The Iron Witch (2 page)

And then a head poked over the edge of the roof. Donna found herself inches away from the striking face of a young guy who’d obviously found the same escape route she had. His dark blond hair seemed bright under the clear night sky.

“I wondered how long it would take for someone to come and ruin the peace and quiet up here,” he drawled, in a flat, bored sort of voice.

Donna saw the hand-rolled cigarette in his fingers, at the same time catching a whiff of something sweet and sickly. It reminded her of when her aunt burnt sage to cleanse the house.

“Well, come on then, if you’re going to,” he added. He placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and extended both hands.

Donna had a moment of doubt, suddenly wishing she were back downstairs with Navin. But she shook it off. Surely sitting with this guy couldn’t be any worse than hanging out with Melanie and her clones.

She allowed herself to be pulled the rest of the way up onto the roof.

Donna sat on a narrow bench bolted to the roughly hewn roof-deck. Her new companion sat at her feet, directly on the platform built onto the roof, leaning against what looked like a protective railing. She shifted uncomfortably in the silence and watched him as he flicked away the butt of whatever he’d been smoking.

He tilted his head until they were looking into one another’s eyes.

Donna’s chest felt tight, and a strange, watery feeling sloshed around in her stomach. His eyes were the greenest she had ever seen. Viridian-bright, but with textures swirling within that looked like fresh moss on the bark of a tree. She wondered if he was cold in his thin lilac shirt (and how many guys could get away with
that
color?), then saw a black sweater discarded at his side. His toffee-colored hair was a shade or two lighter than hers, short at the back and longer on top so that it fell choppily into those otherworldly eyes. His skin was smooth and golden, as if he’d just returned from vacation.

“Aren’t you scared of falling?” Donna almost jumped at the sound of her own voice.

Just for a second, the guy looked as though he might smile. Instead, he leaned his head back, resting it against the peeling, black-painted iron railing. He stared straight up into the star-filled sky.

“Well?” Donna prodded. “Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She continued to watch him.
Why had she even come up here?
This whole evening had been a huge mistake.

But she couldn’t help gazing at his wide mouth, with its full bottom lip, and letting her imagination go crazy. She had a sudden picture in her head of kissing this unknown boy. Well, not exactly a
boy
… he looked older than her by at least a couple of years. She knew that his lips would be soft but insistent, that lazy half-smile suddenly transformed into something more intense.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, then looked back at him. His eyebrows were raised in what could have been either curiosity or amusement—Donna couldn’t tell which. She blushed, and instantly hated herself for having such a childish reaction.

“What were you thinking about just then?”

Donna pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Nothing.”

“Nothing. Right.” He made that last word stretch out for a lot longer than was polite.

Donna tossed her hair and looked away, clenching her black-gloved hands into fists against her jeans.

His burst of laughter took her by surprise. What surprised her even more was that the next moment they were laughing together. She wondered how she knew that he was someone who laughed as rarely as she did. It felt like he knew this too, and that they were sharing a secret moment of humor they could hide from other people, keep just between the two of them—strangers united in an unspoken contract of …
something
. It was exhilarating and scary.

Getting her breathing back under control, Donna looked over at her companion once more. “So, what’s your name?”

“Xan. Yours?”

“I’m Donna. Underwood.” She cringed inwardly at the sound of her voice. Why did she always have to sound so
young
? “Is your name short for Alexander?”

“Ah. Beautiful
and
wise, this Donna Underwood.”

She could have felt offended at his tone, but she noticed the glint in his eyes and decided it was nice to be teased by someone other than Navin.

“You’re not enjoying the party, then?” she asked.

“I should hope not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifted his position slightly, making it easier for him to look up at her. “Well, it wouldn’t do to enjoy one’s own party, would it?”

Donna found herself blushing again. “Oh, you’re Alexander Grayson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he replied, smiling that strange half-smile again. “I’d be even more pleased if you’d come down here with me. I’m getting an appalling crick in my neck.”

She wanted to say something cool and sophisticated, maybe even ask him why he wanted to sit on the edge of the roof, why he couldn’t come join her on the bench instead, but there was something in his voice that made her hesitate … a vulnerability hovering just beneath the surface that made her wonder about him. She slid down onto the platform and tried to figure out where he was from. He had a vaguely British accent, it seemed, with a touch of Bostonian around the vowels and maybe something else, too. Something a little more exotic.

She tucked her legs beneath her and settled down a short distance from Xan.

“That’s better,” he said. “It’s not as cold once you get down here.”

Donna did feel cold. She was acutely aware of her short sleeves, with only the velvet of her gloves offering the illusion of warmth. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself tightly, feeling unbearably shy as this stranger watched.

Xan held out the sweater she’d noticed earlier. “Here, put this on.”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Thanks.” Quickly pulling the still-warm material over her head, she tried not to be too obvious as she took in the scent of the sweater’s owner. Deodorant or aftershave, perhaps; cigarette smoke; and something else, something that spoke of moss and trees and wide open fields of swaying grass. Frowning, she met his curious gaze and tried to tidy her dishevelled hair.

“So,” he said. “What high school do you go to?”

Hating that he’d immediately guessed her age, Donna tried to keep the frown off her face. “I don’t.”

He raised golden-brown eyebrows. “You’re in college?”

“No, I’m home-schooled. I’m a senior. I still have to go to Ironbridge High for exams and stuff, but other than that I’m out of the rabble.”

His lips quirked. “Can’t blame you for that. Why home-schooled?”

“Let’s just say I had a disagreement with a significant portion of the student body.”

“Ah.” Xan shifted so that his body turned toward her, then stretched long arms above his head and yawned loudly. Donna wasn’t fooled by his lazy movements and sleepy eyes—this guy was sharp, underneath the laid-back exterior.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What
about
me?”

“You know, schools, colleges … ” She let the question drift off. Maybe it would be rude to let on that she knew he’d dropped out of college.

“I went away to college last year. Things didn’t work out.” He fixed her with his emerald gaze. “But you probably knew that already.”

She ignored the sudden blush warming her cheeks. “I’d heard something, but I don’t make a habit of listening to gossip—especially because I’m usually the subject of it.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. “I’d love to hear what people say about you, Donna Underwood.”

She bit her lip and changed the subject. “So, what are you doing up here when the party’s down there? Shouldn’t you be playing host or something?”

His laugh echoed with bitterness. “Yeah, like I’m the perfect host.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Nothing. I just agree to stupid things when I’m bored.”

There was silence. Donna fiddled with the sleeve of Xan’s sweater. She didn’t know what to say anymore, and was again regretting coming up here. She thought of Navin, downstairs with the crowd, and wished they could just go home. If she hadn’t left her cell phone in her coat pocket, she’d be able to check the time. Her stomach clenched as she pictured her aunt’s return home and remembered her standard weekend curfew.

“What time is it?”

Xan pulled out his cell. “Not long ’til midnight, Cinderella.”

She smiled at that. “I actually do have to go soon. I only have an hour before I’m supposed to be home. And my friend is probably looking for me.”

He nodded. “I hope I didn’t scare you off. I can be a little—” He hesitated. “A little bit eccentric, I guess.”

“Do you work at that, then?” Donna teased.

“Only when I want to impress pretty girls.”

Pretty?
Was this ridiculously hot guy calling
her
pretty? Donna started to get up, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“Why do you wear the gloves?” he asked. “It’s not just fashion, is it?”

Donna attempted a light tone. “You think I’d wear these for
fashion
?”

He conceded her point with a slight smile. “Seriously, though. Why?”

Her heart contracted and she found it difficult to breathe. Why did she feel so compelled to tell this guy the truth? She looked down at her covered hands. “Because I’m different,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Me too,” he replied, almost as softly.

They looked at one another again, Donna’s somber gray eyes gazing into his green. Stone and forest. Iron and leaf.

“I knew that … ” she began slowly. “I know things about people, sometimes.” Her intuition had always been good.

The corner of Xan’s mouth quirked upwards. “What do you know about me?”

Donna closed her eyes for a moment.

Unbidden memories flooded her, pushing into her mind with a cold weight that took her breath away. Memories of a dark and whispering wood, a clearing, and the sound of death following at her heels.
Her
memories, not his. At least, she thought they were her memories.

She pushed the images away and opened her eyes to find Xan watching her with curiosity.

It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to think about what had happened to her in the Ironwood. She dreamt of it most nights, but to see it so clearly just now, when she was awake … Donna trembled, hoping Xan didn’t notice, and tried to smile.

“Well, you’re tough to read,” she managed to reply. Why were memories of Ironwood Forest coming to her so easily right now, when she was trying to focus on Xan? The mood had changed, and she felt as though she was on the edge of something important and scary.

“You are too, Miss Donna Underwood.” He dug into a pocket and pulled out a small tin of tobacco. “Hey, do you smoke?”

“
Ew
, no way.” The words were out before she could stop them.

Xan didn’t seem offended. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he began to open the tin. His fingers were long and tanned, and there was a fluid grace to his movements … an intense energy that made Donna feel breathless as she watched him. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before.

“You really are different, aren’t you?” She cringed inwardly after she spoke, wondering what had possessed her to say that. Maybe it was the vulnerable look on his face. Or the way he tried to hide things, yet seemed to want to invite her into his world.

He nodded, very slowly. “I guess we all have secrets. Like you’re hiding something with those gloves.”

Her eyes slid away first. She couldn’t do it—she just couldn’t quite bring herself to reach out to this person. She’d only just met him;
what is wrong with me? she thought.
Here she was, tempted to spill the secret of how her hands had been magically remade, spill it just as easily as the kids downstairs spilled beer on the carpet. She bit her lip and kept her mouth shut.

Xan shifted to a cross-legged position and began filling a cigarette paper with tobacco. “It seems the sharing has ended.” His voice had gone flat again; the drawling tone had returned.

Donna stood up too quickly and the rush of dizziness almost overwhelmed her. “I really should go. I have to get a cab.”

“Of course,” Xan replied, tucking the newly made cigarette behind one ear. “I’ll help you climb down.”

She backed away before his hovering hand could touch her. “No thanks, I can do it myself.”

But he followed her anyway.

When they were back in the bedroom below, Donna didn’t know what to say. Something about Xan made her feel
connected
, even though she knew almost nothing about him. She was often comforted by the sense of connection she felt with Navin; Navin made her feel like she actually had some semblance of a normal life (whatever that was). But this was different.