Here Lies a Saint: A Dark Bully Academy Romance Page 16

  We enter together, and he quickens his walk to a slow jog. My eyes scan the darkened area, not remembering it being this clean either. The floors used to be ramshackle, dirty, destroyed, and dilapidated to the point of dangerous.

  "Which floor?" I ask as my breathing seems to increase.

  "Fourth from the top."

  My mind travels to what I remember of that one, and I can't recall it. "Which one is that?"

  "The stacks."

  I nod, thinking of it now. That's where they hid the important shit.

  We wind up the middle stairs to the next floor, hitting the door once more. Lux weaves us to the far west side and to the next door. How he remembers where every door is amazes me.

  Once again, I'm surprised at how much work they've done since I've been gone. When I got older, I almost started to believe the myths about the place being unfinished and not real. There are so many situations in my life I questioned once coming back here, especially when life went on without me.

  "Only three more," Lux instructs after we hit the third floor.

  This one doesn't look any different than I remember. There's the empty open space. It reminds me of an office floor at a big insurance company, where the carpet is blue and as uncomfortable as sandpaper to the flesh.

  He heads east this time. Since this floor is open, it's easy to see where they'd have the next stairs, or so you'd think. Peering toward where we're headed, it looks like a wall, but he presses on it, and it pops, springing open.

  "I don't remember this," I shockingly mutter.

  Lux peers back at me, sweat lining his forehead. "I'm sure a lot has changed."

  We head up the flight of stairs, and I really fucking wished I had water. How long have we been gone? Is Colt going to be okay? What is happening to us, and why does it feel like the word is about to end?

  "You should have chosen a floor that isn't six floors up past the last floor," I grumble, mostly worried about time and the fact that I feel winded. We've traveled ten flights already.

  "It's important. I promise."

  With that, I let him drag me farther, the sweat touching my skin like a second film. When we finally make it to the stacks floor, he opens the door, and I'm shocked into silence. My mind feels like it's been blown.

  "What the fuck is this?" I nearly hiss. It's not in annoyance but absolute surprise. The last time I was on the floor with the stacks, there were a few filing cabinets and a few book cases. Now, it's literally a library.

  "I know," he answers, his voice catching with pride. "A few years ago, my father told me about this building and how it was abandoned. Being me and a DeLeon, it felt necessary to make this revolutionary." He steps inside and does this weird curtsy bow. “After you, my sir.”

  "Sir?" I taunt. "Does that mean I can expect you on your knees soon?"

  It's a joke, but Lux's eyes glaze over. "Not a chance, Walker."

  "We'll see," I aim back, enjoying our easy banter, something we only seem to have when the sexual tension takes over.

  He leads me toward the wall of books. Not only is it insanely tall, it scales the entire west wall. "There's no way this is just books on founding families."

  He smirks. "No, but it's a book nerd's dream."

  "So, all the Slytherin jokes were true?" I mock, not realizing how I hit the nail on the head.

  He blushes, his cheeks red, and it's not from the exertion. "I like to read, to learn, to expand my brain. If that makes me a nerd, cool. Just keep it to yourself."

  I smile, feeling like I've won the lottery. "I bet you love Lord of The Rings, too." When he hides his face, I laugh. "Let me guess, you're in love with Galadriel."

  He doesn't look up, and I have a feeling his love is far more masculine.

  "Don't say you're a Legolas lover?"

  He starts laughing in the most embarrassed way, and I feel all proud for finding him out. How do I not know basic things about him but know the deeper shit?

  "What's your favorite color?" He rolls his eyes at me, so I add, "I'm serious."

  "I brought you up here to talk about more important things," he complains and steps toward a certain spot on the shelf.

  "What could be more important than getting to know you?"

  If I could explain his expression, it'd be fear. My knowing him seems to terrify him, which drives me to want to know more, but I'll allow him reprieve. He can hide... for now.

  "I found this book when I'd been redoing this place." He pulls it out of a slot and then opens the book. Inside is another book.

  "What the fuck?"

  "I needed it to be inconspicuous," he explains.

  It's nestled inside a Harry Potter book, more specifically, The Order of the Phoenix. Whether intentional or not, it's kind of fitting.

  "What even is it?" I stare at the little nestled black book. It's leather, I think, beaten to shit and aged, like someone used it daily, often, and even maybe beat up a bit.

  "It's a journal." His eyes are peering into me like it should mean something to me.

  "Why does it matter?" I push, not understanding the secret meaning he seems to be insinuating.

  He lifts it and turns it to the back. Etched into the center is the single name—Grim.

  My mind unravels. I stand there in complete silence. This is a Grim book. It's old as fuck.

  "Did you read it?" I demand.

  "I tried several times."

  "Well, what does it say?"

  He shakes his head in annoyance, handing it to me. "It's in Italian."

  It almost feels fateful, knowing it's my mother tongue and something my father wanted stripped from me. He always told me Italian was my mother's origins, not his or mine. Elijah Edgington was as hateful as it got.

  "Are you asking me?"

  "Are you avoiding it?" he counters.

  I grab his face and bring his lips to mine, wanting to know if our time spent together was more than a quick roll in his bedsheets. When he reciprocates, I know it's more. Somehow, I just know.

  Taking the book from his hands and pulling away from his mouth, I stare at him. His gaze meets mine. Is that awe I'm seeing?

  The worn leather is much softer than I imagined, and I take a moment to simply trace the worn spots. There are literal finger indentations and possibly fingerprints too, but none of that matters when I open the book.

  "Being a Grim is a burden far worse than death," I recite, reading the words and feeding them to the part of me that always hated my bloodline. "Though death wouldn't come, not even if I tried it myself, begged for it, or rebelled in hopes it'd be gifted to me."

  "That's dark," Lux comments.

  He's not wrong. Whoever wrote this was burdened by the same life we're forced to live.

  I begin to read more, and my heart seems to pump slower, making me feel like I'm losing my breath.

  "Who is Mortemor Grim?" I question.

  Lux's eyes darken a second, his face one of deep disturbance. "To the world, he doesn't exist. To my family, he's the man who killed my mother."

  We stare at each other as something between us passes.

  "How is that possible?" I question. "Your mom died from cancer."

  He laughs derisively. "Just like Maxim died of drowning and Yang from self-inflicted wounds."

  I'll give him that. Everything that surrounds the Vestige can be rumored to be true or false, even if you believe one over the other. They wrap their thorns around you, piercing each vulnerable inch of flesh. You hope it spears you, but it preys to infect you with its bite.

  I turn to the next page but am stopped by a loud noise. "What was that?" I ask, hesitant to move. We can’t take it with us. If we do, anyone could find out what it is and who it belongs to.

  Lux clutches the journal, tucking it back into the book and placing it on the shelf. "Fuck, we better go. If they find out what I've found..."

  "Treason," I finish for him.

  He nods, and we book it, hoping the noise was nothing more than a creak in the o
ldness of this building.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Colt

  “WHILE YOU’RE HERE, you’ll have classes every day. Each one will teach you the importance of our society,” Elijah explains a few days later, after we’ve all flown out to the estate. He booked me an appointment with a hair stylist and I was forced to change everything. Not just my hair, but my makeup routine, my contacts aren’t allowed, and I’m not allowed anything outside of the wardrobe he provided.

  The X-men jokes I want to make about a school inside a mansion in the middle of bumfuck California begs to slip free, but I don’t know how aggressive or abusive Elijah will be to someone like me.

  I’m not his kid.

  I’m nothing to him.

  What’s stopping him from ending my life?

  It’s only been a few days since Yang died, and he’s acting unaffected. They all are. It’s uncomfortable and much like Cassidy’s murder.

  Do they kill everyone who betrays them and pretend they didn’t exist?

  “Do you understand what you’re expected of?”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I nod anyway.

  “Your phone, laptop, and communication devices have all been confiscated. There are to be no conversations outside of class unless they’re with your escort and guard, Parris, or with Noah.”

  “Noah?” The name sounds vaguely familiar, but nothing fully clicks in my head.

  He lets out an exhausted breath. “Yes, your guide. She’ll be in every class with you to make sure everything is taught correctly. We don’t have enough time to initiate you into our history, but this is your transition.”

  Guess Lux wasn’t inaccurate when he called me Vamp. Vampire Diaries, who?

  “If you prove you’re sufficient enough, you’ll be able to come to the Gala for Christmas.”

  Trying not to laugh, I bite my cheeks. If I wanted to go to some obstinate Christmas party with a bunch of hoity-toity rich bitches, I would have attended the ones my mom tried to get me to go to.

  Hard pass, but no thank you.

  After he’s finished speaking with me, he introduces me to Parris. Parris doesn't say a word but walks me to the wing where the orphans’ housing is.

  As soon as we arrive, I notice a nursery door open and the little boy... Soloman, was his name, right?

  “Can I see him?” I ask Parris, not knowing if he’s insanely mean like every other staff member I’ve met or a decent human who just doesn’t like conversing with me. He glances at me, his face softening, probably noticing my hesitation.

  “I may be your guard, but I’m not an asshole,” he mentions, waving me forward.

  A lady sits at the desk they’ve perched on the far left of the room. She’s typing away at the computer, and I’m standing here pondering how could she not be holding this baby constantly. He’s sitting on his knees, his little hands touching the bars of the crib, and I wonder how he has the strength to do that since he’s so small.

  He can’t be more six months old, right? Are six-month-old babies stronger than I think? I’ve never been around babies.

  This only makes me realize how sheltered I’ve been growing up. Who doesn’t spend time around kids? Nieces, nephews, cousins, anything. I can’t recall a single memory where a baby was present.

  Not even when I was younger.

  What the hell?

  “If you touch him, you need to wash your hands, Miss Hudson.” the woman states, and I turn to see her watching me tiptoe to the baby.

  “Restroom?” I ask, not knowing this estate, let alone this room.

  She points behind her. “Second room on the right.”

  I head that way, rolling up the sleeves of my sweater, which is ugly by the way, and wash up my hands and arms.

  I’m glad they’re taking sanitary precaution with the baby. You never know the germs humans carry, especially in this day and age.

  After drying them, I come out to see the woman holding the little guy. Something about him draws me in. Maybe it’s his little dimpled cheeks or blond hair that seems familiar, but I really think it’s the way he stops me dead in his tracks with his eyes.

  The blue hue is unique, something I’d been told so many times growing up. I can’t help but stare, and when she offers him to me, I only hesitate a moment before holding him.

  Immediately, he reaches for my hair. It’s short now, black, short, and nothing like me. It’s elegant for them the ones who are adamant on changing me.

  When I reach for his tiny fist, he wraps it around my finger, squeezing, and in this moment, I realize what it’s like to fall in love with the idea of innocence. There’s something so pure and light about the way children see the world without words. They can’t speak, but their expressiveness shows in every moment.

  Right now, he smiles his little gummy smile, and I fall in love with him.

  “He’s due for a nap, Miss Hudson, and according to Mr. Marchetti, you’re due to meet Miss Noah.”

  I’m not sure why, but a chill racks my frame again. Her name triggers something, and I’m not entirely sure what.

  I hand him off before I give this baby a tiny kiss on his little nose and forehead.

  He’s not my baby.

  He’s not my blood.

  But fuck, why does it feel like he’s an orphan to me and I need to take care of him?

  I turn and head out the door but am stopped by the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I’m struck stupid at how stunning her blonde hair is, her blue and green eyes. Heterochromia iridis. I remember learning that in biology. There’s a mutation which causes the eyes or, in her case, half of her right eye to be pigmented with green.

  But that blue, it somehow feels like I’ve seen it somewhere. Images flicker in my mind, and I shake them off, not understanding their origin.

  “I can’t seem to stop myself from holding him either,” she mentions.

  For some reason, words don’t form. I’m still stuck on her hair and how much it reminds me of when life was simpler.

  “Colton?” she prods, interrupting my rampant thoughts.

  “Oh, yeah. Hey, that’s me.”

  She laughs, but it’s small and dainty, almost like she’s unused to action. “I’m aware. I’m Noah.”

  With her tiny introduction, I find myself smiling. This is Noah, my babysitter for all intents and purposes. Why were they acting like she was some big bad? She’s soft and kind, and I can already tell we’re going to get along just fine.

  She explains rooms to me, shows me around and after the first day of her directing me, I’ve already lost my mind. She showed me where bathrooms were, where respected classes were. All of this is so confusing. This place is an estate. It’s like an entire kingdom connected. Halls join every wing, and each wing offers different things. In the end, I feel like I need a map to just find my room. It’s almost pure luck that I’m being escorted to every fucking thing, or I would be lost.

  My anxiety can’t handle this kind of maze. Who has a home this large, and why? What happened to simplicity and living within your means? Why do we have to use every respectable fortune for something heinously large?

  “So, what’s the point of leaving school to come back to school?” I ask honestly. I just want to know the point of me getting the four or so weeks of winter break to just come here and do more work. Did they not see I’m practically failing out of school? The fuck.

  She laughs and nods, her face amused and reminding me much of my own when people say stupid shit.

  “Well, this is what they pretend to call an internship. It really only teaches you of the history of Emeralds Vestige.”

  “But what’s the point?”

  “I ask myself that every day. It’s not like they teach us the good stuff. It’s much like history in the real world. They only teach what not only benefits them but also offers them the best appearances too.”

  Interrupting us, my stomach practically screams. Fuck. I haven’t been eating on my required schedule or t
aking what’s left of my pills.

  “Do you know if they have my medication somewhere? I’m required to take it.”

  She stares at me, her forehead scrunched while she bites her lip. “I don’t know. What’s it for?”

  Not wanting to explain a disorder I don’t quite understand, all I offer is a half-truth. “They’re necessary. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I’m sure they’ll have them for you. Don’t stress. Let’s get a bite, and we can chat more about the abnormalities of this hell.”

  We both chuckle at that, a knowing friendship somehow brewing between us.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Colt

  IT’S BEEN A WEEK.

  No contact.

  Not when them, not with anyone except Mel and Noah. They’re keeping me sane, even if the moments with Melissa are really weird and forced. Sometimes, when I’m forced to grab things for Elijah, I can swear I hear Jordan. I can smell him in the air, that Penn and Co cologne he loves, and I secretly love on him too.

  It’s the fact that I have no outside communication that kills me. No phone, no computer, just me and the meager existence Elijah has forced me to live. Not only has he taken communication, he has a guard on me daily from dusk to dawn, Parris stays outside my door. He’s really sweet. So much so, I’m confused as to why he works for a man like Elijah.

  His eyes are kind. His voice is always sweet, and he sneaks me in Jujubes, another thing I’ve been deprived of. He can’t be that old and looks barely older than me. Maybe Cassidy’s age.

  When I dress in the lousy clothes Elijah forces me to wear, which is really similar to the uniforms at Arcadia, I decide to leave my room.

  I don’t wear makeup any longer. I can’t. Elijah won’t allow it, and my hair isn’t even green anymore. To rebel, I cut it short, dyed it solid black, and make sure my hair matches the way my soul feels.

  So far, all I’ve done is read. Elijah basically has me going to school. Mostly Emeralds’ history and English that pertains to learning their terms, rules, and what’s expected of me. He occasionally has me doing weird Home Ec type stuff, like looking over the children with Noah. Soloman is there; he’s the sweetest little boy. He draws me in. Something about him makes me feel complete in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.