Page 37 of Runes To Rain
He laughs, “No wonder that neat-freak doesn’t like me.”
“You do eat kind of like a starved animal,” I say with a grin.
He laughs again, then locates a napkin and cleans his face. “You done?” he asks.
I look over with shock at his empty plate. I can’t hold back giggles as I respond, “Done enough. I’m full.”
I rise from the table, a smile still covering my face and my heart lighter than it’s been in a while. I follow him out the door, back into the ocean of chaos. I note that Dio and Reem are standing just outside the front door, engaged in a hushed but tense conversation.
When I get to my room, I pick two books and put them in the linen bag Lily gave me before swinging it over my shoulder. I turn to leave, but at the last minute, I pause, return to the stack of books, and add one more for good measure.
There’s no telling how long we’ll be gone, I remind myself as I walk back towards the front door.
I’m just finishing with fastening up my short, ankle-high boots when Reem calls to me, “Nearly ready? We need to set off.”
“Just making my way to the carriage now,” I call back.
I finish fastening my boots quickly and head to the carriage. Dio, Lent, and Reem are already inside, and I squeeze in next to Lent. Anything to avoid sitting near Dio, who glares angrily at me, his whole body tense. His stare feels like shardsof glass against my skin, and I curl into myself in the small space.
Fem joins us in short order, and the carriage starts off. At least with all three of the other boys now in the carriage and in high spirits about the event, the tension is diffused. Realizing I no longer feel the sting of Dio’s stare against my skin, I note that he’s not looking at me. I uncurl myself a little and look out the window.
When we arrive and the carriage stops, Dio pushes past us, and Lent and Fem file out behind him. Reem asks me to wait. His face is serious, and he looks irritated. Somehow, I’m fairly sure it’s not with me.
When it’s just the two of us, he sighs and crosses his arms as he says, “In retrospect, it probably would have been better for you to stay behind.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts in.
“However,” he says, meeting my eyes, “we’re not disappointed you’re here, we just need to make sure you’re safe.”
I again open my mouth to correct him that Dio doesn’t seem to feel that way, but once again, he cuts me off, his expression stern.
“Do you promise to do as you’re told?”
I glare back, annoyed at being interrupted and spoken to like a child. However, I’m unwilling to have an argument when I know this is important to him. “I will listen to direction,” I grit out.
I see his shoulders relax infinitesimally. “I need you to stay to the edges of the crowd, along the wall, or behind the table where we’ll be signing records, alright? We just don’t want you getting trampled and hurt like last time.”
I open my mouth to remind him, yet again, that it was a sword fight with an angel, not being trampled by a crowd, which caused my injury last time. Then I stop myself. There is really no reason to continue to bring up this, clearly futile,argument. Instead, I meet his eyes and promise to follow his directions.
He relaxes further before turning and leaving the carriage with me at his heels.
Unlike the relatively intimate basement event space of the concert I attended, where I saw Malam, this is a massive venue. I barely have time to wonder at the difference, though, as our group rushes around to get set up. The others organize photos of The Boys on stands, lay cloth over tables, and set up a signing station. I set my bag of books down on one of the chairs at the signing table and help set up refreshments again.
By the time everything is set up, my body is sore. The wound in my abdomen sends angry stabs of pain. I ignore it long enough to go back to the table to gather my book bag. When I get to the table, though, I don’t see the bag. Finally, I see it, lying on the ground to one side of the table where Dio must have tossed it as though it were some sort of trash. I snatch it up, wrapping my arms around my precious books and apologizing to them wordlessly.
I find a spot along the wall behind the table and sit on the floor. At least back here, Dio has to turn around if he wants to glare at me, so I feel buffered from his anger for the time being.
I settle against the wall, pull the books out of the bag, and check for damage. One book has some pages that are slightly bent at the corner. Another has a small tear along the top of the spine, otherwise, they’re intact. Anger fills me, and I realize I need to have a conversation with Dio. I need to speak with him about how he’s treating me, but this isn’t the time or place. I push the anger down, smothering it for now.
Choosing the book I found in the office, I pull my pen out of a pocket in the bag. Then I find the place I marked and begin reading again. I’ve made it to a section on the use of runes and how they can impact the weather. Something about it sounds vaguely familiar, and suddenly I remember one of the dreamsI’ve had. I close my eyes and rest my head back against the wall as I try to remember the shape of the rune in that dream.
Just as I feel as though I’m close to remembering it, the energy in the room shifts. The sound of voices is suddenly drowned out as a humming sound fills my ears. I slowly realize that my chest has been aching, and I rub at it. A sense of deja vu surrounds me, and I open my eyes.
There are people everywhere. While I’ve been reading, a massive line has formed leading up to the table where the members of The Boys are sitting. A record player in the corner adds noise to the room as it plays the band’s music against the din of the crowd. I glance around, trying to understand what my instincts are pulling me towards. As I glance across the sea of people, something screams at me, and I pause and turn back, scanning across the crowd where I looked a moment before.
There, standing amongst the others, but yet somehow separate from them, I see a face I recognize. The ache in my chest increases, and I take a sharp breath, rubbing harder at my chest and trying to center myself. Then I remember the owner of the face and push myself to my feet as I move into the crowd. Reem’s instructions and the promise I made are forgotten at this moment.
Pushing through the press of this many people is tough work, and they seem upset I’m trying to wind my way through them. I get shoved and pushed, and I struggle to maintain my footing.
