***
Four hours later Oliver came back with a pair of shoes and three shirts, and I came back with nothing but a full wallet.
Oliver threw his bags down and stomped over to Leanne’s bed. For hours he had tried to get me to buy this or that revealing top, but he’d met his match. I was more stubborn than a mule, and proud of it.
Leanne came out from our room. “Hey,” she said to me. She looked over at Oliver. “What’s with you?”
He pointed a finger at me. “That one killed my shopping buzz.”
I shrugged. “I’m broke. Plus, what’s wrong with my clothes?”
Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Girl, are you for real? You need a new wardrobe like a werewolf needs a wax.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve only known me two days, how could you possibly—”
Oliver pointed to my open closet and shuddered at the clothes sticking out. “The horror, the horror.”
“Oh, get over it.” I moved towards the door. “I’m going to pick up my schedule and some books.”
“Oh, so now you want to spend money?”
“Library books. I’m going to pick up library books.”
Leanne looked at me like I was crazy. “Aren’t you supposed to be going on a hot date soon?” It was a quarter till seven.
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
***
I crossed the sprawling lawn that separated the dorms from Peel Castle with my student ID in hand, armed to pick up my class schedule and corresponding books.
I still couldn’t decide whether everyone was seriously delusional, or if I had accidently entered into a cult. Either way, I was screwed.
The castle loomed in front of me. In the distance I could hear the crashing surf that surrounded the little outcropping Peel Castle was built upon.
According to the school map I’d been given, there were two libraries, but I was to pick up my books in the main one, which sat just to the left of the castle in an adjoining building. I opened the sturdy oak doors and walked inside.
Oil lamps burned soft and low. Couches and armchairs were placed between shelves of books, and a few sleepy-looking students lounged on these. Globes and busts of famous ancient thinkers sat on side tables, making the space feel less like a school library and more like an esteemed center for learning.
I breathed in the smell of musty books. It was one of my favorite smells in whole world.
This is surreal. I now lived on the British Isles, attended an elite boarding school, and had finally made friends. So what if those friends claimed we were all supernaturals? All other aspects of my life appeared to be equally surreal right now.
I walked up to the main desk and collected my class schedule and another sheet of paper. On it was a list of books. “Can I pick these up right now?” I asked.
“Sorry hun,” the librarian said. “Today seniors are picking up their books, so if you want your books now, you’re going to have to hunt through the shelves to find them.”
“Sure—thanks. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”
The librarian raised an eyebrow and gave me a Mona Lisa smile. That couldn’t be good.
Walking away, I skimmed the book list. The first title caught my eye: Introduction to Monsters.
Wait. What?
***
At precisely seven o’clock, a sleek black Mercedes pulled in front of the women’s dormitory. Clad in a suit and holding a single red rose, Andre stepped out of the car. His curling brown hair brushed his collar, and he moved a loose strand off his forehead.
It had been a surprisingly long time since he was last here, but nothing had changed. A young woman sat behind the front desk in the lobby, reading a magazine. She looked up in time to see him heading for the stairs.
“Uh, sir, excuse me, you need to sign in before I can let you upstairs. …” Her voice died when she saw who it was.
“Of course.” Andre walked to the desk and signed the blue sheet of paper.
He smiled charmingly. “A ‘Gabrielle’ lives here, and I am supposed to meet her tonight. Would you know what room she lives in?”
“Sure,” she said nonchalantly, but her hands were shaking. She was probably breaking the rules by giving him this information—by letting him in at all—but she wouldn’t stand up to him, almost no one in the world would.
The woman scrambled through some loose papers on her desk. “Gabrielle Fiori? She lives in room 305.”
He felt his composure slip a little. “Did you say Gabrielle Fiori?”
Santiago’s daughter.
But that couldn’t be. She died in a fire long ago. How was she still alive?
“Yes. Is something the matter?”
He composed himself. “Not at all. Have a lovely evening.” He gave her a wink, and went to the stairs. She giggled nervously behind him.
Gabrielle Fiori … interesting.
***
Andre knocked on the door of room 305.
“Geez Gabrielle,” the girl said as she opened the door, “you don’t need to—”