“Ha—even quoting Faith. See, now I know it’s bunk,” he says, winking at me. “I knew I’d like you.”
I’ve never seen a wink actually pulled off before where it didn’t look like some sort of spasm—but damn, he does it. And it suits him.
“Figures you’d be a fan,” I chuckle despite myself and narrow my eyes. “How about this? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“I have a better idea. How about we leave things as-is,” he says, a big, cheesy grin spreading across his lips.
“Hmmm… Trying to hide, are we?” I say, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Not at all. Just trying to honor the mystery. I mean, this is a small town. We’re bound to find out each other’s real names eventually. Right?”
I cross my legs and turn to face him.
“Deal. Nice to meet you, Angel,” I say, jutting out my hand.
“The pleasure is all mine, Drusilla,” he says, taking my hand in his and kisses the top of my hand in an old-fashioned kind of gesture.
I snort under my breath as I pull it back. Despite being a dorky move, something about it breaks the ice between us.
“So, what are you doing here? Planning which graves to tip over?” I ask, lowering my eyebrows playfully.
Shock, with a hint of horror, flash across his features. “Absolutely not. That…you’re not planning on doing that. Are you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He exhales slowly, clutching at his chest. “Thank goodness for that.”
“So, if not to tip graves, why are you here?” I ask. Not even my friends understand my fixation on this place, so I can’t help but want to know his reasoning.
His eyes lock with mine and for the briefest of moments, a wave of sadness consumes him.
I glance down at my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. I guess you could say I feel sorta drawn to the spirits here.”
When I look up, a faint smile graces his lips.
“Do you have family buried here?” I ask, looking around the space, as if somehow I’d know which ones are tied to him.
“You could say so, I guess,” he says, fiddling with the flask lid.
Pressing my lips tight, I divert my gaze to one of the older stones. The words are all but worn off, but there’s a certain elegance to the scrollwork and sculpture of the stone itself.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks, his silver eyes watching me closely.
I shrug. “No, not really.”
Confusion flashes across his features. “Really? That’s surprising, actually.”
“Why?” I snicker, kicking my legs out.
“Well, you clearly like supernatural stuff. Ergo the Buffy references.” He looks over his shoulder, eyeing the headstones around us. “You’re here, in a graveyard, talking to…who was it? Charlotte?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I glance back at the headstone. He was listening to my conversation with the headstone. Lovely.
“So, if you’re not here for the ghosts…why are you here?” he asks.
Swallowing hard, I weigh my words. “I guess because it’s the only place where silence reigns. I can think here.”
He chuckles softly. “Silence, huh?”
“Yeah, silence,” I say, smirking. “What else would you call it? It’s not exactly loud out here.”
“Depends on who you talk to.” He smirks, taking another swig from his flask.
I roll my eyes. “Oh boy. Let me guess, you’re a ghost hunter?”
“Not exactly,” he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “But I was meant to meet you tonight, Drusilla. I can feel it.”
Narrowing my gaze, I hold my hand out, and flick my fingertips. “All right, I changed my mind. Better give me a sip of that.”
Without a word, he holds out the flask.
Spinning the lid off, I press the cold metal to my lips and let the cool liquid splash over my tongue. Surprised, I pull back and sputter.
“What in the— Is this…is this flavored water?” I laugh, thrusting the flask back at him.
He grins like the Cheshire Cat.
“Maybe? Being a rebel doesn’t always have to mean rebelling with the bad stuff, right?” he says, shrugging sheepishly.
I shake my head, and a deep, boisterous laugh escapes. It feels good—really good. Things have been really heavy lately, and I didn’t realize just how much I needed a little bit of humor in my life.
“You’re so absurd,” I say.
“Look who’s talking. Absurd? Who says absurd anymore? What are you? A hundred years old? Did you just watch Titanic? That’s it isn’t it?” he laughs, pointing in my direction.
“No, I just like the word, smartass. Besides, not everything great comes from the TV,” I fire back at him.
“Oh, really? Where else then?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.
“Ever crack open a book?”
“Ever crack open a smile?” he retorts, scrunching up his face. “Okay, that didn’t work as well as it sounded in my head.”
We both laugh and I reach for the flask again, giving him a side eye.
“So, when did you move here?” I finally ask.
He sighs heavily. “Last week.”
“Happy move, then?”
Shrugging, he takes the flask back and has a sip. “Depends. I’d say it’s looking up.”
He catches my eye, holding my gaze for a few extra beats. My face flushes and I glance down at the unexpected eruption of butterflies in my stomach.
“What about you? I assume this is home turf. So, will I catch ya around town?” he asks.
“Yeah, I work over at the—” I stop myself, realizing this could be an added layer of complexity I’m not sure I need right at this moment.
“At the…?”
Standing up quickly, I brush off my jeans and slowly back away.
“Yeah, you know, I better get going. My mom and I didn’t leave on the best of terms and I think I should go have a word with her. Besides, if I don’t make it back soon, she’ll have the cops out looking for me,” I say, pointing toward the way I came in.
“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, standing up and gaping at me.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, it’s not you. Just gotta run. It was nice to meet you, Angel.”
Without another word, I half walk, half run my way out of the older part of the cemetery.
In the distance I hear, “Catch ya around, Dru.”
Anxiety blossoms through me and I sprint through the rest of the cemetery. I slip past the opening, and when I’ve reached the safety of the street, I lean against the gate and run my hands over my face.
Nothing exciting has happened to me for weeks—months, even. Making the decision whether or not to go to the Windhaven Academy isn’t easy as it is. Why would the universe curse me with meeting a guy now? And not just any guy, either. One who gets my dorky television references and feels drawn to hang out in the cemetery, too.
Forget fate. The universe is just cruel.
Chapter 3
The winds of change are coming