“That something bad is coming.” The image of all those dead people and the crows swam before my mind’s eye. I tried to draw comfort in the knowledge that dreams were nearly always symbolic. The only time Eli’s dreams depicted reality was right before the event in question was about to take place.
Eli nodded. “I wonder what the crows represent. They could be a person, like how the black phoenix represented Marrow.”
“Maybe.”
We spent a couple of minutes speculating, but there was so little to go on at this juncture. At least talking about it made it less scary, that is, until I left, taking the tunnels so I could get to Vatticut Hall unobserved and retrieve The Atlantean Chronicle.
As I walked along, I tried to push the thoughts and fears from my mind, focusing instead on my surroundings. The danger of being down here alone late at night and with Britney’s unknown attacker still on the loose was more pressing than dreams and blocks and dead friends.
Dead mothers.
No, don’t think about that. Don’t you dare.
For a moment, my homesickness for my mom was so strong, I nearly burst into tears. We’d never been close, our relationship strained for years by the impact of my parents’ divorce, but things had changed between us after we took down Marrow. I needed to see her, to hear her voice and assure myself that she was all right. Tomorrow I would give her a call. A simple e-mail wouldn’t do.
By the time I arrived at Vatticut Hall ten minutes later, I’d gotten my emotions under control. To my relief, The Atlantean Chronicle was just where I left it. I tucked the book beneath my arm and then hurried back to Riker Hall.
As my dorm room door came into sight, I grinned in relief at my success.
But when I reached the door, a hand closed around my arm, and for the second time that day, Paul Kirkwood spoke my name from out of the darkness.
16
Trust Issues
I didn’t panic. I didn’t scream or respond with an attack. Instead my whole body went numb. My heart gave one horrendous thump against my chest and then seemed to cease beating altogether.
“Dusty,” Paul said again.
I turned slowly toward him, and he released my arm. My eyes met his, and we stared at each other for several long seconds. I could see his pulse beating in his throat. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he held his teeth clenched tight together.
“I need that back,” Paul said, finally breaking the silence. His voice did strange things to me, oddly welcoming and repulsive at the same time.
I clutched the book tighter to my chest. “No.”
“Please.”
I frowned, stunned by his sincere tone. It wasn’t what I’d expected. This wasn’t the Paul I’d faced that day with Marrow, the boy desperate for power and as ruthless and cunning as Marrow himself. Still, I didn’t trust him. If it came to magic, I would have the edge, but he was easily big enough and strong enough to take the book by physical force. He could’ve done it already when I had my back turned.
“Why?” I said. “What’s so important about it? I know you don’t need it for class.”
He took a step toward me, and I fought off the urge to retreat. I’d forgotten how tall he was. Not quite as tall as Eli, but enough that I had to lean my head back. I could almost taste the memories as his familiar scent filled my nose.
Paul fixed his unwavering gaze on my face. “I want to tell you, but I don’t know yet if it’s the right thing to do.”
I glowered back at him. “What do you know about right?”
“I know you’ve been asked to spy on me.”
My mouth fell open. “How did you—” I cleared my throat. “That’s absurd.”
Paul grinned. “I don’t think so. If I were in their position, I would do the exact same thing. You’re more than capable.” The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving his eyes cold, distant. The difference it made in his face was so startling for a second I wondered if he’d developed some kind of split personality.
“But I know it’s true, Dusty,” he went on, that sincerity back in his voice. “You don’t have to lie to me. I understand why you’re doing it.”
I glanced away, shaken up by his unexpected directness. I stared at the floor for a moment, regaining my composure, and then faced him once more. “Okay, if we’re going for the honest approach, why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to? How did you get them to let you off, who are you working for now, and what’s your endgame?”
Paul didn’t react to the accusation behind each question as I spouted them off, except for the tiniest flinch of his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt by my questions or offended. Maybe both. For a second I pictured Lady Elaine’s and Sheriff Brackenberry’s reactions when they found out how badly I’d blown project Paul Recon. Not good.
He took a long time to respond, as if weighing his answer carefully. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I want to tell you, Dusty. I really do. But I can’t.”
I tightened my grip on the book. “Same old Paul. Full of secrets and schemes.”
This time his flinch wasn’t little at all. He looked like I’d slapped him. I expected him to come back with an angry retort, but when he spoke his voice was softer than ever. “That’s why.”
I tapped my toe. “Why what?”
“Why I can’t tell you.” He pinned me with his gaze, the green in his eyes visible despite the dim light. “Because you wouldn’t believe me.”