Page 5 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“You’re new.” His eyes lock onto mine as he fills his plate. It isn’t a question.
“Yup! I found a new one. Lucky me.” The redhead winks. “And I’m realizing I forgot to ask your name. How silly of me.”
I hesitate, realizing my plate is still empty.
“Tobey.” I point to the nametag pinned to my shirt.
Tobey. She/They.
“Amelia. She/her pronouns,” she says, pointing to herself. Then, she points to the man next to her. “And this is Jun. He’s a demon.”
I’m looking at a demon! She says it like it’s nothing. I meet his gaze again, and my heartbeat is irregular.
“Nice to meet you,” I say weakly.
“Son of a demon, actually,” he says. “You don’t need to look so scared. What are you, anyway?”
I don’t know the difference. Either is terrifying! But I should be used to being around demons.
“I’m a werecat.” I force a polite smile.
“Werecat?” His eyes linger on me. “You’re unique, then. I like that. Most of the shifters here are wolves. There are way too many fucking wolves.”The final words are muttered under his breath, but they still earn a glare from a few people down the table.
The werewolves have good hearing. Noted.
Both of these students seem nice enough, but I make small notes about them. Their names, his dislike of werewolves, and Amelia being a vampire. It may mean nothing, but I won’t let anything slip through the cracks.
Someone’s gaze is on me like a dagger. Without turning, I know it’s Margaux. I’ll be in danger if I don’t leave soon.
Chapter Two
The heavy door closes behind me, and in a flash, it opens again.
The door isn’t heavy forher, of course. Margaux shows no sign of struggle as she zips to my side, fast enough that I hardly see her until she’s breathing down my neck.
It’s distressing for Margaux to present as a vampire after years of knowing her as ahuman. She used to be like me. Now, she’s someone else—somethingelse.
Margaux was raised in my world, but I’m in hers now—I don’t belong here. I know it, and the seething look on her face says she knows, too.
“Why are you sitting with him?” she asks.
I march forward without answering, and Margaux follows. Her heels click against the marble floor. Even before she let her vampirism show, she always moved faster than me.
“Who?” I try to recall the name of the man at breakfast. “Jun? I take it you have problems with him, too. How typical.”
It only makes me like him more, though that may be the part of me she calls petty.
“No, no. I don’t have problems with him; he has problems withme! Jun is an awful, wretched man.”
It’s rare to see Margaux sputtering and grappling rather than plucking words from thin air. My appreciation for the strange demon grows.
“Sounds like my type.”
“You cannot be serious!”
I can tell I’ve pushed a button, so naturally, I push it harder.
“Why not?”
