Page 22 of Tempest

Tempest

TWO YEARS LATER

Fucking freshmen week.

The fourth time around, it’s not any easier to deal with.

Hordes of them congest the road in front of the quad, crying, hugging, or dismissing their parents altogether while younger siblings paint the car windows with drool, wishing they were old enough to leave home and take up residence in three-hundred-year-old buildings with creaking stairs, slanted floorboards and enough history in the walls to choke the living while they sleep.

I’ve always been drawn to the haunted and macabre.

As one of the smallest, most prestigious colleges in North America, acceptance is rare and hard-won for those lucky enough to attend.

If it weren’t for having to welcome my little sister, I wouldn’t have left the solitude of Anderton Cottage, the smallest dormitory at Titan Falls University. It’s nestled comfortably in the woods, shrouded by evergreens and fir trees so thick, it’s impossible to tell day from night, unlike where Clover’s chosen.

Clover is moving into Camden House, a thankfully all-girls dorm that gets about one-third of the females that enroll at TFU. It sits at the top curve of the main quad, basked in sunlight from its large windows and blindingly yellow walls. I left her door open as we carted in her boxes and suitcases, sunshine following us in the form of fourth-floor chatter, excitement, and a general annoyance to my ears.

“That all of it?”

“Gee, Tempest, contain your excitement.” Clover flops onto her twin bed, the springs creaking under the slightest weight. I eye the scratched cherrywood headboard and matching dresser with distaste. At Anderton, we’re allowed to move in our own furniture. Here, they’re forced to use the same items as in the Brontë sisters’ day.

“Aren’t you glad I’m here?” she asks, folding her arms under her head. The long, puckered scar on her right forearm flashes out from her t-shirt with the movement. My eyes dart to it, then away.

If Clover notices, she says nothing, instead of letting her head loll until her attention falls on the bare mattress across from her.

I say, “Yes, I’m glad, but don’t be upset I didn’t bring you a cupcake in celebration. Where’s your new roomie?”

Clover, being Clover, is about four hours late in setting up her room. Orientation begins in twenty minutes, where I’ll bid her adieu and slip far away from the freshies’ nervous trek around campus. If one timid female wanders away from the group, so be it. I’ll be waiting in the woods to greet her.

Clover shrugs. “Ardyn’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

My chin snaps to attention. “Ardyn Kaine?”

“Are you acquainted with any other girls named Ardyn?” Clover arches a brow.

I frown. “I thought she was locked in her fortress for the rest of her miserable life, after…” I greatly dislike trailing off, but when it comes to my sister and her accident, I can’t help but linger inside the spaces between words. The mere thought of what she endured fizzes my nerves. Clover is the one blood relation I care about and the only woman I’d ever take a bullet for. Too bad I was so busy cleaning up Ardyn’s mess that I couldn’t protect her.

That thought curdles my veins.

After the car wreck, Ardyn was so quickly sequestered by her family, there was no time to blame her or rage at her like I wanted to. Such an innocent, stupid lamb, scuttling around where she shouldn’t, involving herself in misdeeds likely to kill her.

“She’s changed, Tempest.”

I reluctantly return my attention to Clover. “Last I heard, she had a breakdown she couldn’t recover from.”

Clover rolls her eyes. “That’s the story her family fed to the press so they’d lay off.”

“What’s changed, then? I’m shocked she’s allowed two feet outside her door, never mind rooming with you at a university in a different state.”

“She’s eighteen now. Ardyn can make her own choices.” Clover sits up, rifling through her pet carrier-sized purse. “She’s going against their wishes, which is super rebellious of her. I’d think you’d respect her for it.”

“Two people were killed that night,” I say calmly, though inside, I’m on fire.

“Three people,” Clover corrects.

“If you’re to believe Ardyn’s story, sure, someone at the auction also died, but after her nervous breakdown, everything she says is hard to believe,” I lie. “And no third body was found.”

Clover blows out a breath in relief when she finds what she’s looking for, pulling out a deck of tarot cards.

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