“…disproportionately along the following hiking trails: Bethelbury Falls, Katoma Ridge South, Marlborough Hills…” I tune out the voice for a bit so I can double check the data points that I’ve been entering. Most of the listed hiking trails are way west of where I live, so I should still be safe biking to the bus stop. For now. This true crime podcast that I’m listening to isn’t a very good one. They’ve tracked down all the data about missing persons for the local hiking trails and made some interesting observations, but they don’t seem to have an answer for it at all. The podcaster is a local, though, and just a high school student at that. I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from him—not like he can do a proper investigation. “But what’s even more strange, dear listeners, is the time of last contact. Now, there is reliable data about the last known locations of just over half of our victims. Usually, this information comes from cell phone texts or other forms of digital communica
“Glenn, right?” I ask.He nods eagerly. “I’m surprised you know my name. I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced yet.”“Callie mentioned the names of everyone injured,” I say, even though the real reason I remember his name is because I eavesdropped on him talking to Emeric and Luke on Saturday. “Speaking of, how’s the nose doing?”His hand jerks up as if to touch his nose, but he thinks better of it before he makes contact. “Not bad,” he says. “No more swelling, but it hurts when I smile too much. I know you said to see a proper doctor about it, but I really don’t think I’ll need to. You did a good job setting it!”“Thank you,” I say for lack of a better response. A broken nose really doesn’t need professional medical attention that badly, not if it’s set correctly and doesn’t hurt too much.“Do you come to feed them often?” he asks.It takes me a moment before I realise that he’s talking about the stray cats around here, but then I reach into my bag and show him the kibble I
Glenn stares at Sebastien for a moment, looking strangely at his clothes.I’ve mentioned before, but Emeric dresses in a fairly low-key style (though from what I’ve heard the cheerleaders say, his clothes are very much not cheap). Sebastien, however, does not.He’s not in a biker’s leather jacket today, but he’s still wearing leather all right. It’s been stained a dark red, and it’s cut like some sort of a trench coat. It’s not as blatantly counterculture as it could be, I guess. Maybe I could see Emeric wearing it—if I were drunk and concussed, that is.This whole time, Sebastien hasn’t looked at Glenn once, our gazes locked in an endless contest.“Dude,” Glenn tries again. “Didn’t you say that you didn’t—I mean, didn’t you tell me to go ahead and ask? I thought you weren’t going to interfere!”Yup. He definitely thinks Sebastien is Emeric.For his part, Sebastien just rolls his eyes. “Of course you think I’m him,” he says, which sadly doesn’t seem to clear things up for Glenn at all
Of course Sebastien has taken me to La Lune Bleue. It’s a rising star in the culinary world, I hear. Only this summer did it get rated three stars by the Michelin Guide. The resulting business boom was so big that it ended up making an expansion in order to keep up with demand. Even still, the waitlist lasts months. Somehow, though, Sebastien has managed to get a reservation at half past seven—the absolute height of dinnertime rush—with only a two-day notice. Half an hour ago, I’d have said that was impossible. “I’d have worn something nicer if I’d known we were coming here,” I say, fussing. I’d dressed up a little today, of course—dress pants and a nice blouse that, in combination, manages to make me look barely of age. I even pulled out the single pair of high heels I own and changed into them in time for Sebastien to pick me up. “You’re perfect,” Sebastien reassures. “Do you mind if I go park the bike? I’ll just be one moment. Tell the girl at the door you’re here for the Thorn
Campus is packed with cars, enough that Sebastien doesn’t even bother looking around for a spot. He turns into a restricted floor of the parking garage and parks his bike directly behind an expensive-looking car. “It’s Emeric’s, so no harm, no foul,” Sebastien explains. “We’ll be long gone by the time he’s done debriefing and cleaning up. I’ve still got to take you to The Caspian afterwards, no?” After I got home Thursday night, I actually cancelled my shift tonight at the restaurant. I hesitate to tell him though, not wanting to sound presumptuous. Instead, I watch as he parks his bike and takes off his own helmet. He’d last lent me his own helmet on Saturday, when he’d given me an impromptu ride to campus. When he showed up for dinner on Thursday, he already had a second, smaller helmet at the ready. I feel warm inside when I consider that he must have gotten it just for me. “I no longer have a shift tonight, actually.” He looks at me, eyes dark and pale all at once, like storm
Sebastien and I pull away, him with reluctance and myself with mortification. Thankfully, however, the crowd isn’t jeering at us.Looking up, I see the big screen is no longer showing Sebastien and myself on the kiss cam, but instead a slow-motion replay of the last goal. It starts with Emeric uncharacteristically fumbling a pass and getting dogpiled, then ends with the other team scoring a touchdown.The game is on pause as they prepare to kick the football through a strange metal contraption, and I look around the field at the various players on standby. I don’t even realise what I’m looking for until I find it.I freeze. Emeric is glaring daggers at me, angry blue-grey eyes seeming to be so much darker and stormier than Sebastien’s. Is he upset that I kissed his brother? Or is he upset that I’m here at the game at all?I look over at Sebastien, who’s looking at the fumble replay on the big screen with a placid smile.I’m not the only one looking at Sebastien, however. Just as the g
Lips. Soft and gentle and yielding, pressing eagerly against mine. Warmth and desire and the overwhelming scent of sweet pine, rain, and something indistinctly floral. Mine, a part of me yells. Mineminemine. The football has dropped from my hands in my distraction, and impacts fall on me as three different players from the opposing team throw themselves on top of me. I’m too dazed to even care. I remember last Saturday, when Cecilia had shown up with Bas, how determined I was to not care about either of them. “You don’t mind, do you?” Glenn asked me then, and I’d genuinely meant my reply. “Do what you want,” I said, thinking that if Glenn managed to steal Secilia out right from under Bas’s smug nose, then at least he’d understand: this girl doesn’t care about us, neither of us. But even with his freshly broken nose, Glenn managed to give me a look of surprise. I remember feeling slightly resentful, then, that this human had the audacity to doubt me. Bas was still my brother—my l
I think, if I’d known what I was getting into, I’d sooner have moved across the country than stay. Moving around the country for the first fifteen years of my life worked out well enough—I should have known better than to think that I could settle down for more than a few years here. Or maybe, just maybe, this all could have been avoided if I’d stayed behind in that lab. It started like this: despite my better judgement, I let Lily coax me outside into the autumn afternoon. Lily is my partner in our Intermediate Medical Lab Sciences class, and she’s normally pretty responsible with classwork. Homecoming weekend, however, is apparently where she draws the line. We had a lab section earlier this afternoon, and I tried to linger around afterwards, but it’s Friday, and the homecoming parade is tonight, and Lily practically got an aneurysm when she realised I wanted to stay after-hours. We’re just undergrads, so we don’t have access to the lab on the weekends, and the assignment write-u