Arcadia Falls by Carol Goodman

Author:Carol Goodman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9780345515193
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

Callum follows me across the field. “Where are you going?” he calls from behind me.

“Back to the ridge,” I shout without looking back. “I’m supposed to supervise the autumn equinox. I can’t be late.”

“That’s where I’m going, too,” he says.

“Fine,” I say, quickening my pace. “We’d better hurry.”

The climb up through the clove is longer and harder than I had anticipated. It’s so steep that we have to dig our fingers into the cracks in the rock to pull ourselves up. We do it in silence, saving our breath and concentration for the climb. I’m relieved that we don’t have to make small talk or acknowledge the interrupted kiss. It’s not the time, I tell myself as I attack the steep rock face as if I could burn away desire like a few extra calories. Another voice reverberates in my head as we climb, though. Will it ever be time? Or will I always feel like this, as lifeless as a woman carved from wood?

By the time we reach the top of the clove, my fingernails are caked with mud and I suspect my face is streaked with it from wiping the sweat off my brow. My legs are trembling with effort. Callum gives me a hand up over the last boulder—and then holds on to my hand at the top of the ridge.

“Are you done running from me?” he asks. “Or are you going to find another mountain to climb to get away from me?”

“I’m sorry,” I say when I see the look of hurt in his eyes. “It was a mistake—”

“Oh, I can see that!”

“I mean it was a mistake for me. I’m just not ready yet. It hasn’t even been a year yet.”

“Okay then, I wasn’t trying to rush you. In fact, I believe it was you who kissed me.”

I’m grateful my face is already red from exertion as I feel the blood course into my cheeks. “As I said, it was a mistake. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Now if you don’t mind, I have to go home and shower….”

“I’m afraid there isn’t time.” He lifts his chin up over my shoulder. I turn and look into the darkening woods. It’s like a swarm of fireflies is coming up the hill.

There must be at least forty students walking single file, each holding a lit candle. It looks like a river of light flowing uphill.

Leading the procession is Chloe, dressed in a long dark green dress that hugs her hips and breasts. A gold rope is tied over her hips, the tassel swaying back and forth as she climbs the hill. A wreath of red and gold leaves crowns her head and some kind of symbol is painted on her forehead: a circle topped with a crescent moon. When she reaches the clearing, she stops at the stump of the lightning-struck tree and sets her candle down among the twisted roots. As the other students file into the clearing, they spread out into a circle. I

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