She froze, her heart revving about a mil ion miles a minute.
Which was ridiculous; she was a proctor now with her own apartment, and she had every right to leave her rooms if she wanted.
She stole through the silent common room, avoiding the clustered study tables, the couches crouched like beasts around the dark TV. Moonlight poured through the casements, forming silver tiles on the floor.
She fumbled with the deadbolt on the door. She had always been the good girl in her cohort. Her roommate Bria had been the one who nudged and pushed and led them into trouble, who snuck out at night and slipped in at dawn, flushed, laughing, and defiant. Lara was in agony for her friend every time Bria was cal ed to the headmaster’s office.
Bria had only grinned, shaking her wild mane of blond hair.
Natural y curly. Natural y blond. It wasn’t always easy, having a best friend who looked the part, like a painting of an angel from the Italian Renaissance. “What’s Axton going to do, throw me out?” Bria’s smile invited Lara in on the joke.
“Come on, Lara, God Almighty cast us out of Heaven. You think I care if a bunch of teachers expel me from their stupid school?”
They’d been opposites in so many ways: Bria, outgoing, outspoken, and outrageous; Lara, careful, committed, and responsible.
But as the only two girls in their cohort, they were inevitably paired. For eight years, they’d shared notes and secrets, skipped gym and meals together, whispered about everything and nothing across the space between their beds after lights out. Bria was Lara’s other self, her other side, F o r g o t t e n s e a 47
secret and daring. Lara missed her more than she could ever admit, even to herself.
The school never expel ed Bria. She’d been right about that. But the summer before their senior year, Bria ran away. Lara never saw her friend again.
The masters refused to acknowledge them. The students spoke of them in whispers. The ones who deserted the security of their own kind, the nephilim who left Rockhaven.
Lara shivered as she pul ed the door shut behind her and turned her key in the lock.
She could never do that. She owed Simon everything: her home, her education, her identity.
Her life.
Wards made of glass rods chimed from the trees as she hurried along the edges of the upper quad. The night was alive with the rustle of leaves and insects, the flutter of breeze and bats. She ducked her head past the dining hal , lengthened her stride toward the infirmary.
She tested the handle. Locked. Of course.
It took only seconds to open the door with her proctor’s key.
The waiting room was empty and dark.
“Hel o?”
No answer. No nurse behind the desk, no guard at the door.
She took a few steps forward, her blood pounding in her ears, her senses humming. They would not have left him alone.
She had a sudden, jarring image of Justin’s white face, the heth gleaming in the hol ow of his throat, and doubt coiled like a worm at her heart. Would they?
“Miriam?” she cal ed softly into the dark.
Silence.
She reached out with her mind, straining for the whisper 4 8
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
of his presence, trying to pick out his scent, his heartbeat.
The effort made her tired brain throb.
Or was that an echo of his pain?
“Justin? Dr. Kioni?”
Nothing.
Her feet fol owed her thoughts down the deserted corridor.
She threw open doors as she passed, caution melting into anxiety.
His room.
His room.
Empty.
She stood in the doorway, her gaze scraping the rumpled hospital bed. He was gone, the only signs he’d ever been there the wrinkled sheets and the black sheath on the table.
He was gone. A sudden chil chased over her skin.
Escaped.
She picked up the knife left lying on the table.
Zayin’s words mocked her.
