Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [27]
“Thanks,” I mumbled weakly. “And yeah—thanks for this,” I said, pulling the hoodie off.
“Keep it, it’s cold out,” Brendan said, his tone businesslike as he opened the taxi door for me. He gave me another smile, then, slamming the door shut once I was inside, he turned on his heel.
Chapter 6
I woke up late on Saturday morning, feeling oddly exhausted for having slept so long. I’d had the most vivid, disturbing dreams. They didn’t make any sense—at first, all I saw were images of me. I was wearing my charm necklace—but I was wearing different outfits. They were costumes, almost—it looked like I was flipping through some kind of scrapbook that spanned centuries.
The scrapbook stopped short at one photo; in it, I was dressed in a heavy-looking gown, tending to beautiful roses that climbed up the stone face of a picturesque cottage.
The photo came alive and suddenly I was in the scene, feeling the weight of the heavy gold dress. I removed dead petals from a perfect red rose, which had just started to wilt, when I sliced open my finger on a razor-sharp thorn. I felt it rip through my flesh, shredding my skin. I pulled away my finger, gripping it tightly to stop the bleeding. But it wouldn’t stop. Blood poured down my hand, pooling in the grass as I felt something warm on my chest. I looked down, and blood seeped across the front of my bodice, soaking the front of the gold dress with deep crimson.
I pawed at my chest but couldn’t find the wound, my fingers frantic as I searched my bloody skin for an injury.
A familiar voice called me from behind. I whipped around, and my brother Ethan was standing among the roses. Even though I was dressed in this heavy medieval-looking gown, my twin looked the way I remembered him, in jeans, ratty Converse sneakers and a Ramones T-shirt.
“Emma, it’s starting,” Ethan said, his voice sad. “Stay away from him.”
I bolted upright in bed as if I had been shocked by a Taser. It felt like Ethan was right next to me, his voice as real as the ambulance siren I heard wailing in the street four floors below me.
I hadn’t dreamed about Ethan in some time. I tried to shake the weird dream off, but it was too unsettling. I chalked it up to my subconscious going haywire. I’d avoided telling Brendan about him last night, after all. That had to be the cause of the weird dream. Right?
I stretched out in the bed and rubbed my eyes, looking over at my pile of clothing on the floor—my boots strewn about, my jeans crumpled up with my socks still in the legs. The previous night came flooding back to me when my eyes flickered over to the white-painted desk chair, where I’d carefully laid Brendan’s hoodie. I covered my face and giggled, then frowned when I looked at my grimy hands.
Ugh, I’d forgotten to wash my face when I came in last night! I’d walked to my room in a daze—thanks to Brendan’s near-kiss—and started writing in my diary. I jumped out of bed and padded into the bathroom, trying to remove the now-smeared dark mascara that had taken up residence all over my face. I stopped and looked at my reflection—cowlick sticking up straight, hair knotted, raccoon eyes—and giggled again. I looked like a goth model. I sucked in my cheeks and attempted a serious, model-like pose.
“What’s up, Zoolander?” I said aloud, splashing water on my face. I was in too good of a mood this morning.
My attempts to wash my face just ended up in streaking mascara all over the place, so I hopped into the shower, turned on the pink plastic shower radio and sang along to a Paramore song, scrubbing my face.
Slipping into my worn plaid bathrobe, I pulled my wet hair back with a large clip, and opened the door to find a giddy Ashley standing there. I was not expecting to see anything but the short hallway back to my room—so I screamed.
She screamed back.
“What the— You can’t just do that to people!” I huffed, leaning against the door frame.
“Sorry! I forgot that you had a cell phone now and I could just call you! I was afraid Christine