Page 6 of Shadows of Nightshade
My words slowed as the reality of what I’d just admitted slammed into me. I hadn’t been thinking, as usual. And worry had temporarily overshadowed an even darker fear.
It didn’t help that the expression on the older professor’s face was less than comforting.
He stared at me as if I’d grown another head.
I screamed internally at the realization that I’d told a professor—apsychologyprofessor, at that—about my abilities.
I had to make this better before I ended up locked in an asylum.
“April Fool’s.” I giggled as I waved my hand in the air. Despite how essential it was to play this off, my laugh was weak.
I couldn’t even convince myself.
I had to get out of there.
I took a step back, and the professor’s expression changed from shock to amusement.
“It’s September,” he said.
My breath hitched, and I continued to inch backward, ready to run. He had to believe it was a joke, and hopefully, I would never have a class with him.
It wasn’t like I’d ever take psychology anyway.
“Let’s just forget that I was here,” I told him. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Wait,” he commanded, and I froze. His face was carefully neutral, and I knew by his lack of expression that this was a man who carefully plotted out everything.
“Don’t move.” He turned around and walked back into his office.
I was in agony. I wanted to run, but he was an authority figure. He said not to move. He could track me down. Why had I given him my real name?
How could I have forgotten the first rule of investigation: always have a ready alias?
And now, because of my big mouth, I was going to be institutionalized.
But if he’d called the police, he’d done it quickly, because it was only an instant before he was back.
“Here you go.” He handed me a folded piece of paper. “Damen has other obligations on the weekend, so he never comes to campus. But you’re in luck. There happens to be a group meeting tonight. You should tell them what you told me. I’m certain they’d be interested in hearing your story.”
I opened the paper. There was an address scrawled in thin, elegant handwriting. As if that wasn’t creepy. “Do I just—”
“They’ll be there at six,” Dr. Stephens interrupted. “Don’t be late; they can be very ritualistic. You know the stories. Now, I’m sorry to rush you, but I really must be going.” He shrugged on a dark trench coat before nodding as he stepped past me. “Just don’t anger any more spirits today, and we’ll hope to see you there.”
I glanced back at the paper, stunned, then looked up at his retreating form.
Ritual? Stories?
And who, exactly, did he mean by ‘we’?
2
If I hadto rank the most inconvenient aspects of going to school in a small town, this next hurdle would be the highest on my list. After locating the cryptic-looking address on my map app, I knew I’d have to step outside of my comfort zone once more.
I had no driver’s license, and it wasn’t like I could ask Finn to take me to meet his brother.
I had to use our limited public transportation… and then, after, walk.
What other choice did I have?
