Page 119 of The Truths We Burn

I touch the scar on my collarbone, a reminder, a gift.

“I think it’s for the best that he doesn’t know. There’s too much damage done to rebuild anything. It would be a waste.”

“I just find it hard to believe he only feels hostility towards you. Rook is…” Lyra swings her arms in the air, trying to find the words. “He doesn’t pay attention to things he doesn’t care about. Yet, every time you’re around each other, the only thing he can focus on is you.”

I suck in a breath, pulling my knees up towards my chest and recalling the conversation I had with Rose just before I fell into Rook’s fire.

Rook Van Doren does not give attention to things he deems boring. If he notices you, if you interest him, you’ll know it.” Her eyes glanced over at me. “And I’d say he noticed you.”

I wondered if she’d always had an inclination about the two of us but didn’t say anything in fear I would deny it or get angry for her assuming something like that.

“He’s only watching me because he doesn’t trust me. He thinks at any moment I’m going to do something that will put you guys in danger. I’m a liability to him, that’s all.”

I feel my phone vibrate next to me, the screen lighting up showing me that I have a new message.

Picking it up, I open it to find the last thing I want to see.

Pip, meet me at St. Gabriel’s, tomorrow at noon. And this time, you better have information.

“So that’s it, then? You won’t even consider talking to him?”

I shut my phone off, chewing the inside of my cheek, my stomach swimming with anxiety. A cold breeze nips at me from the open window, crawling down my skin and chilling my bones.

“No. We died that day, and he intends to keep it that way.” I push myself off the side of the bed. “Can I borrow a sweatshirt from one of you?”

I hope that would be enough to pull away from this topic. Today has taken enough emotional energy from me, and continuing to talk about Rook is only a bitter reminder of everything I’ve lost and will never get back.

“Yeah, grab one of mine. Briar’s consist of Alistair’s clothing, and no one wants to smell like his musky cologne,” Lyra says. “Well, I mean, besides you,” she offers towards Briar with a grin.

I laugh, opening the small door to Lyra’s very disorganized closet. It’s already being held ajar by the number of clothes that are piled at the bottom, and I realize that I think I’d rather wear Alistair’s hoodie than go exploring through Lyra’s closet.

Whether it’s because I’m stoned or I just find it funny, I keep imagining this is where she keeps her live specimen she doesn’t want us to find out about. I start giggling a bit, thinking about it.

Reaching up on my tippy-toes to grab the dark purple sweatshirt at the top of the shelf, I yank at the sleeve, and it comes falling down along with a few other heavy items that crash onto the floor.

“Shit, Lyra, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I bend down, trying to make sure I didn’t break anything. I quickly attempt to rearrange the clothes and box that had tumbled down so I can put it back where I found it.

The medium-sized shoebox sits sideways in front of me. At first I think they’re keepsakes of her mother or even her positive experiences thus far at college. But then I see the expensive, knitted, off-white pullover that looks way too big for Lyra.

There’s also a bottle of men’s Armani bodywash that is half-empty, several handwritten notes that don’t match my friend’s chicken scratch penmanship, candid photographs, and the most damning piece of the puzzle is a cufflink—a lapel pin tie bar that’s designed to keep the edges of a suit together at the wrist, and it had been designed into the shape of the lettersT. P.

“It’s not—” She stands up, her face turning ghostly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

I scoop up a stark white handkerchief with a blotchy red stain in the middle.

“This isn’t Thatcher’s belongings in a box inside of your closet?”

Lyra had always depicted herself as the shy, bug geek who enjoyed her life of invisibility. But I was starting to gather that was only what she wanted people to think.

“Just,” she breathes, “let me explain.”

Rook

It is said in Western folklore, you can use a crossroads to summon the devil or a demon. Depends on what deal you’re trying to make.

They are hailed by ritual items said to be buried in the center of where the roads intersect. It is there that you can bargain a wish for the cost of your soul. You can be granted anything your heart desires, but on a fixed date of the demon’s choice, hellhounds will unearth from the underworld, ready to claim that soul.

I’d been summoned for vengeance, to deal karma to someone with whom I’d been biding my time. Someone that I had once made an agreement with, and I had let them go untouched, scot-free.

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