Lead Heart (Seraph Black Book 3) (3 page)

A woman was ushering her daughter toward us as the doors started to close, and we all let out a collective groan, because the girl was pushing what looked like a shopping trolley, and it had been filled to overflowing with awkward, homemade dolls. Maybe the dolls were famous and worth heaps of money, or maybe she just had a really odd collection hobby—the
reason
didn’t really matter so much as the fact that there was no way the trolley was going to fit inside the elevator with all of us, and it was clear that they were going to try anyway. I caught sight of a pop-star doll, a pirate doll, and a boy-band set, judging by the mops of hair. I cringed after that, deliberately averting my eyes. Clarin turned his back as the girl pushed the trolley forward to catch the closing elevator doors with one of the wheels. He reached out and clapped a big hand on my head, and then one on Poison’s head.

“Alright,” he had lowered his voice to a growl, “now that we’re past the reception-witch… who wants to suck me off first? We need to break you both into your little dorm room nice and proper, don’t we?”

The woman must have heard, because when I peeked around Clarin, she had her hands clamped over her daughter’s ears, and her eyes had grown so wide I thought they were in danger of tumbling right out of her head and disappearing down the crack between the reception floor and the elevator. The doors slid shut unhindered as the trolley was pulled back, and then we were all laughing.

“Did you see the Voldemort doll?” Poison asked. “It had the little snake nose and everything. What’s up with that anyway?”

“What’s up with the dolls?” Clarin asked, shrugging. “Probably too much money, too much time, and too much Internet. It’s the curse of the modern American teenager. It’ll get inside your organs and rot you into depravity—and the only way to feed your newly discovered human deviance is
obviously
to invest in the freakiest collection hobby ever.”

Poison chuckled. “I meant Voldemort’s nose. But what’s with the human analysis, Clarice? You switching to a psych major?”

“Oh.” Clarin clucked his tongue. “Nope. I decided to take a class or two, but I haven’t chosen a major. Give me a break, woman. We haven’t even started yet.”

We struggled to pull all of the bags out of the elevator and then we walked to Poison’s room, bursting inside in a tumble of canvas straps and dragging feet.

“We probably should have done me first,” Clarin admitted. “Only three of these bags are yours.”

He dumped all of his bags onto the ground and slid a hand under the strap of the duffle that was hanging off my shoulder. He grinned at me, pulling it away and tossing it onto an empty bed beneath a window. My eyes scanned the room, landing on the second bed, which wasn’t so empty. A tiny girl sat there, blinking out at us from behind the lenses of the biggest pair of glasses that I had ever seen. Her gaze was fixed on Clarin, her mouth dropping open. She was adorable—her eyes a dark, velvety blue; her lips pink and heart-shaped. It was as though Frankenstein had finally succeeded in creating life; but had gone with
cute
, instead of…
second-hand corpse
. There was a floppy blue ribbon holding up her thick, chestnut mane—the exact same shade of blue as her eyes.

“Shouldn’t you still be in high-school, doll-face?” Poison asked the girl, cocking her head and planting a hand on her hip.

The girl looked at Poison, and her mouth dropped open even more. She was trembling. I swallowed a laugh at the nickname, pushing in front of Poison—and then sidling over a little to block her out completely. The girl switched her attention to me, her eyes flicking from one of my eyes to the other, unsure which colour to focus on.

“Hi.” I tried to sound as unthreatening as possible. “I’m Seraph.”

I held out my hand and she deflated a little, hesitantly slipping her hand into mine and giving it a single, firm shake. She pulled her hand back quickly, her lips trembling, as though she were trying to smile.

“And that’s Clarin, and Poison.” I motioned over my shoulder with my chin. “She’s your new roommate. She’s not nearly as mean as she looks.”

“Actually,” Poison interjected, “I kind of am. Don’t get your hopes up.”

The girl tensed up again as though I had put a taser to her neck. She had probably assumed that I was her roommate.

“What’s your name?” I prompted her, when it seemed like she wasn’t going to say anything.

“B-blossom,” she stuttered, her eyes flittering back to Poison and Clarin.

We all stared at her. Mute.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked, sure that I had heard her wrong.

“Blossom,” she repeated, a little louder.

“No fucking way.” Clarin was the first of us to lose it. I quickly shot him a look, but he couldn’t hold it in. He was laughing so hard there were tears streaming down his face. He wiped them with the back of his hand, punching Poison in the arm. “Blossom,” he repeated. “Her name is
Blossom
.”

Poison looked like she didn’t know whether to throw herself out of the window, or laugh along with Clarin. I levelled her with a warning look, but she pushed right past me, squatting down beside Blossom’s bed, her elbows resting on her knees, her face turning serious. Blossom backed up a little bit, apparently terrified.

“Blow,” Poison said. “That’s your new name. Because your old one seriously
blows
.”

“That’s kind of a bad nickname,” I said. “It might even be worse than the original name.”

“I don’t give
good
nicknames, cupcake.” Poison jumped to her feet again, rounding on me and slapping her hands against either side of my face, squeezing my cheeks together. “I give
accurate
nicknames. Blow has a blowy name, and everyone seems to want to lick your frosting.” She released me and then grabbed two of Clarin’s bags, heading for the door. “Come on, let’s go see Clarice’s room.”

“Ugh,” I managed, following her.

It was much easier for two girls to sneak into the boys’ residence than it was for one boy to sneak into the girls’ residence. We slumped into Clarin’s assigned room and Poison dragged herself right over to the empty bed, flopping down with a groan. I struggled after her, dumping a few of Clarin’s bags onto the floor and falling down beside her, my head against her thighs, my legs hanging off the side of the bed.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” an amused voice said from the other side of the room, “but is this going to get explicit anytime soon? Because I have my parents on video chat…”

I shot up, locking eyes with a guy on the other side of the room. He was in a desk chair, half turned to face us, and his computer screen was displaying the uncomfortable faces of an older couple.

“It seems you are busy, Charles.” The older woman sounded uncomfortably formal, but it might have been the British accent. “We will touch in with you later.” She leaned forward on the screen, and seemed to be attempting to end the call, with little success.

Poison was still lying down. She hooked her legs around me, tightening them in a punishing grip, a smirk that I was familiar with falling over her features.

“Take your top off,” she whined, using her leg-grip to shake me. “Hurry up, baby, my boyfriend will be here soon. I need time to shower after.”

The older woman pretended she wasn’t listening, her frown deepening as her husband cleared his throat awkwardly. He got up from his seat and walked away, disappearing off-screen.

“Ouch,” Clarin said, still standing in the doorway, “dick move.”

The guy—Charles—finally took pity on his mother and ended the call himself, folding his arms behind his head and spinning in the chair to face us fully. He quirked an eyebrow at Clarin.

“Are you coming in?” he asked. “Or just dropping these two off? My birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Trust me, these two aren’t present-material.” Clarin finally entered the room, tossing his bags at the foot of his bed and sitting down beside me, capturing one of Poison’s boots and loosening her death-grip on my midsection.

“Hey!” Poison kicked out at him, sending him tumbling from the end of the bed. “I’m totally present-material.”

“What about me?” I slapped her stomach. “I could be present-material.”

“Nope,” they both said at the same time.

I jumped off the bed, picked up one of Clarin’s bags and lugged it at his head. I picked up another one, intending to toss it at Poison, but it was plucked from my hands.

“Alright, firecracker, how about we stop trying to injure people, hmm? You’re totally present-material.” I turned to face Clarin’s new roommate, having momentarily forgotten that he was there, and stared at him.

His British accent was kind of cute, and he had hair that looked like it could have come out of a commercial. It waved in little curls about his forehead and tickled his ears, shining with a luster that should have been chemical, but was probably natural.

Whoa
. We needed to introduce this guy to Blossom. They could be the Ken and Barbie of the school.

“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked aloud, still staring at Charles.

“Absolutely,” Clarin answered. “Unless he’s gay. Are you gay?” He directed this question to Charles.

“He’s not,” Poison answered, propping herself up.

Charles seemed confused for a moment, but then his eyes passed from me, to Clarin, to Poison—who was still on the bed, and a kind of mortified understanding took over his features.

“Look, I’m flattered,” he managed, holding out a hand and accidently dropping the bag that he had confiscated from me. “But, ah, I’m not really into foursomes. I mean, I’m in a twosome right now… so…”

Poison’s face cracked into a huge smile. “You have no idea who we are, do you?”

Charles’s face screwed into confusion and he passed his eyes over us yet again. How many times did people need to do that?

“N—” he started to answer, but the door opened, cutting him off.

Quillan walked inside, his brows shooting up as he assessed the situation. Charles was now staring at Quillan in much the same way as Blossom had stared at Clarin and Poison, but Quillan was used to it; he didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“I see you enlisted help to carry your bags,” he said to Clarin.

“I didn’t realise you were for hire,” Clarin returned, moving back to the bed and picking up Poison’s legs to make room for himself again.

“I’m not.” Quillan’s lips twitched, and he turned to me. His kind eyes became immediately assessing, travelling over my boots and up my leggings, to the knit cardigan that fell past my thighs and hung off my arms. He reached out, catching the scarf that was haphazardly clinging to my neck. “I came to give you a lift back, Seph.”

I pushed his hands away before he could fix up my scarf like a hired caretaker.

“You came to follow me around,” I accused, folding my arms over my chest. “Couldn’t you just stalk me electronically, like you used to? The bodyguard thing is getting a little… stifling.”

I moved away from him to the window by Clarin’s bed, folding myself against the wall and casting my eyes downward so that I wouldn’t have to see the reaction my words had caused. There were two men by the base of a pine tree in one of the courtyards below. One of them was turned toward the building entrance, his phone to his ear; the other stared straight back at me, his arms folded across his chest—mirroring my own pose. The Klovoda agents that Jayden sent to watch me were on a constant rotation, so I sometimes lost track of them, and I never grew to know any of them. I had given up trying to figure out how they always knew where I was. They always knew which window to peer into, which door to hover outside of. Maybe the messenger had trained them. Maybe he was holding stalking classes off-campus.

I was absorbed in my own thoughts for a moment—the memory of that night clawing at me, fighting to be given complete control over me, threatening to loosen an army of panic inside me. It would stretch me further, and that couldn’t happen. I was already at my limit.

I would snap.

I pushed away from the window, finding everyone watching me. My two friends, with concern; Quillan, with wariness; and Charles…
damn
, I had forgotten about him again.

“I… I’m going to…” Charles abruptly stood, his eyes wide on my face. He was blinking rapidly, and I knew that my reputation had caught up to me. He avoided looking at Quillan, even gave him a wide berth as he skirted past, and then he was escaping the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Good news, mouse,” Clarin sighed, flopping backwards to stare up at the roof, “I think a spare bed just opened up—now you don’t have to share with the creepy doll-collector, when you get sick of babysitting Tariq and decide to stay on campus with us.”

I turned away from them, something unpleasant seizing in the centre of my chest. My friends left me to my inner turmoil, but I felt Quillan move behind me.

“You can talk to me,” he appealed, his voice low.

“I’ve said everything I have to say.” I brushed past him and opened the door, glancing back to Poison and Clarin. “I’ll see you guys for class tomorrow.”