“The one with all the knives wrapped around his legs?” she mutters, still trying to see over the many heads crowding the dance floor.
“That one,” I say with my eyes painfully squeezed shut. I don’t want to know if he’s caught her looking. I count my heartbeats until they slow enough for me to breathe evenly. She’s not going to make this easy for me. She never has. “He’s here to show me to my room. I have to go.”
Katie laughs. “He turned around. I see him now. Ooohh, yeah, Faye, you should go. You really, really should go with him. Maybe all the way.”
I open my eyes in shock and shove her when she laughs at me. “Stop it,” I say, trying not to laugh with her, trying to be mad even though I’m not. “Don’t make this awkward for me.” Even though I’m not looking, I can feel his gaze. I know he’s watching me, studying me. He’s a bucket of serious that I want to drink out of.
“Who’s making anything awkward? I’m not.” She looks me over and her face softens. She can see the nerves she’s plucked. She can see the panic building in me. “Faye, look at you. You’re freaking Catwoman. Go. Let him walk you to your door. Maybe even flirt a little. He won’t bite you…well, maybe not.” I start to protest, but she holds her hand up. “I’m kidding. Sort of. Nothing bad will happen. Enjoy yourself…for once.”
I roll my eyes and groan, then hug her. She’s right. She’s always right. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, or tomorrow, or something.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she shouts after me.
I inhale courage and make my way back through the crowd. Jaxen swallows whatever he’s chewing when I approach, and then reaches for a bottle of water. He nearly downs it. “Are you all right?” I ask, worried that he might be sick, or something else, something that would turn the heat up between us.
“I’m good. You?” he says quickly, running a hand through his messy hair. He runs his hands down his shirt, straightens his leather jacket, and then guides me out of the dining hall and back into the cool, night air. As soon as we’re out, he takes a deep breath. “I really hate parties.”
“Why?”
I don’t think he meant to say that out loud, because he looks at me funny, like he isn’t sure why I asked him that. I take in every one of his movements, trying to understand him; the way his fingers flex and then tighten at his sides, the way he has a slight jump in his step, the way he over corrects to keep his steps from walking too close to mine.
I make him nervous and I don’t know what I should think about that.
“Why don’t I like parties?” he asks me in return.
“Yeah.” I’m trying to seem indifferent. I think I’m succeeding at it. I think he doesn’t pick up on the flurry of butterflies attacking my central nervous system every time he speaks.
“I don’t know. Just never have.” That’s all he offers. I don’t try to push him for more. I know what it feels like to have people poking you for answers that you aren’t comfortable with sharing. I drop my gaze a little and try not to think about how close he is, about how my body responds every time I see him, about how good he smells.
We walk almost across the entire campus without another word. We pass the Divine hall and keep going until we approach a large building that looks like all the rest except for the gold lettering gilded across the doorway that reads ‘Elder Wing.’ The Elder’s building is further up the hill, overlooking the whole school. There’s a sort of haunted quality about the building. Clouds of shadows seem to embrace the cold gray stone. The six gargoyles huddle along the tiled roof, their stony eyes watching my every step. The clock tower gongs again, signaling the late hour.
“This is where I’m staying? In the Elder’s Wing?” I ask when the gongs end. It’s far from Katie’s building and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“Yeah. There’s extra protection on this building. It’s the best place to be for this type of situation.” In the time spent walking in silence, he seems to have found his cool composure again. He’s back to his distant tone and cut-off words.
“Okay,” I say. He pulls the door open and I walk through, keeping my eyes on the floor. Where has all my confidence gone?
“We’re all on the first floor. This way,” he says, walking ahead of me down the hall. We pass door after door until we reach the very end of the hallway. “This is your room.” He pushes the door open.
I walk through. It looks just like Katie’s. A four post bed is in the center of the room, which is large enough to house a group of people, too large for someone as small as me. I gaze over the intricate details carved into the mahogany posts of the bed that are draped in sheer, black fabric. My feet squish into beige carpet that settles the ache in my back. An armoire matching the detailing of the bed is off to the side. I can only imagine what’s inside.
Black pants, black shirts, black jackets, black everything. They want us to be as black as night; as black as shadows, to blend in and forget who we are, to forget the sun, and to become one with the night just as our enemy has. They want us to be like the moon, always there watching, waiting, hovering for that small moment in the night where we can shine, illuminating a safe path for the humans.
When I turn back around, he’s still on the other side of the doorway. I don’t ask him to come in. I don’t think he should. I’m not even sure he would. His hands are tucked into his pockets and his eyes are on me, watching me, waiting for me to say something. I don’t know why, but I feel alive in his eyes. I feel present, whole, and awake.
He blinks and then clears his throat. “Well, goodnight, Faye,” he says, keeping his eyes steady on mine.
“Goodnight, Jaxen,” I say with a hint of a smile and just enough understanding. My problems suddenly seem so far away, so unreal compared to the stark green of his eyes that I’ll get to see every day from here on out.
I think he smiles, and then his head dips down and he pulls the door shut.
I find my packed bag on the floor near the bed. I open it and pull out the picture of my parents. It hurts to look at them. I set them on the nightstand, and then pull out my college acceptance letter. I wander over to the desk and find a roll of duct tape in the drawer to tape the letter up on the wall.
I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed, tucking my arms under my head. My eyes fall on the acceptance letter directly across from me. It hangs as a reminder that I can overcome; that I can be who I want to be.
That I can survive.
“FAYE.” SOMEONE IS SHAKING MY leg. “It’s morning. Wake up.”
“Morning?” I hear myself saying, but not really understanding. I know I was just dreaming of something important, something about my parents. I stretch my legs out, trying to recall the last bits of the dream. I know it couldn’t have been good. My heart’s still racing because of it, trying to catch up with my brain.
Wait a second. I stop moving and open my eyes.
“Do you always squirm in your sleep?” It’s Jaxen’s cool voice and shamelessly handsome face that greets me. He appears somewhat amused, and I think it’s at my expense. No, I know it’s at my expense. A heat wave of awareness spreads across my face and down my chest. I snap straight up and scramble with the sheets, backing all the way up against my headboard.
He’s in my room. He’s in my freaking room.
“Why are you in my room?” I ask as I pull the sheet all the way up to my eyes.
“It’s time to go train. That’s why. You overslept.”
I peer over the edge of my sheet to the clock on my nightstand. “It’s four in the morning! Leave!”
He yanks the sheet from me, and I don’t think he’s prepared for what lies beneath. I’m only wearing a thin black spaghetti strap top and lacy pink boy shorts, not something he needs to see me in, not something I’m prepared for him to see me in.
His body tenses from head to toe. His eyes widen and then look away. His cheeks darken in shades of red I can relate to. I think I’ve reached the climax of mortification.
“What the hell!” I yell as I reach for the sheet, snatch it back out of his hands, and jerk it up to cover as much as possible. “Don’t you know anything about privacy?” I scowl up at him.
“Nope,” he says flatly, almost forcefully. His shoulders push back as he hardens himself. “You need to get used to this if you’re going to survive a day in this Academy. My brother is much worse.” He sets his eyes on mine, and his face is a mask of confusion and conflicting emotions, emotions I’m not sure I’m ready to understand.
“Is he now?” I grip the sheet a little tighter, trying to maintain a good scowl.
“Yeah, I always slept with one eye open,” he says neutrally. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking. I hope he is. He clears his throat. Without invitation, he sits on the edge of the bed, looking way too delicious for it to be this early. I quickly run my fingers through my hair, hoping that it isn’t too tangled, even though I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
Yeah, that’s a big fat lie.
“Do you always just barge in on people’s personal space?” I ask, growing frustrated with how easily he makes me come unglued.
“Do you always wear your emotions on your face?” he shoots back, his scowl returning. He looks away from me, focusing on something across the room. “Look, this world…it’s rough. It’s going to be rough from here on out, especially for you. You should try not to show everything you’re feeling or you’ll be an easy target.”
He looks at me and, in that look, I know he’s only trying to help. His eyes have softened enough to reach past my protective wall. His voice has thinned enough to slip past my agitation. He stands. The bed creaks as his weight disappears. He walks over to the armoire, opens it, and proceeds to pull out clothes for me- a fresh pair of black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and a tight, black leather jacket with a patch on the left arm; the Night Watchmen’s uniform. The uniform is supposed to keep anyone from thinking they’re better or more privileged than their fellow Coven members. Material wants go out the door when you become a Watchman. Your primary focus is supposed to be only about taming the paranormal population. The patch is the Primeval symbol- a pentacle in a circle with three quarter moons wrapping around it; two on the sides and one on top. It’s supposed to represent the Horned God for Hunters and the Goddess for Witches, both surrounding the elements. Altogether, it stands for protection and balance and shows other Coven members that we’re on their side.
I’m about to become one of them for real. Branded and united.
I wrap the sheet around myself without looking in his direction. I know I shouldn’t be bothered by such a small thing, but I am. I’m not prepared to stand in my unmentionables before him. I’m not prepared to be in my room with him period. He’s still tossing clothes on my bed when I’m secure enough inside the sheet to stand.
“It’s cold outside, so you’ll need that jacket,” he says. “Gloves are in the pocket. When you’re done getting dressed, we’ll head out.” His words are flat and his eyes are everywhere but on me. He’s like trying to read Braille. He starts for the door and I don’t stop him.
I turn back to the clothes and, with a heavy sigh, pick them up and head for the bathroom. I take a quick shower, trying not to notice the odd-shaped heart on my arm, dress, and then try to decide how I should wear my hair. I’m not really good at making this decision. I know I shouldn’t care. ‘Doing’ my hair has never been my thing.
I stare into the mirror and almost laugh at myself.
“You’re being absurd,” I tell myself, shaking my head. But even with admitting this, I still manage to brush my hair out and braid it from one side of my head to the other, giving it some form of cuteness. I could be a stereotype. I could fall into the trap of trying too hard. I could be someone other than myself for him.
And I don’t like it.
I undo my braid and run my fingers through my hair, straightening it back out. I want to look as plain as possible. I need to. He has a Witch, Faye. I grab my chapstick and my jacket, and then meet him in the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall with one leg propped up. The moment he sees me, he tosses me a protein bar.
“Eat it while we walk. You’re going to need it.”
I lock the door and follow his steps down the hall while unwrapping the bar. I have to force myself to eat because my nerves are so wound up. They’re having a party in my stomach that I’m not invited to.
We step out into darkness, and the wind almost blows us back inside the building. He zips his jacket up and shoves his hands into his pockets, then turns to look at me. I put the protein bar in my mouth to free my hands and fumble with the zipper on my jacket. The gloves are a bit too thick for me to get a good grip. The zipper sticks, and I yank for a second before Jaxen notices and offers his help with a slight chuckle.
“Hang on a sec,” he says, slowing my hasty tugging by enclosing his warm hands around mine. My eyes lift to his and I have to swallow. His hands are like live wires sparking against my skin, straight through the material of my gloves. He lightly tugs the zipper free, and then slowly guides it up to my neck. His hand lingers for a second at the top of my jacket, and his eyes meet mine. They are two intense dreams I want to immerse myself in.
I force myself to look away from him and out into the foggy morning. In a matter of one day, I’ve managed to forget how to think properly. I’ve managed to slip into the blinding grip of attraction. I’ve managed to make a total ass of myself.
I pull the protein bar from my mouth and say, “Thanks.”
One of these days, I’ll get a grip.
“YO,” A MALE VOICE CALLS from somewhere up the fog-covered hill. His voice is a notch deeper than Jaxen’s and brimming with confidence.
“Do you always have to talk like you have no sense?” Jaxen replies bleakly. He’s shaking his head when a man appears from out of the fog.
Gavin, I assume, smirks at him, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt. He resembles Jaxen in the face, but his body is thicker and tastefully aged. His dark brown hair is slightly longer and messier. Bright blue, ruthless eyes zero in on me, eyeing me up and down. I fidget under his gaze, hating the way I’ve suddenly become so aware of how I look in front of them.
“Are you going to introduce yourself, or just ogle the Middleton’s daughter?” Jaxen says sourly.
To my surprise, Gavin laughs, shaking his head. He places a heavy hand on Jaxen’s shoulder. “Oh, dear brother, if you’d just let me pull that stick out of your ass, we could get on with life. It’d do you some good.” My eyes go wide. He turns to me. “I’m Gavin Gramm, the one and only, and you must be Faye. It’s nice to meet you.” He extends a hand out accompanied by a warm smile.
“Nice to meet you too,” I say as I hesitantly shake his hand.
“Are we good? Can we go?” Jaxen says quickly with a note of irritation.
Gavin looks at me and rolls his eyes with a smile. “Whatever you say, princess,” he calls over his shoulder. Jaxen’s already making his way up the hill, disappearing into the fog. “He’s a little temperamental,” Gavin says as we follow after.
“I didn’t notice,” I reply dryly. “So what are we doing?” I wish we were already in the middle of whatever it is that we’re about to do. I don’t like being strangled by the grip of anticipation. It leaves me feeling jittery and light-headed.
Jaxen stops walking, turns, and exchanges a secret look with Gavin. A smirk breaks across Gavin’s face. He looks over at me. “Behold the Gramm tradition for solving matters of who goes first. You might even need to brace yourself, or something.”
My brow dips in confusion. Jaxen stares at his brother with a shadow of a smirk, never saying a word, and, like clockwork, they ball their hands into fists, preparing for a game of rock-paper-scissors.
“What…” I start to say, but Gavin counts them off. Their fists slam into their palms, and then they reveal their choice.
Gavin is paper and Jaxen is rock.
“Lik
e always, after you, brother,” Gavin says with a winning grin. “I’m only here to keep you in check anyhow.”
Jaxen sucks in a small breath, and then looks at me, forcing a smile. I force the same smile, trying to understand what’s going on. What could be so bad that they had to play a game of rock-paper-scissors to get out of? Discomfort spills down my spine.
“Well?” I ask.
“Today’s lesson is something every novice goes through at some point during their time here in the Academy,” Jaxen says cautiously, like he’s walking onto a battleground. I already don’t like what he’s going to say next. I can tell by the tautness of his face that he’s preparing himself for me to disagree.
“It’s kind of like a rite of passage.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe even a test of courage.”
“Could you spit it out already?” I ask, growing wearier by the second.
“You have to go through the enchanted forest.”
My eyes wander past him to the dark shadow that lines the top of the hill. “The enchanted forest?” I repeat. Fear clenches its hand around my spine, just waiting for the moment to pull. To cripple me.
“It’s not that bad,” Gavin throws in, tossing an arm around Jaxen’s shoulder. He’s all confidence and smiles and laughter. “I mean, sure there’s an occasional Werewolf, Vampire, and maybe a few temperamental Sprites, but, I can assure you, you’re in good hands. They’re placed there for a reason. It’s the on-hands training grounds for novices while they’re here. Where else can they safely be attacked?”
“Safely attacked? How are you going to help if something goes wrong? Your Witches aren’t here.”
“They’re a safe distance away,” Gavin says. “You can be a few miles apart and still have your power.”
“You’ve tested the theory?” I ask.
“Of course.”