Black Soul, White Heart (Black Hat Bureau 3.50)

7

The nights following our run sent me drifting home on a cloud, high on a burgeoning crush and dizzy with possibilities. Rather than climbing back into my room, I felt certain I must have levitated through the window. Each time we said goodbye, I held on to Saint tighter. And every time, he let me go. I was too proud to invite myself along when he left, since he hadn’t done a thing to encourage me.

Even I had lines, though the fear of his absence brought me closer and closer to crossing that one.

On our last night, just as I readied to exit the window, a note slid under my door.

Interest piqued, I flattened myself to the floor, but John had already gone.

Had he shouted his disapproval of my actions this week in my ear, I couldn’t have heard it clearer.

Palming the note, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, wondering what adventure Saint had in mind, and how I might delay him for another day. Just one more. That wasn’t so much to ask.

Meet me at the stables at midnight.

A midnight ride? Romantic with a hint of adventure. Saint was learning me well.

There was a distinct lack of whimsy to the note, more demand than request, which was un-Saintlike. The lack of envelope, and its black wax seal, also broke pattern. The handwritings matched, as best as I could tell, but even the paper felt odd beneath my fingertips. Prickly. Cold. Sharp. And then it hit me.

Magic.

A spell had been cast on the words. A hint of persuasion. Enough to coax a girl from her bedroom at night.

That was when I knew this hadn’t come from Saint, that John hadn’t delivered it.

“Saint’s in trouble,” I murmured to myself. “The danger he was expecting caught up to him.”

Given I was the reason he had stayed, I had little choice but to rescue him.

But first, I had to see a girl about a wolf.