“I hope he’s right,” I said, but I refused to get my hopes up. I’d heard it before, too many times. The closer they got, the more impossible it seemed.
“Hey, have you booked your plane ticket for England yet?” Sophie asked.
“Yep.” Just as I expected, Patsy had been fine with the idea of a trip to Europe with my friends. She’d given me her credit card number to book the flight, calling it a graduation present. “Cece and Josh did too. What about you?”
“Just yesterday. I guess we can somehow try to get seats together once we get to the airport. I left my seat selection blank for now.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Sophie reached for her backpack. “We should probably get started on our homework.”
“Probably,” I agreed, even as my thoughts returned to our original topic of conversation. “But . . . what are you going to do about Jenna?”
“What can I do, Violet? It looks like I’m stuck with her.”
“Okay, so why the lab?” I leaned against a black-topped table watching Matthew as he dug around inside a drawer. He’d sent me a text asking me to meet him there rather than his office for our usual Saturday-morning rendezvous.
“It’s just an idea I had,” he said. He set several items on a tray and then turned to face me. “I know it sounds kind of weird, but I’d really like to take a sample of your blood. Just to see if I can pinpoint anything out of the ordinary that might serve as a Sâbbat marker or something. Do you mind?”
“No, I guess not.” My gaze strayed to the hypodermic needle lying on the tray beside two test tubes and a piece of narrow rubber tubing.
“I’m told I have a gentle touch,” he offered with a smile.
“Yeah, sure. You know I can’t stand the sight of blood, right?”
“Said no one ever while dating a vampire,” he quipped.
“Very clever. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
Matthew reached for a pair of rubber gloves and slipped his hands inside, securing them with a snap. “I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Ravenclaw.” He tipped his head toward one of the stools on the far side of table. “You want to sit for this?”
“I probably should. Less distance to fall when I faint.” I trudged around the table and took a seat, offering up my right arm.
“You’re not really that bad, are you?” he asked as he swabbed the inside of my elbow with an alcohol pad.
“Almost.” I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I gathered my nerve. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” I turned my head, staring at the clock on the wall while he inserted the needle into my vein. True to his word, he was so gentle that I barely even felt the prick. “Why two tubes?” I asked, trying to make distracting conversation.
“There are a lot of different things I want to test.” He fell silent for a while, and I continued to stare at the clock, watching the second hand make its lazy circuit. “Okay, I’m just about done,” he said at last. I was vaguely aware of the sensation of the needle being removed, and then he pressed a cotton ball against my skin, bending my elbow to hold it in place.
“Wow, that was quick. Do I get a Band-Aid, Dr. Byrne?”
“Of course you do.” He held up two. “SpongeBob or Disney princesses?”
“Seriously?” I shook my head. “I’ll take SpongeBob. I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing with princess Band-Aids.”
He tossed away the cotton ball and replaced it with the bandage. “Done. Okay, now what? Do you want to go back to my office for a bit?”
“Sure, why not? Maybe you can talk me through a replay of one of my visions, one that still hasn’t happened yet.”
His gaze met mine, a muscle in his jaw flexing perceptibly. “The one where you saw yourself kill Aidan?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s the one. You haven’t seen it yourself yet, have you?” It was weird to think that he sometimes experienced my visions—it made me feel somehow . . . exposed.
And yet it could be helpful. I almost wished he would see this particular one, mostly to save me the heartbreak of describing it to him.
“Haven’t seen it,” he said. “Just let me put this stuff away, and we’ll give it a try.”
Five minutes later, I settled into the chair across from his desk. His office was warm, comfortable. It didn’t take long for Matthew to lull me into a trance-like state as I concentrated on the familiar ticktock of the clock.
An unfamiliar room. Plush carpet beneath my feet, robin’s-egg blue with a dark brown pattern—scripty curlicues and little birds. There was a window, I noticed this time; beyond the panes of glass, I saw green. Green, rolling hills. A willow tree. I tried to look around for more clues, but I was crying too hard, deep gulping sobs that racked my entire body.
“You have to do it, Vi,” a voice pleaded. Aidan. I turned to face him, horrified. “Please, I beg of you,” he continued on. “It has to go into my heart. You can do it; I’ve taught you how. Don’t let me down, not now. You promised.”
“No,” I said, wanting it to stop. “Please, no. Don’t make me, Aidan. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, love. You can. Right here.” He tapped his chest, above his heart. “There’s no time to waste. You must do it now. Now,” he repeated, his tone urgent.
“I can’t,” I cried. “I can’t do it. How can you ask me to?”
“Because I love you, Vi. I love you, with all my heart. It has to be you—don’t you see?”
“No!” I screamed, suddenly back in Matthew’s office. I was shivering violently, my teeth clattering as I tried to catch my breath. “I can’t watch it again. I can’t.”
Instantly, Matthew was on his feet, hurrying around the desk to wrap me in his arms. “It’s okay, Violet. I’ve got you.”
22 ~ Gross Misinterpretation
McKenna, I want you to pair up with Smith for this exercise.” Coach Gibson tipped his head toward the piste. “Demonstrate correct form for the rest of the class, why don’t you.”
Dutifully, I took my place opposite my opponent. I didn’t see much point, really. Fencing was a winter sport; we were done for the year. For us seniors, our high school fencing careers were over. You’d think Coach would let us sit back and take it easy—that he’d focus on the underclassmen instead.
Apparently not.
He gave the signal, and Suzanne and I began the exercise. There were no sounds save that of our shoes squeaking against the mat, of the clanging of our foils as they met.
Once we finished demonstrating, I pulled off my mask and wiped the sweat from the sides of my face as the rest of the class took up their foils.
Suzanne set her own mask on the floor and then laid a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m really sorry about Kate. I would have gone to the funeral, but we were in California. I just . . . well, I wanted you to know. That’s all,” she finished lamely.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice thick. Why did she have to bring this up? Why now?
“God, I feel so bad every time I see Jack Delafield,” she continued on, oblivious to my discomfort. “He’s such a mess. I can’t believe he’s back at school. I mean, I heard they’d just gotten back together and all. And then for something like this to happen?” She shook her head. “Did she really get attacked outside your birthday party? I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything, but that’s the rumor.”
“I—uh—yeah.” I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. I had to get out of there. Now. “I’ve got to . . . I mean, will you tell Coach that I had to leave early? Meeting with my GC. I forgot.”