The Hidden - Jessica Verday [32]
“If you had to pick between a dead bug or a dead leaf, which would you choose?”
“Uhhhh, why am I choosing one of those things?” I asked.
“Just choose.”
I reached out for my locker door and spun the combination. “I guess it depends on what type of bug. Is it like a butterfly, or a—”
“Ehhhhh.” She made the sound of a buzzer. “Time’s up. So you’re going with bug?”
“I don’t—”
She interrupted me again. “Your answer reveals a lot about you. I would have chosen leaf, but you chose bug. Why is that?”
“Technically, I didn’t have time to choose anything. I just asked a question.”
She put a hand into her locker and pulled out a tiny terracotta pot. It was literally one of the smallest pots I’d ever seen. A lone plant stem bore three shriveled leaves, with the forth looking like it was barely hanging on.
“I like the almost dead ones,” she said. “You think they’re gone, but they’re not.” Her lips moved, and she whispered something that sounded like “Ahtoo rah roorah ru shy el” to the plant.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It’s an ancient Gaelic blessing. A bespoke to the goddess of all living things. Plants like it.” She moved to put the pot back, and I peeked over her shoulder. There were at least twelve other dead plants in there.
“Holy crap,” I said. “That’s a lot of plants.”
I didn’t mean for the words to slip out, but they sort of just did.
“Don’t worry,” she said conspiratorially. “I don’t keep them all. I bury the ones that really don’t make it. Most of them just need a little coaxing, though.”
I didn’t even know how to respond to that, so I just made some vague noise of agreement. Who is this girl, and exactly how long am I going to have to have a locker next to her?
With a bemused shake of my head, I opened my locker door …
… and froze when I saw what was there.
Cyn must have seen the expression on my face, because she leaned in. “What? What is it?” Her hand snaked out to reach for what was sitting there, before I could find my voice.
“Don’t touch that!”
But I was too late. She had already picked up the blood-red bottle.
“It’s perfume.” She held it out to me, and I cringed. I didn’t want to touch it. “Is something wrong with it?”
“It’s not mine,” I said. Was it a gift from Vincent?
She turned it over to read the name. “‘Crimson.’ I’ve never heard of that brand before.” Opening the lid, she stuck it under her nose. “It smells heavy. And coppery. Like something …”
Bits of memory swam before my eyes.
Broken glass. Jagged edges. Sharp, cloying smells. And blood.
“It’s blood,” Cyn said swiftly. “That’s what the smell reminds me of. Tangy and coppery at the same time. What the hell? A perfume that smells like blood? Who would want to wear that?”
Without even realizing what I was doing, I tore it out of her hands and practically ran to the closest garbage can. My fingers burned where I touched the bottle, and I flung the repulsive object into the mouth of the canister.
The overhead bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the halls flooded with people. They jostled my shoulders and crammed into my space. The hallways were tight with rushing bodies as everyone hurried to get to where they needed to be.
Suddenly a hand touched mine. Once, lightly, then grabbed hold. I looked down at the fingers wrapped around mine. They stroked my palm, and fingernails snagged painfully before letting go.
I looked up.
White-blond hair was all I could see, and Vincent smiled at me. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Then he melted into the crowd. Like he’d never been there at all.
My knees locked. My chest tightened, and I wondered if I was going to faint in the middle of the hall. “It’s not real,” I chanted, trying not to pitch over. “It’s not real. He’s not here. You’re just imagining it.”
The halls cleared, and I was left standing there, still feeling his fingers on mine. Remembering the other time he’d pressed