I should have been upstairs in flannel pajamas. Instead, I was in study hall, a notebook and tattered copy of Sense and Sensibility on the table in front of me . . . and Veronica Lively on my mind.
We were already an hour into study hall, and Veronica hadn’t done anything. She sat with M.K. and Amie just like usual, and it looked like she was studying. If she planned to go through with the meeting, she certainly wasn’t acting like it . . . and that was making me antsy.
What if she didn’t show at all? What if she stood up a vampire and he blamed us? No more trips through the Pedway for us.
Seriously, these old-fashioned British romance novels were tame compared to the stuff we were living.
Since Veronica hadn’t so much as moved in five minutes, I looked down at my book and forced myself to read three more pages.
I looked up at Scout, who sat at the table across from me, actually reading her own copy of the book. She may have missed her parents, but there were some reasons for which she wouldn’t want to see them. Like failing out of school.
“What’s a whippet?” I asked.
“Whip it,” Scout said. “Whip it good.” She drummed on the table. “Duh duh duh, duh duh.”
“Not ‘whip it,’ whippet. It’s a dog, I think.”
“If you think it’s a dog, why do you want to know?”
“I just wanted confirmation. Thank you for being so helpful.”
“We aim to please,” she whispered, turning a page.
Apparently I wasn’t going to be able to get her to procrastinate with me.
Suddenly, Veronica all but jumped out of her chair. She walked over to one of the dragon ladies, said something with hand gestures, and then walked to the doors that led into the main building.
I guess she’d gotten excused from study hall.
I tapped my pencil on Scout’s book. When she looked up at me, I gestured toward Veronica, who was opening the door.
She nodded. “You go,” she said, then motioned at the patrolling dragon ladies. “How are you going to get past them?”
Trying to think up a plan, I gnawed the edge of my lip. And just as Veronica slipped outside the door, I spied my solution.
“There’s a water fountain in the great hall,” I whispered.
“And?” Scout asked.
“And,” I said; then I coughed—loudly.
The dragon lady glared over at me for interrupting the silence.
Pile it on, I thought, and launched into a spasm of coughing that would have impressed an Oscar winner.
“All right,” Scout barely whispered. “She’s walking over. Make your move. I’ll follow you if I can get outside. If I can’t, keep an eye on the lovebirds.”
I didn’t wait. I scooted my chair back and hustled over to her. Every few steps I faked a gigantic cough that turned every head in the room.
“I need to . . . you know . . . It’s an emergency.” I winged up my eyebrows and put a hand on my chest for dramatic effect. I also fake coughed enough that I made my eyes water, which probably helped, too.
The dragon lady didn’t look convinced, but she gestured toward the door. “Quickly,” she warned.
I didn’t waste any time. I half jogged to the door and slipped through it, fake coughing all the way like it was my theme song . . . at least until I was out of the room and the door was shut behind me.
I got out just in time to see Veronica slipping into the administrative wing. That was when I knew we had her. The only reason to visit the administrative wing this late at night was to use the secret exit—an old root cellar that led directly to the St. Sophia’s grounds. No alarms. No dragon ladies. It was a miracle Reapers weren’t pouring through there every night.
I walked as quietly as possible across the stone labyrinth to the hallway, then looked around the corner. It was empty, but I could see Veronica’s shadow shrinking into a thin line at the end of the corridor.
When I got down the hallway, the door to the final room—which held access to the root cellar—was cracked open where Veronica had disappeared through it. Waiting for a moment to ensure I hadn’t been followed, and that she didn’t know I was following her, I headed down into the cellar and outside again.
The weather had turned colder, and a strong breeze had blown up. It wasn’t exactly great weather for a romantic meeting, but there was only so much I could do.
Veronica crept outside the school’s front gate, and then up the block around a couple of the buildings beside the school. The thorn garden was behind those buildings. It had once been part of the St. Sophia’s grounds, at least until someone discovered the school didn’t actually own it.
It was a pretty cool area during the day—lots of green grass punctuated by pointy concrete columns that poked through the ground like thorns.
At night, it was scarier. The columns seemed almost menacing, and it was easy to get lost in the maze of them. I stayed behind Veronica, creeping behind her as quietly as possible while trying not to lose her in the dark. Which, of course, I did. I hung back behind a column, scanning the rest of the park until I heard her footsteps in the grass, and finally caught sight of her.
She stood in the middle of a clearing, her arms crossed. She’d paired a short-sleeved shirt with her uniform skirt and had to be cold. She also looked nervous.
But before she could change her mind, Nicu emerged into the clearing. He may have been willing to pretend at being human to meet Veronica, but he hadn’t done much about his clothes. His coat was a little shorter today—knee-length instead of down to his ankles—but he still looked like the hero from a Jane Austen novel. He just needed a musket. And maybe a whippet.
They faced each other across the clearing. Veronica, slim and blond, and Nicu, tall and dark, both beautiful enough to be like fairy tale characters.
“You are . . . Veronica,” he said.
“I—yes. Who are you? And how did you know my name?”
“You can call me . . . Nicholas. I know your name because we’ve met before.”
“Before?” she repeated, and I could see the confusion in her expression . . . but also a glimmer of recognition. Maybe because of the blackout, the block on her memory seemed to be losing its power. She may not remember exactly how she knew Nicu, but I could see in her face that he seemed familiar.
“Before,” she repeated, this time a statement. “Do you go to school around here?”
“I do not,” he said. “I . . . work.”
“How did you get the note to me?”