Page 73 of The Cruelty of Thorns

He began to lead me across the quad toward the gate. “You know about that?”

“It was in the news. How did you know?”

He hesitated for a moment before replying. “The same way you did.”

“Do you think it’s a serial killer?”

He quirked a brow, as though he hadn’t considered that angle. “I think it’s someone who enjoys what he or she does.”

I supposed that made sense. Serial killers must take a certain perverse pleasure in what they do, otherwise why do it? “Do you think there will be more killings?”

His reply was quick. “If they aren’t stopped, yes.” He looked down at me and squeezed my hand. “Do you really want to talk about this right now?”

“No.” We passed through the gates and turned in the opposite direction to downtown. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my house.”

I bit back a squeal of delight; I was finally going to see where he lived. “Is it far?”

“A little over a mile. You up for that?”

I nodded. “Sure. How long have you lived there?”

He grew quiet, and I wondered if he was going to answer at all when he finally replied, “I’m not really sure. It seems like a long time, and yet, it’s like it was only yesterday that I found this place.”

“Time is like that sometimes,” I agreed. “What made you decide on it?”

“It reminded me of home in a way. Large enough to be called a city, but intimate like a small town.” He squeezed my hand. “The college is a big reason for that. It keeps things fresh.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “There’s a new crop of people every year, bringing their own backgrounds and experiences with them. It makes things…interesting.”

We turned down a tree-lined street where the houses were bigger, sitting back from the road behind wide porches and manicured lawns. An occasional dog bark or the wafting scent of food drifted on the evening breeze, awakening a pang of homesickness in me. Unfortunately for me, there was no home anymore. Just the impersonal, ivy-covered halls of Whitfield College, and not for the first time I felt a surge of panic at what awaited me after I graduated. No home, no family, no safety net. I’d put all my eggs into this one basket hoping for a better future. What if I failed?

“Hey? You okay?”

I smiled up at Julianus and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just, this neighborhood reminds me of my old home.”

“You miss it.” It was a statement rather than a question, and I wondered if he was talking about himself.

We turned down another street that led up a gradually steepening hill. The houses were farther apart here and less well-maintained, crouched among the sprawling branches of ancient oaks that joined overhead to form a living tunnel that blocked out the moon and stars. The milky light from the iron lamp posts cast a dim glow that barely made it to the sidewalk, rendering them practically useless.

“This is the oldest neighborhood in the city,” Julianus said, his voice hushed. “Most of these houses have been here since the college was built.”

I moved closer to him, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Overhead, the lonely hoot of an owl echoed in the darkness, adding to my unease, and I hoped we were close to our destination.

As if to answer my prayers, Julianus turned up a narrow drive, leading me through a row of tall hedges that leveled out onto a compact lawn. The house ahead was a stone mansion, three stories in height. It reminded me of an old church with its arched windows and steep gables.

“It’s called gothic revival,” he murmured as he pulled me up the wide steps to the double doors. “It was built by one of the founders of the city.”

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors, pushing them open and standing aside for me to enter. I glanced up at him before stepping into an arched entranceway that opened into a high-ceilinged foyer. A brass and frosted glass chandelier hung in the middle, illuminating walls papered in a lush floral print and gleaming wood floors. A hallway led straight back to the rest of the lower floor, flanked by a tall, ornately carved staircase.

Julianus closed the doors behind us and watched me, waiting for my reaction. I turned to him and smiled.

“It looks exactly like I would picture your house to be.”

CHAPTER 30

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