asking, or something I should know the answer to.
I just couldn’t figure out what it was.
Chapter Five
R EGRETS
… he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.
—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
T here were precious few days of summer vacation left, but Caspian and I settled into a routine that consisted of drawing lessons for me, perfume lessons for him (well, more like perfume
watching
sessions, where I made the scents and he told me stories from his childhood), and nights under the stars. It was an easy rhythm. Comfortable, and safe.
The little things were what surprised me the most. Like how awkward I thought it would be having him around all the time. How uncomfortable getting undressed every evening, or using the shower every morning with him in the next room, would be. But … it wasn’t. He was a perfect gentleman.
And a surprisingly good roommate.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” I said, turning back the covers to get ready for bed one evening, and finding a pair of socks tucked by my pillow.
I
told
him he didn’t have to do it, but a shiver of happiness went through me that he had.
“Your feet get cold at night. You’re always getting up to go get another pair.” He brought over an extra blanket, too, and placed it at the foot of the bed.
“You’re going to spoil me,” I said. “But while you’re at it, could you turn off the overhead light?” I climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up over me.
He obliged, and flicked the light off. A second later the bed dipped slightly under him as he came to sit next to me.
“I still don’t know how you can stay here with me when I fall asleep,” I murmured, trying to get comfortable. “Don’t you get bored?”
“Time passes quickly for me, remember?”
I closed my eyes and nodded, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “If you’re sure.”
“Don’t you want me to stay? I can always leave—”
“Don’t.” I yawned. “Don’t leave. I like it when you stay with me.”
“Then, that’s enough for me,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Astrid.”
And that was the last thing I heard before I drifted down into the dream.
Around me glass crunched, and sharp edges bit into my hands. I was on the floor, kneeling among the bits and pieces of my life. Scattered dreams surrounded me.
“Pay attention, Abbey. This might just save your life.” Vincent Drake leered down at me, and I felt sick.
“No … Don’t …”
He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My knees screamed as glass slivers ground deeper and deeper into my open skin.
I reached for a piece. Slid my fingers around that cool, sharp edge and held on. Then swung.
A spray of blood erupted from Vincent’s cheek.
I looked down at my hands covered in blood.
His blood.
“This isn’t …” I dropped the glass to the floor. “This isn’t how it goes. It didn’t happen like this. I didn’t stab you.”
My eyes turned red, and I realized that blood was dripping down into them. Hot and sticky, it stung as I tried to rub it away.
“Isn’t this how you like them?” a voice whispered in my ear, and then he was pushing me toward the bed. Horrified, I tried to get up. Tried to see.
The bed was surrounded with flowers. And candles.
Vincent appeared in front of me, a rose clenched between his teeth. “For you, a dance!” He crossed his arms in front of himself, and kicked his legs high. Around us the candles flickered. They looked strange, and I noticed that they were thick and heavy. Old-fashioned. And covered in cobwebs.
The stench of dying flowers overtook me.
It’s too much … I can’t breathe … Can’t … breathe …
All the while, Vincent danced. Crazy, jerking moves at first, but then his pattern changed and he acted like a puppet on a string. Stiff, and controlled. “Want to jerk my strings?” he taunted. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You like the dead ones.”
He stooped. Head bowed, arms splayed wide. And waited for my
I just couldn’t figure out what it was.
Chapter Five
R EGRETS
… he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.
—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
T here were precious few days of summer vacation left, but Caspian and I settled into a routine that consisted of drawing lessons for me, perfume lessons for him (well, more like perfume
watching
sessions, where I made the scents and he told me stories from his childhood), and nights under the stars. It was an easy rhythm. Comfortable, and safe.
The little things were what surprised me the most. Like how awkward I thought it would be having him around all the time. How uncomfortable getting undressed every evening, or using the shower every morning with him in the next room, would be. But … it wasn’t. He was a perfect gentleman.
And a surprisingly good roommate.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” I said, turning back the covers to get ready for bed one evening, and finding a pair of socks tucked by my pillow.
I
told
him he didn’t have to do it, but a shiver of happiness went through me that he had.
“Your feet get cold at night. You’re always getting up to go get another pair.” He brought over an extra blanket, too, and placed it at the foot of the bed.
“You’re going to spoil me,” I said. “But while you’re at it, could you turn off the overhead light?” I climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up over me.
He obliged, and flicked the light off. A second later the bed dipped slightly under him as he came to sit next to me.
“I still don’t know how you can stay here with me when I fall asleep,” I murmured, trying to get comfortable. “Don’t you get bored?”
“Time passes quickly for me, remember?”
I closed my eyes and nodded, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “If you’re sure.”
“Don’t you want me to stay? I can always leave—”
“Don’t.” I yawned. “Don’t leave. I like it when you stay with me.”
“Then, that’s enough for me,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Astrid.”
And that was the last thing I heard before I drifted down into the dream.
Around me glass crunched, and sharp edges bit into my hands. I was on the floor, kneeling among the bits and pieces of my life. Scattered dreams surrounded me.
“Pay attention, Abbey. This might just save your life.” Vincent Drake leered down at me, and I felt sick.
“No … Don’t …”
He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My knees screamed as glass slivers ground deeper and deeper into my open skin.
I reached for a piece. Slid my fingers around that cool, sharp edge and held on. Then swung.
A spray of blood erupted from Vincent’s cheek.
I looked down at my hands covered in blood.
His blood.
“This isn’t …” I dropped the glass to the floor. “This isn’t how it goes. It didn’t happen like this. I didn’t stab you.”
My eyes turned red, and I realized that blood was dripping down into them. Hot and sticky, it stung as I tried to rub it away.
“Isn’t this how you like them?” a voice whispered in my ear, and then he was pushing me toward the bed. Horrified, I tried to get up. Tried to see.
The bed was surrounded with flowers. And candles.
Vincent appeared in front of me, a rose clenched between his teeth. “For you, a dance!” He crossed his arms in front of himself, and kicked his legs high. Around us the candles flickered. They looked strange, and I noticed that they were thick and heavy. Old-fashioned. And covered in cobwebs.
The stench of dying flowers overtook me.
It’s too much … I can’t breathe … Can’t … breathe …
All the while, Vincent danced. Crazy, jerking moves at first, but then his pattern changed and he acted like a puppet on a string. Stiff, and controlled. “Want to jerk my strings?” he taunted. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You like the dead ones.”
He stooped. Head bowed, arms splayed wide. And waited for my
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