, and I was beginning to think it had been a lot more dangerous than even he had thought. Every time he took me into another place to get the lay of the land, he got really tense.
Now I wondered if it was because I was with him, or because a misstep could have meant both of us ending up dead. And I wondered why he never told me about Mom being svetocha. Why hadn’t he said something? Anything? Was he planning on telling me when I was old enough? How old was “old enough”? What the hell had he been waiting for?
Or had he not known? Had it been my mother’s secret?
How could it have been?
I started chewing on my right ring fingernail. Then again, Dad never was a touchy-feely say-everything kind of guy. We could spend whole days not talking, just getting things done. I was always proud of knowing exactly what to do without him having to tell me every time. Gran hadn’t been a big one for talking either, preferring to teach by example, but next to Dad she was positively chatty.
And how would Dad have told me, anyway? Dru, honey, your mother was part vampire, which means you are too. Sorry about that.
My heart hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried not to think about it.
The door opened. I stayed slumped in the chair, even though my heart leapt nastily and I had to swallow a gasp. I grabbed at the chair’s arms, and my feet slid in a little bit in case I had to stand up in a hurry.
Almost dying will make you a little jumpy.
“Here she is.” Dylan sounded tired. “Entrez-vous, my space is yours.” I heard a light step and a swish of something. A spicy, pretty smell filled the air, and I craned my neck, opening my mouth to ask Dylan where the hell Graves was.
The words died in my throat as the advisor stepped to one side, closing the door and standing at attention right in front of it. A shadow slid past him and glided toward me.
She was tall for a girl, and her hair was a glory of reddish curls. Narrow shoulders, wide blue eyes, a pointed chin, and a long, old timey dress of red silk. That hair was perfect, held back from her heart-shaped face with two black-velvet bows. She half-turned, leaned back, and hopped up to perch on Dylan’s desk, shoving paper back with her skirt.