When Stars Come Out by Scarlett St. Clair

Author:Scarlett St. Clair [St. Clair, Scarlett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-31T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN – ANORA & THE WITCH

When Thane said we would be in contact, I thought that meant I wouldn't hear from him for a couple days. Instead, I get a text near midnight. The buzz of my phone startles me, and I sit, staring at the message. It's simple. I'm here. I contemplate whether I should meet him, claim I was asleep come Monday, though, if he's parked close to my house, chances are he can see the light on in my room and me in the window.

I spent the evening Googling a combination of words I’d learned today: Eurydice, the Order, death-speaker and came up with nothing useful. Seems like these people do a good job of keeping their world a secret. When that produced no answers, I started a list of reasons why I'm not the Eurydice and a list of reasons I could be the Eurydice. So far, the list of reasons I could be the Eurydice outnumber the other six to one—one being a measly it's just impossible.

The other list includes: the thread, turning souls into coins, seeing the dead, stealing souls, unexplained ass-kicking abilities, weird scythe-wielding boys stalking me...

I imagine the list will get longer, too. I feel an odd mix of relief and fear, knowing what I am has a name, that others know it, that they want me. I tell myself I should be freaking out more. I should have spent the evening packing all my things, enacting my escape plan, the weight of the Eurydice, the Order, and Influence, driving me.

And then I think of the priorities. I can't leave until I know who killed Lily, until my coin is in my possession once again. I can't let this happen to anyone else.

My phone dings again, reminding me I have a message I've ignored. I shrug into my jacket before climbing out my bedroom window and wriggling down the trellis. The thread pricks my palm, poised and ready for what comes out with the dark. The streetlights flicker and the wind picks up. It's like a scene from a horror movie, foreshadowing the appearance of the killer.

I walk a little way down the street where Thane's black Charger waits, headlights off, and slip into the passenger seat.

“What took you so long?” he asks.

“I was making a decision.”

“To trust me?”

“I don’t trust you, but you’ve given me answers. This might give me more.”

“I bet you trust Savior.” The words, strung together as they are, should sound jealous, but Thane doesn’t say them with venom. His tone is almost passive, like he intended to keep the comment inside his head. ”It's how he looks. All bright-eyed and cheerful. People trust him, mostly with their heart.”

“Actually, I trust him less than I trust you.”

“You're only saying that because you're mad at him.”

“I'm pretty sure I know when I don't trust someone.”

Thane observes me for a moment and then starts his car. He waits until we are turned around to switch on the lights.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far.

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