Page 64 of A Heart of Bluestone

But he says nothing to me.

Dray has to pretend I am not here. Basically that I do not exist. The dare keeps him to that.

So I don’t expect any interaction this night.

I wander around the gardens, sticking close to our cauldron, in case I am needed, but he seems to take care of the work himself. Doesn’t trust that I won’t fuck it up somehow.

I wade through the gardens, the soil wet with icy sludge, the snow season approaching too fast. The plant pots are shielded by nets, but I peer through them to the peonies, the coral bells, the moonbeams.

I rush back to the cauldron as Master Welham approaches. He walks the line of potions brewing, pausing to inspect progress and make quiet notes on his clipboard.

I drop onto the hard wood stool with a grunt.

With his back to me, Dray drops in the two hair stands.

Doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

I hug my arms around myself and wait as Master Welham pauses at our cauldron. His gaze cuts over the green foamy surface that looks like snotty vomit, and after a beat, he gives an approving hum.

The scratch of his pen on the parchment clipboard tugs a small smile onto my mouth. An undeniabletick!

Another top grade coming my way, and all I had to do was pluck a hair from my head. If only all grades were that easy to score.

Maybe if Dray wasn’t such an evil fucker, and we were actually friends, I would stick to him in every class we shared.

I sit on the stool until midnight shudders through the gardens, a whisper that ripples the surface of the brews, and the plants murmur.

A violent shudder runs through me.

I always hated that. Midnight in the gardens.

Got most of my experience with that creepy whisper, the murmurs and the high-pitched whistle of the daffodils, in fifth year herbalism.

Nearly dropped the class, it freaked me out so much.

Now, it sets me on edge and grits my teeth, but it is something of a slight relief. Because now, the brew is in the moon’s hands, her glow, and we are done here.

Dray snatches his books from the other stool and, no look spared on me, heads out of the gardens in swift strikes.

He has kept true to his word, his promise to the dare.

Funny that, without his focus on me, the others seem to forget I exist as well. Landon barrels into me down the gardens as the stream of seniors try to be the first out of here, but he just shoots me a look, as though he means to apologise for running into me. But he says nothing before he turns his back on me, snatches Serena by the wrist, then pushes his way through the slow-moving line of seniors.

None of the Snakes spare me much attention at all, and that’s a good thing, undeniably.

Well, except Mildred, of course, but since she’s only poured cola over my head in the corridor, then tripped me over as I carried my tray through the mess hall, I count this past week as a solid win.

The mess hall doors are shut, firm, and locked for good measure. The grumble of annoyance ripples over the crowd spilling into the atrium.

Landon tries the handles, but the doors don’t budge, don’t even rattle in their frames. Then he punches his fist down on the wood with a curse—and that’s it.

No dinner for the late-night students.

Thankfully, I have a drawer filled with snacks.

Not dinner snacks, but crisps and chocolates and sweets. Won’t hit the spot, but it’ll have to do.

I make my way back to the dorm room in a hurry. It’s practiced in me, an instinct, to be quick back to my room. And even then, sometimes that is not quick enough.

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