Page 17 of For Dear Life

I don’t remember falling asleep or Rowan leaving, but find a note on my desk beside the phone and an empty chocolate wrapper, telling me he’s left. Well, obviously. How long did he stay?

I’m troubled by the thought I’ve no memory of him leaving the room but manage to cycle through all other events of the day and don’t believe anything’s missing. If I were still suspicious of Rowan, I would question whether he’d added a spell to the chocolate that sent me to sleep. After all, the guy did attempt to steal from me the first time he entered my room.

But I’m far from suspicious of Rowan nowadays, as the bond that infuriates me also offers a strange comfort I never expected nor wanted. Like the hugging. Kissing. Each time we do, there’s a resonance that takes hold and interferes with my belief that kiss and touch are merely to elicit a physical response from somebody. That there’s something soothing, a quietly unspoken admission that stepping across emotional boundaries is as significant as the desire.

But I’ve more pressing matters than to pontificate on such growing desire for Rowan.

Dying, for one.

How do I feel about the event? I’ve never considered that I’m not immortal, but there was always the chance. Life’s more secure with immortality, although I’d prefer to avoid the side-effects of pain and weakness. I suppose I can’t have everything.

How far does the immortality go? Removing the heart and burning the body is the only way to ensure a final death for an immortal vampire. My heart can be removed, but fire never burns me—how would anybody rid the world of me permanently?

Another annoying side-effect is I’m mentally tired, my head stuffed with cotton wool and unable to piece together everything. That is not normal and extremely irritating. This morning, the only messages are on my normal phone, Grayson and Leif checking in on me.

None on the burner phone. No calls either. Did the witch operate alone? That would be most unhelpful.

Concerned about Holly’s role in this, I can’t reattach papers with our latest discoveries on my makeshift murder wall where she could see, and so pull out a notebook. Alongside a carefully written timeline, I note the new names in the unclear mix. I also add a list of tasks for Rowan which I tear out and tuck into my nearby skirt pocket, ready for a more ordinary academy day.

Holly hasn’t returned, and I repeatedly glance at her side of the room, casting an eye over the entrance to her closet that’s stuffed with clothes and various teen paraphernalia. Somewhere to investigate?

I glance at the door to our room. Holly was adamant she didn’t want to remain in an upcoming murder location; she won’t return soon. I saw her uniform shoved into the bag that Holly took, therefore she intends to go to class.

Can I justify my invasion because there’s a threat to mine and others’ lives? I’d upset Holly if she knew I rummaged through her belongings, but not as much as if she discovered that I suspected her. Surely Holly wouldn’t notice if I checked inside her closet, since she doesn’t keep the space tidy? Decision made, I brace myself to deal with the disorderly mess.

Holly’s closet is deeper than I expected, the recess a jungle of hanging dresses and tops, some half or completely off the hangers and now mingling with the mismatched shoes strewn amongst discarded outfits. Towards the back, more shoes are resting on a small set of white drawers, and I pull one open.

Scarves in an array of color and prints.

Another drawer contains enough make-up to paint the faces of the whole of Darwin House, and also a plethora of earrings and necklaces.

I’m practically suffocated by the closet. If my choice of black clothes was caused by an allergy to color, I’d be mid-seizure by now. And honestly, the jumbled mess sets my teeth on edge. How can anybody live such an unorganized life?

“I’m sure Holly would lend you clothes if you asked,” says a male voice. “Although you’d need to promise not to lose them this time.”

Half-startled, I turn to where Grayson stands at the entrance to the closet, his lithe figure blocking the way. He isn’t in uniform, but a cleaner version of the black jeans and T-shirt combo that he favors.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“I did knock. You never replied, and I worried.”

“Well, here I am, unharmed. You can leave now.” I step forward to exit the closet, but he doesn’t move. “Grayson.”

“We need to talk, Violet.” He looks down at me, and the exasperating mix of his presence and blood fill the air, dizzying me.

“Yes. Later.”

I eye a couple of large bottles of perfume on the small drawers. Holly inadvertently disguises her human smell with fragrances, but I doubt soaking myself or spraying him in her choking, artificial scents would help against Grayson’s effect.

“Funny. I never expected to find you playing dress up with Holly’s clothes.” He smirks at me and reaches over to take a dress from behind. His scent intensifies and I shuffle backwards. “Holly’s right. Black is boring. Now, floral would be good. Or this, perhaps? You’d look like the sunshine you love so much.”

He holds out an offensively bright item, a worse option than even the hot pink jacket I borrowed. I snatch and then shove the voluminous, gauzy dress back onto the rail.

“Very amusing, Grayson. Please leave. I’m busy.”

He slide hands into his pockets. “No.”

“Fine.” I turn my back and push through the scarves in the drawer, attempting to detune from him and back to my search for anything resembling a magical item.

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