Page 76 of The Black Table
Morgan opens her mouth, seems to reconsider, and closes it. Thank God. I don’t want to hear another girl going on about her miracle essential oils or K-Beauty scar cream. I’ve spent enough time in those internet rabbit holes, and I’m not up for more disappointment.
“I’m gonna have to go home,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. A half-formed list of chores floats into my mind: packing, train tickets, calling Mom and Dad…
Oh, God.
“No, you’re not,” Morgan says sharply. “You’re not going home. You’re going to drink your tea, first of all.Now.”
I’m too shocked at the force of her command to disobey, and gulp another mouthful. It really is good—not tastewise, exactly, but in howcalmit’s making me feel. It’s efficient, almost chemically efficient, and too late, I remember what I saw from Morgan and Kingston my first day here, and I wonder if there’s some sort of CBD infusion or mushroom microdose or God knows what else lacing this tea.
Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. If I’m going to have another mental breakdown, I might as well be tripping balls while I do it.
“I’m not going home,” I repeat, testing out the words on my tongue.
“Correct.” She nods her head resolutely. “You’re gonna…let’s see. Take a day to recuperate, lay low, whatever you want. Tomorrow, too. Then you’re gonna get up, you’re gonna drink some strong coffee, and you’re gonna go to class, and?—”
Maybe it’s the tea, or maybe it’s just that my body is out of adrenaline and can’t pump out a stress response anymore, but I suddenly feel—notgood, not evenbetter, but notbadeither.
Like maybe I almost have a friend. Someone taking care of me.Someone who’s cool and doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m officially psycho.
Which…in and of itself is kind of a red flag.
Right?
I stare at Morgan until, finally, she notices, and does a quick double take.
“What?” She paws at her face. “Do I have something on me?”
“You’re acting so…normal,” I say. It’s all I can think to say.
She cocks her head back my way. “And?”
And your roommate is the campus lunatic, I think. “You actually feel safe having me for a…roommate?” I can’t bear to say the wordfriend.Can’t bear to jinx it.
Morgan laughs. “Shit, I feelsafer.” She considers. “Although…yeah, we don’t really have a room. The house matron said they’d try to find some vacant singles or something in the second- or third-year halls, but…”
She trails off, eyes fixed at something over my shoulder. I frown, but Morgan just nods, and does a little “turn around” gesture with her fingers.
So I do. And find myself facing Callahan.
“Gwenna,” he says simply.
My heart goes from 60 to 100 in a single second. “Yes? What?”
A thousand half-formed possibilities stream through my mind: they’re officially coming for me for trespassing. I owe Kai thousands of dollars for dresses I can’t afford. They’re having me thrown out of school against my?—
“Come with me,” Callahan says. “Kingston says you’re staying with us now.”
TWENTY
CALLAHAN
It’sstrange to have a girl in Camlann House.
We didn’t speak on the way across campus, and now that we’re standing inside the house, I feel obligated to break the silence. Kingston didn’t give me many instructions—he never does—but I am supposed to show her around.
She’s staring—staring up, which is the first place you’d stare if you’d never really taken this place in before. I know I did when I came in here last year. Even after however many years in churches and Catholic schools, having archways and columns and chandeliers in the place you’re supposed toliveis something different.
And I don’t mean to be staring—not at her, not at anything around Camlann House—but it’s hard not to.
