The Book of Blood and Shadow (13 page)

He broke the silence. “Excellent. Talking is highly overrated. I suggest video games. Or poker. Funny cat videos?” He paused when he saw I wasn’t cracking a smile. “Or we could just sit here and stare at each other really intensely until one of us manages to melt the other one’s brain.” He narrowed his eyes to slits.

“I didn’t ask you to cheer me up.”

His brow furrowed in mock concentration.

“I just wanted company.”

He held his breath, cheeks blown out like a puffer fish, eyes still lasered at mine.

“This is not going to work.”

His nose began twitching, just slightly at first, then wildly, like that of a rabbit on crack, until his head ricocheted back with an explosive sneeze.

I couldn’t help myself: I laughed. And if there had been any distance between us, it was gone.

“Admit it,” he said. “You can’t resist my charms.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I admit it, will you stop blowing snot all over my desk? It’s called a tissue.”

“Ah, she’s neat-freaking. Must mean she’s feeling better.”

“Who are you talking to, nutcase? The hidden camera?”

“Always give the audience what they want,” he said. “That’s my motto. It’s what makes me so lovable.”

“Lovable? More like—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He held up a hand to silence me. “Think before you speak. Remember, words can hurt.”

“Because you’re so sensitive?”

“You know me, I’m like a little girl.”

“An insult to little girls everywhere.”

“Again with the compliments! See, now I know you’re feeling better. Admit it.”

“Maybe,” I allowed.

“And what do we say when our most brilliant and cherished friend turns our frown upside down?”

I sighed. “We say thank you. Loser.” But he knew I meant it.

“Anytime.” And I knew he did, too.

He stayed for the rest of the afternoon, but we didn’t talk about the Hoff, or the maybe/maybe-not break-in at the church, or anything else that particularly mattered. He regaled me with the adventures we would all have together on our Paris trip in a few weeks, and as usual, I let him believe I’d find a way to be there, stuffing my face and splashing in the Seine alongside everyone else. He whined about the way Adriane kept blowing off their dates for student-council meetings, lacrosse practice, and the various obligations that had accompanied a recent, inexplicable embrace of her heretofore nonexistent responsible side. I complained about Max going into attack mode whenever he got frustrated, snapping angrily at whoever happened to be around, usually me, and then apologizing five seconds later with such limpid puppy-dog eyes it was tempting to pat him on the head and give him a treat.

We still fit together, and that, more than anything, made it all okay. I resolved not to let so much time pass before we did this again. Max wasn’t a replacement for Chris; I needed them both.

“You know, if this were a movie,” Chris said, “we’d probably decide to ditch those ungrateful fools and start making out.”

“And if this were a movie, there would probably be a really awkward moment after you put that out there.”

“The air charged with sexual tension.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Sparks flying.”

“Tongues twisting, lips smacking—”

“Ugh, are you
trying
to make me puke?” he asked, laughing.

I batted my eyelashes at him. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

“Like you weren’t thinking it.”

“I was going to say
vomit
,” I said. “It’s more ladylike.”

“No one says
vomit
. Not even ladies.”

“Really? I, a lady, will now use the term in a sentence: The idea of making out with you makes me want to
vomit
. Also to gag, regurgitate, expectorate, and hurl.”

He puckered up and blew me a loud kiss, raspberry-style. “Love you, too.”

He said it to me all the time, and to Adriane nearly every time they met or parted or hung up the phone. I’d even heard him say it to Max one night, after a few too many beers. They were easy words for him. I almost never said it back.

“I did something I shouldn’t have,” I said.

“Doubt that. You’re not the type.”

Instead of arguing with him, I handed him Elizabeth’s letter. His eyes widened, for real this time.

“I took it,” I said.

“I can see that.”

“I
stole
it.”

“Right.”

“So what do I do now?”

He placed the letter on the desk, gently. “You know how much this thing is worth?”

“Do you?”

“I’m guessing a
lot
.”

“Tens of thousands, probably,” I said. “I did some research.”

Chris rarely got serious, and when he did, he was like a different person, stiffer and older. Even his voice got deeper, offering a glimpse of some future Chris, all grown up with a law degree, two kids, and three-piece suits. “Please tell me you didn’t steal this with some insane idea that you could sell it.”

“Of course not!”

“So then …?”

“It was private,” I said.

“You can tell me,” he said.

“No, I mean, the letter was private.” I knew how it sounded. “It didn’t belong to anyone but her.”

“She’s dead.”

“I know that.”

We were both silent. I could see him working the problem, trying to find the words to convince me to give it back. He didn’t need to bother.

“It’s all that’s left,” I said. “Now that the archive’s gone. He needs it.” I didn’t say that the Hoff probably had no idea the rest were missing, and even if he did, it wouldn’t make much difference anymore. That wasn’t the point.

“Okay,” he said. “So you put it back.”

“That’s the problem—back
where
? What am I supposed to do, just go to the cops and tell them I found it under a desk somewhere? Or give it to the Hoff? He probably wouldn’t even
understand—” I swallowed hard and forced myself to deal. “If he was aware enough to know what was going on, he’d want to know why I had it. People might think
I
was the one who stole everything else, and attacked him, and—”

Chris sat down beside me. “Breathe,” he said, and with his hand rubbing smooth circles on my back, I could.

“No one attacked him,” Chris said. “And no one stole anything.”

He sounded so certain. In Chris’s world, things like that just didn’t happen, and I liked to think the sheer force of his belief in the general benevolence of the universe would, at least in his case, make it true. “He probably took the archive back to his house for some reason. Maybe he thought we were after it. He was paranoid. You
know
that.”

“So what am I supposed to do with this?” I said, feeling—irrationally but firmly—that if I’d just left the letter where it was, the Hoff would have been fine.

“Let me take it,” Chris said. “I’ll turn it in to the history department. Say it got mixed up with some of my stuff or something.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“No one’s going to get in trouble,” he said, again so infuriatingly, wonderfully sure. “It’s just an old letter. No big deal. Say it.”

“No big deal.”

His smile was back. “You scared me there, for a second,” he said. “The look on your face, I thought you’d done something
really
bad, like root for the Yankees.”

“Never.” Now I could smile, too. Everything felt lighter.

No big deal.

“Prepare yourself for a massively brilliant idea,” he said before leaving. “Movie night tomorrow. The four of us. Like we used to.”

I could have reminded him why we’d stopped movie night in
the first place: Max and Adriane could barely make it through the previews without thrown popcorn, loud cursing, and occasional tears. Adriane may have started out as the biggest proponent of me and Max becoming an official, convenient-for-double-dating, romantically inclined
us
, but her cheerleading days were long gone. Buyer’s remorse, she claimed, and chose to ignore me when I pointed out she wasn’t the customer.

“My parents are out of town,” he said when I didn’t answer. “So forget the crappy dorm TV. I’m talking big screen, HD, free food, the works.”

“Caramel popcorn?”

He knew he had me. “All you can eat.”

“I have to check with Max.”

“Tell him it’s mandatory.” He gave me a quick hug, then tapped the pocket of his backpack that contained Elizabeth’s letter. “Now promise me you’re not going to worry about this anymore. And that next time I see you, you’ll be smiling.”

For the second time that day, I promised.

29

“I’ve never been to your house,” Max said on the phone that night, after unenthusiastically agreeing to the double date.

I was lying in bed with the lights out. Some nights we fell asleep that way, listening to each other breathe.

“What was he doing there?”

“I don’t know. Hanging out. What’s the difference?”

“You tell me,” he said.

“He was here, we hung out, end of story. What, are you jealous?”

“No.” It wasn’t very convincing.

So this was what it meant to have a jealous boyfriend. It didn’t feel as flattering as I’d expected. It felt like he was lying on top of me and I couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t like him. “What’s going on with you?”

His voice was sullen. “Nothing. I’ve just been sitting around the dorm all day, wondering where you were.”

“I was at the hospital,” I snapped.

“I know that!” His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I am. I’ve been worried. And then you were upset, and you called Chris and not me—”

“Who said I was upset?”

“I know you,” he said. “Of course you’re upset. Seeing him, it must have been …” He waited for me to fill in the blank. I didn’t. “I’m just worried about you.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“Nora. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Chris is my best friend,” I reminded him. “You’re not allowed to be jealous of him.”

“I’m not. I swear. But something’s going on with you. I can hear it in your voice.”

There was something comforting about that. The idea that anyone knew me so well—that anyone cared enough to pay attention.

“But I shouldn’t have pushed,” he added. “It’s your business.”

So I told him everything. About the visit to the hospital, and about the stolen letter—why I’d taken it, why I needed to give it back. “I should have just told you.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t. What were you even thinking, stealing it in the first place?”

It wasn’t exactly the response I’d hoped for. “I told you, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m giving it back. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal,” he said. “And you didn’t give it back, you gave it to Chris. Who knows what he’ll do with it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should have come to me,” he said.

“So you could yell at me?”

“I’m not yelling.” He drew in a deep breath. “What did it say?”

“The letter? What’s the difference?”

“Humor me.”

I didn’t want to tell him the part about her brother. Not when he was being like this. “It was just a bunch of stuff about that machine, and her needing to make a decision. And then there was, like, a poem or something. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You don’t remember?”

“No, I mean it didn’t make any sense. Like it was in code or something. So I don’t
know
what it said. Satisfied?”

“You’re mad,” he said.

“You’re observant.”

He sighed. “I’m also an ass.”

At that, I softened. “It’s been a long week,” I admitted. “For both of us.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

“Trust me, I’m not as fragile as you seem to think.”

“No, I mean I’m really worried. Someone attacked the Hoff. The idea that you have something they want, whoever they are? It scares me. I wish it scared you.”

“Takes a lot to scare me,” I said lightly, wishing it were true. “Besides, the Hoff had a stroke. It’s sad, but nothing actually
happened
. There is no ‘they.’ ”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes,” I said, firm.

“Then so do I.”

I laughed. “Now who’s lying?”

He was so different from Chris, who didn’t acknowledge the existence of darkness. Max understood it. Maybe he was right, I thought, and I should try harder to let him understand me.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

“That you know it’s not your job to protect me. And even if it were, acting like a jerk isn’t really the best way to do it.”

“I know that.”

“Are you lying now?” I asked.

Silence.

“Are you shaking your head?” I asked, and had to smile.

More silence.

“And now you’re nodding?”

“I love that you know me,” he said.

“I love that you know me, too.”

“Are we okay?”

This time I nodded.

After a moment, he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” And then, maybe afraid I was going to change my mind, he hung up without saying goodbye.

30

The Moores’ sprawling Victorian was the largest house on the block and the only one without any lights blazing, not even the fake antique gas lamps that dotted the lawn and winding driveway. The moon was a sliver, and a dense layer of clouds blocked out the stars. When I switched off my headlights, the night went completely black. It didn’t bother me; I’d walked the cobblestone path enough times to do it blindfolded. The door was open, knocking back and forth in the wind.

That bothered me.

“Hello?”

No answer. I was twenty minutes late, and presumably they were all gathered in the soundproofed basement in front of the giant flat screen, having started without me.

The door knocked against the frame again. I stepped inside and pulled it shut behind me. As I sealed myself into the darkness, I heard the breathing, sharp and uneven, like a panicked animal. Close.

A strange metallic scent hung heavy in the air. Familiar.

I was already reaching for the lights when a switch flipped in my head and I recognized the smell. I knew.