Page 17 of Of Angels & Absolution

Of course I was. She looks like the kind of person who holds satanic rituals to call in actual demons, curses people with witchcraft, or otherwise consorts with dark forces. But now I notice the stylized cross hanging from her neck, although she also wears a pentagram and an evil eye, which only leaves me more confused. I can’t tell if it’s just part of an elaboratecostume, meant to look tough and gothic, or if she really has sold her soul. And I guess that’s her point.

“Sorry,” I mutter. If she’s a witch, that’s even more reason not to get on her bad side, though I’m not sure why she’d be at this school if she worships the devil.

“Forgiven,” she says. “I prefer to let people show me who they are before I make my own judgments about them.”

I swallow hard. “So, you do know who I am.”

Manson and Ronique emerge from her room, and she smiles at them before turning back to me. “We’re about to go eat. Wanna come with?”

“Oh, thanks,” I say, looking down at Dr. Jekyll, who’s now curled up and purring like the sweetest kitten on earth. “I should get him back to my room before anyone sees, though.”

“Maybe next time,” she says, already turning to her friends.

My chest hollows out into a cold, empty pit, and I duck my head and hurry away before her friends can talk to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I want to cry as I hurry up to my room, shielding Dr. Jekyll from view with my jacket when a group of girls passes me on the stairs. Maybe it’s because for the first time since I arrived here, someone was nice to me—besides a priest, who is obligated to be—and I can’t be friend with her because her cousin is one of the boys making my life hell.

My mind flashes to that day in my room, in my bed, his sensuous mouth caressing me with damning strokes of the purest pleasure, prying my fingers loose from their death grip on my self-control, plunging me deeper into hell each time I lost it. He led me down a path that I don’t know if I can ever find my way back from. If he’s not as cruel as the others, it’s not because he’s kind. It’s because he’s not after my body. He’s ferreting out my soul.

I cradle Dr. Jekyll close to my chest, thankful for him. He might hate me almost as much as the boys, but he’s mine. He’s all I have, all I’m allowed. I can’t make friends with the dramatic Annabel Lee and her gorgeous boyfriend and her sensible friend. Choosing other friends, even ones completely different from Eternity, would be an insult to her memory. I can’t replace her, so I’ve never tried. All my focus has to be on finding her, and surviving the Hellhounds, and evading the Sinners.

So that’s what I’m focused on as I hurry down the hall to my room and slip inside. I pull up short, my breath catching. There’s a plain white envelope lying in the center of my bed.

I spin around, and Dr. Jekyll squirm and hisses. Making sure my door is closed, I set him down, then hurry through the room, checking every corner and crevice to make sure we’re alone. My heart is hammering as I turn back to the letter. I trudge toward it, dreading opening it, knowing I will anyway. I can’t stop the curiosity. I can’t just throw it away.

Someone was in my room again.

This time, I left the door unlocked in my rush to follow the kitten. Which means it could be from anyone. But I know before I even pick it up that it’s not random. It’s for me. And it’s from the same person who’s been here before, who’s been leaving me threatening messages since I arrived. Fingers trembling, I turn it over and pull out the single sheet of white paper.

“For it would have been better for them never to have known the way of righteousness than after knowing it to turn back from the holy commandment delivered to them.”

six

The Merciful

“Lord have mercy, it’s Mercy,” a voice sings out when I enter the quiet of the library sitting area in search of an empty table or chair. I turn to see Manson lounging at a table with Ronique and Annabel Lee, slouched in his seat like he’s too cool to sit properly, his long legs spread confidently and spilling out into the walkway.

I glance around the cozy area in the center of the first floor with its couches and armchairs flanked by end tables with softly glowing lamps and potted plants. Though the place is no longer used for research now that everything is available online, it’s designed for a bygone era, when students would congregate here for late night study sessions and pull all-nighters to get their papers written. Now they’ve installed power stations where everyone can charge their laptops and phones, even providing some wireless chargers, and added a self-service coffee bar at one end to entice people to use the old building.

I regret not using the place more often. Not only is it inviting for social gatherings, but it’s the most beautiful building on campus besides the chapel, with a tower that rises several stories from the lounge area. The floors above have balconies that look down into the center and more shelves of books behind. Far above, the apex of the tower is an observatory with a stained-glass ceiling that looks out over the campus and the town.

I look around again, but every seat is taken by a person or a bag, and no one moves their things so that I can join them. Afew people are watching, whispering, staring. I grit my teeth and ignore them, cursing the Hellhounds under my breath. If not for them, no one would know who I am, and they certainly wouldn’t pay me any attention. Now, no matter how plainly I dress, I’m a curiosity simply because I’ve been claimed by the three men that every girl on campus lusts after the most.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Annabel Lee’s black, spiked moto boot kick out the last chair at their table, the one next to Manson and across from her and Ronique. She nods at it, but I hesitate, not wanting to sit next to her boyfriend in case it sets off the guys. They won’t like it if they hear I was sitting with another guy, even if he has a girlfriend. They jumped all over me when I so much as acknowledged Royal, and we were working on a paper together. I have no excuse for sitting next to Manson.

But no one else is making space for me, and the longer I stand here, the more they stare. At last, I scurry over and pull the chair as far from Manson as possible before sliding into it and setting my books down. Ronique just raises her brows, shakes her head, and goes back to her laptop.

“Anxiety?” Manson asks, watching me with those dark, inky eyes framed by long, inky lashes. They’re even more striking in contrast with his perfectly styled, stark white hair.

“Something like that,” I mutter, glancing across the table at Annabel Lee.

She must not have told him everything, but I can’t tell how much he knows about my history with her family without asking and revealing it to all of them.

“Then you’ll fit right in,” Manson says. “Welcome to the freak show.”

Ronique snorts and rolls her eyes.

“What’s that about?” Annabel Lee asks.

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