Page 117 of For Dear Life

“I expect that’ll change.” Silence. Frowning, I look back at him. “Did you see something?”

He chuckles. “Not yet.”

I flinch as he trails a gentle finger across my collarbone. “Rowan. We’ve established I don’t like soft touch. It’s irritating.”

Darkened eyes meet mine. “I wish this had been a me and you date away from the dance like we planned.”

“Well, needs must.” I push at the tiara. “Another time.”

One thing’s certain, I intend reiterating to Holly that my preference for flayed skin and poisonous spiders remains, and next year I shall not attend. I blink. Next year. I have to make it to the end of this one yet; it’s only spring.

“I need to talk to more people.” I wander back over to where Mr. Hillside chats with Mrs. Lorcan and he regards me in surprise when I greet him. I sneakily sweep mental fingers through Mr. Hillside’s mind, which is elsewhere—calculating how long until he can leave and no image of me or my outfit inside his thoughts.

“I apologize for missing class, Mr. Hillside. I shall rectify the situation.”

“Not leaving us?” asks Mrs. Lorcan. “I thought you disliked Thornwood, Violet.”

“What can I say? I’m learning many valuable lessons that will help me become a useful member of society.” I flash my teeth. “I’m not going anywhere, Mrs. Lorcan.”

Her laughter tinkles. “That almost sounded like a threat.”

“Yeah, that’s Violet,” says Rowan. “You can never tell.”

“How are your studies going, Rowan?” asks Mr. Hillside. “You’ve missed class recently too. I wouldn’t like to see your grades slipping.”

“I’m ten steps ahead of other students,” he retorts, and I raise my brows at his impertinence.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t want to miss the field trip next term.” He reaches for a small parcel of pastry from a plate on the table and nibbles.

“A trip to a field?” I ask. “What field?”

Mrs. Lorcan’s laugh rings in my ears again. “Not an actual field, silly girl.” I bristle. “A short visit to a place of interest.”

“Of interest to who? Because opinions vary on such matters,” I say.

“If you come to class next week, you can join in the vote.” He smiles. “Or abstain.”

“Do you like any field in particular, Rowan?” I ask him. “Do we excavate said field?”

Quite rudely, Mr. Hillside now whispers to Mrs. Lorcan, and they bow their heads in conversation.

Fine. I walk away, and Grayson wanders over. “Anything?” he asks.

“Mrs. Lorcan didn’t recognize the tiara,” I complain after another tour of the hall, pissed at the number of bodies who knock into me. Some are perspiring from dancing and the colognes and pheromones are off the scale compared to Kai’s party.

“Maybe there’s only significance to whoever hid the items?” suggests Grayson. “We can leave if you want?”

I smile. “Your enthusiasm for the event matches mine, I see. I shall speak to other teachers.” I point at the potions class teacher. “Mr. Woodside. I wonder if he’s related to Mr. Hillside? I do find witch ancestral names rather predictable.”

“You’re making no sense,” says Grayson.

I never warmed to the potions teacher or his sour face in the lessons I attended, but did notice some unwanted interest in him by a girl or two despite his rude manner. His soul-piercing eyes assisted him in keeping his class under control, but his seemingly attractive appearance interfered with several sets of hormones.

The teacher refuses to make eye contact with anybody and defines the word ‘skulking’.

“Seems that few professors relish their attendance,” I say and nod at him.

Mr. Woodside looks up briefly, meets my eyes, then—almost imperceptibly—frowns at my tiara.

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