Book of Revenge (8 page)

He leaned casually against the lockers. “Do what?”
This?

“Yeah, Jake,
that.
How’d you talk in my head?”

“What are you talking about…”
Crazy?
he challenged.

Half his words were out loud, the other half in my mind, but it was hard to discern which was which. “I’m not
crazy.”
I hated when people called me crazy.

His face was emotionless for a moment, but then a smirk grew across his cheek. “What? You thought you were the only one?”

My brows stitched together. “What do you mean?”

Mind reader?

“I’m not a
mind reader!”
I squealed, my voice trying to remain low.

“Right, so then what was that? How did you hear me? If you weren’t a mind reader you wouldn’t have heard me.”

“Shut up, Jake.” I crossed my arms against my chest, turning away from him. I wanted to go back to class and demand I get a new partner.

“Wait,” I felt him grab my arm, his touch shockingly
hot.

I stopped, unable to wriggle free from his burning grasp. “Let go!”

“Just… chill out, okay?” He was leaning close, his voice a whisper.

“It’s sorta hard to
chill out
when you feel like fire!” I spat.

“Try.” Jake’s tone had changed completely. The raspy, asthmatic breathing was gone.

My chest was heaving, and finding that getting enough oxygen was becoming a problem, I was forced to breathe through my nose. I expected the worst but was surprised to find it was actually pleasant, like warm apple cider. The warmth of his touch and the oddity of his scent began to make me feel strange.

“Let go.” I demanded.

Jake let go of my arm, but I could tell he was poised to grab me if I were to run. He stared at me for a long moment, the stupid smirk on his face never fading. “Want to get out of here?”

“You really can’t blame a guy for thinking it. But in all seriousness, I mean you no harm. Besides, Wes would kill me. Especially with being what
he
is.” He said it with an exasperated sigh.

I ground my teeth together until my gums hurt. “What do you know about Wes?”

He tilted his head.
Enough.
His mind replied for him.

I weighed my options, but what options did I really have? Library, or finding out more about what Jake knew, or rather, what he
was.
I wasn’t buying the fact that he was simply a mind reader. Then why the change in tone?

“Come on,” he urged. “You can trust me, I swear. I’m no Gregory Gordon.”

My eyes narrowed at the mention of that name. “Shut.
Up,”
I seethed. “Shut up!” My reaction came completely from the hip. It was a name I never wanted to hear again.

“Can’t believe you didn’t see that one coming,” he mocked.

I turned away from him, making up my mind to leave.

“Wait, wait,
wait
.”
He ran behind me. “I was just kidding! Come on, Emily. Aren’t you curious about me? About Winter Wood?”

I froze at the mention of Winter Wood. “Winter Wood?” He’d pinned the tail on the donkey—forget that—he’d
nailed
the darn tail on.

“Yeah, Winter Wood.”

I licked my lips, drunken with the idea of this place that no one seemed to want to tell me about. I twisted on my heel, once again facing him.

His brows were raised. “I knew that would make you stop. Come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jake sounded like a text book kidnapper, but I reminded myself that this was Jake. I’d known him since kindergarten. I’d practically seen him in diapers. What was the harm? “Fine,” I agreed, but I still wasn’t sure that was the right answer.

Jake smiled, his thoughts wandering back to my body.

“Jake…” I lifted my finger in warning. “One more thought like that and I’m bailing.”

He laughed, his lips pressing against his braces. “Just because Wes would kill me for trying to steal you away, doesn’t mean I can’t mentally praise the company.”

I turned away, disgusted.
“Gross,”
I murmured under my breath.

A twinge of shame tickled my stomach, but I ignored it. Something about Jake made me curious, and I wanted to know what that thing was. Forget the tickle. This was the most interesting thing that had happened in days.

Wes:

I leaned my head against my hand as I propped it on my desk in English, peering out the window at the football field beyond. The book in my other hand lay open, the pages stationary for close to ten minutes now. I was afraid to admit that I was overwhelmed with grief, something that had festered over the past few days. It was a grief I’d already felt for the loss of my parents; a grief I didn’t want to feel again. I was trying to forget them.

Why had I let Max’s claims to their existence take root in my thoughts? It was wrong of him to lead me on the way he did, and it only made me hate him more. I drew in a deep breath, turning my head and glancing sideways at Jane beside me.

She turned a page, then another. I felt her heart beating, steady and calm.

She rolled something around in her lap. I strained my gaze, trying to see what it was. She was holding a lump of folded paper, her fingers caressing the fibers with loving possession. I knew what it was all too well, having seen any number of them pass hands the last few weeks. It was another note from Max.

I clenched my jaw, looking back at the words in my book as I leaned back to stretch. From the corner of my eye I saw something move outside the window. Glancing back at the field, the owl that had been on my car this past weekend, and all week, was now perched on the fence just outside. She had freshly landed, still adjusting her weight between two feet.

I laughed to myself, shaking my head. Her persistence was admirable. Every day, without fail, I saw her. She had become a source of happiness to me, and seeing her had become something I looked forward to—my secret.

Too burnt out on school to pull myself back, I continued to indulge in her presence. Her eyes were narrow, a bright yellow that pierced right through me. She fluffed her white and grey dappled feathers, tilting her head with interest in her gaze. Something about her relaxed me, as though she had become my silent reminder to stay calm. A muse, I thought, but my thoughts were quickly stolen by intruders in the background.

Two people walked briskly across the parking lot behind the owl. I pressed my brows together, squinting to see who it was. Despite my calm, I felt suddenly tense, and a part of me wished I could acquire a set of eagle eyes just for the moment. I huffed. Eagle eyes or not, my gut still knew. Only one person at this school had hair that was that red.

Emily.

It flowed freely behind her, her arm wrapped with that of another boy. I found myself anxious, and I certainly didn’t recognize the guy she was with. I grew tenser, a million thoughts rushing to mind.
Was he a dealer?
Another man?
I released a long hard breath, trying to remain calm as my muscles ached, each fiber winding tight.
It was no one
, I told myself.
He’s just a friend from class.
But friends from class didn’t lock arms. Friends from class didn’t skip school together. I looked back to the owl. Maybe it was someone borrowing a book from her?

I grumbled. Who was I kidding?

My eyes shot to the clock. There were fifteen minutes left of class, and judging by the position of Mrs. West near the door, there was no escape. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes not unlike those of my feathery stalker outside. I began to shake my leg and it clanked lightly against the leg of the desk. Jane shot me a dirty look, urging me to be still.

“Wes, stop that,” she hissed under her breath.

My leg stopped shaking, but my palms began to sweat instead. Steam poured across the surface of the resin desktop where they were flushed flat, fingers spread. I looked behind me, seeing that everyone was nose deep in their books and unaware of my building anxiety. The owl outside lifted it’s wings, flapping them flagrantly as though to get my attention. I looked back at her and she stopped. I glared, trying to convey an uninterested expression—like she would notice that.

She opened her beak to squawk, but I couldn’t hear her call. I saw a red car leaving the lot, my anxiety peaking. I knew that Emily had to be the passenger. I groused under my breath, discreetly pointing at the owl and then the car. The owl watched me with her head tilted, trying to understand.

“
Go,”
I mouthed, my voice barely following in a whisper.
“Go.”
I flicked my finger.

The owl took off then, her wings flapping wildly as she tilted back and rounded over the parking lot, just as the small sports car turned onto the main road. I watched the owl do as I asked, amazed by her above-average intelligence, and a little shocked she’d actually done what I’d implied.

I guess she really did like me.

Jane:

I rolled the note over and over in my hand under the desk.
I’ll be there to pick you up, I promise,
is what it read. I tapped my fingers on the book, rushing through the words in front of me and trying to retain as much information as possible, though my mind was undeniably distracted.

I wanted to know what Winter Wood was, and I wanted Max to quit skipping class and leaving me to fend for myself. His absence was not allowing me the chance to discuss this apparent magickal city with him, as I’m sure he knew. I saw Wes watching me from the corner of my eye. I ignored him.
What had Max said to him? What was it that had Wes so visibly disturbed all week?

Wes’s leg began to shake nervously. I glared at him.
“Wes, stop that,”
I hissed, quickly looking to make sure the teacher hadn’t noticed.

Wes’s foreseen death invaded my mind, quickly changing from being murdered, to getting hit by lightning, and then to a bout of extreme anxiety ending in a heart attack. He was dramatically freaking out—my attempt at concentration was useless.

Giving up, I let my full attention fall on him. His hand was flicking about, finger dancing in the air. His gaze remained on the field outside. I wanted to laugh, but quelled it, carefully peering over his shoulder instead. To my surprise, there was a large owl perched on the fence. I frowned, watching as it took off and rounded the lot. Wes’s attention turned back to the book in front of him, until he noticed me gawking.

“
What was that?”
I mouthed.

He just blinked, at a loss of words, keeping it to himself. I hated when he played dumb.

“Jane. Wes. Please stop talking.” Mrs. West’s voice was like ice as it ran down my spine.

I blushed, my eyes darting back to the words in the book, trying to act attentive. Wes also went back to reading, and I wished for a moment we could talk telepathically—it didn’t happen.

The bell finally rang a few minutes later. Wes shot out of his seat, slamming the book shut and shoving it in his bag. He dashed for the door, not bothering to address me.

Hurrying to keep up, sweat began to form on my brow. I stopped him before he all but darted out of the room, snatching his arm at the last possible second. “Wes, wait. What’s going on?”

He didn’t want me to stop him, tugging against my restraint. “Do you need a ride?” he blurted, his body practically shaking with anxiety.

I was confused. “
Er
…
no. But, what’s—”

“I gotta run, Jane. I’m sorry.” He slipped out of my grasp, moving for the door.

I scrambled to follow, the door hitting me on my way out. I winced, but shrugged it off. “Wes, what’s going on? Just
tell
me.” I tried to grab him again, but he shrugged out of my grasp. I had to practically run beside him down the hall, dodging one student after another. “What’s up with the owl?” I was breathless.

He looked sideways at me, as though surprised I’d noticed it was there. Anyone with the gumption to glance out the window would have. “Nothing,” he mumbled. Wes threw the front doors open, exiting out into the front lot.

I saw Max’s car pulled up to the curb. I stopped dead, a small wave of relief rushing over me. Wes slipped away, but I gave up caring. He’d refused to slow down, refused to give me any answers, and at this rate, I knew I wasn’t about to get any. I took a moment to catch my breath, rubbing my arm where I’d run into a hundred other students, and the door, in my quest to keep up. Maybe Max could offer me some answers…
finally.

I strolled down the path toward Max’s car. He was already chatting with a football player, his arm hanging out the window. Max laughed at something the player said, and I found my previous distractions fade as I smiled. I loved the sound of Max’s laughter. I loved the feeling of that emotion streaming from me to him, like a thread that would always hold us together. It was my happiness he borrowed, my life that pulsed through his blood as well as mine. When he was happy, I felt it as though it were my own happiness. I had noticed this more and more over the past few weeks. Growing up, I had also felt this, but didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, and it was never this strong. We were connected like soul-mates. For all I knew, it’s what we really were.