Michelle Zink - This Wicked Game

Claire’s eyes settled on the old Chevy parked in front of the red house.

“Okay, so you dreamed about this. Maybe you have some kind of psychic ability or something.”

“You believe in psychic ability but not in the craft?” he asked skeptically.

“They’re totally different. One is based on superstition and the other . . .” She stopped. “Look, forget about it. Dreaming about us coming here doesn’t mean something bad’s going to happen.”

“I didn’t tell you the rest,” he said softly.

She didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to check out the house. See what they could find out about the woman and her friends. Most of all, she wanted to know how Eugenia knew her name when Claire had never seen her before in her life.

But Xander was shaken. Claire could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t going to stay unless she heard him out.

She sighed. “Okay, tell me.”

“It was dark, and you were being dragged out of the house, through that courtyard,” Xander said, pointing to 548 Dauphine. “Then you were in a forest or a swamp or something. A Houngan priest was chanting and marking the area around you in a circle of blood. There was a fire burning and three other people in headdresses. The priest had a knife. He . . .” Xander stopped, his expression far away.

Claire knew that he wasn’t making it up.

He was remembering.

“Keep going,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“He bled you. He cut open the veins in your forearms and bled you dry.”

Claire couldn’t speak. It wasn’t just the dream. Everyone had dreams, even scary ones.

There was something else. Something familiar about the scene Xander had described. It was like she’d already lived it, even though she knew she hadn’t.

She shook it off, reaching for his hand. “Look, it was just a dream, but if you want to go, we can.”

He hesitated before pulling her to him. “I’m sorry, Claire. I just know you’re not safe here.”

She stood for a long time in the confines of his arms, trying to shake the feeling that he was right.

Xander was silent as they headed across town. Claire spent the time thinking about the silver-haired man who had inspired such visceral fear. Who was he? And what did he and the others want with the panther blood?

When Xander finally spoke, Claire was surprised it wasn’t about the people living in the house on Dauphine.

“We’ve been seeing each other for over a year now,” he said.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“I think it’s time to get it out in the open, don’t you?”

She looked out the window, trying to come up with something—anything—that wouldn’t hurt him. Something that wouldn’t sound like a repeat of everything she’d said before.

“I’m the last person your parents would want you to date,” she finally said.

“This isn’t about them.” His voice was fierce. “It doesn’t matter what they think.”

She glanced back at him. “Maybe it matters to me.”

He shook his head. “If it does, then your priorities are screwed up.”

“It’s not just your parents,” she said. “Next year, you’ll be at Duke or Emory, and I’ll be . . . I don’t know where, but—”

“Someplace far from here,” he finished. “Probably cut off from the Guild like Crazy Eddie. I know. You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

She was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. She’d known he was upset that she didn’t want to go public with their relationship, but she didn’t realize he was mad enough to compare her to Crazy Eddie, the only person Claire knew of who’d been kicked out of the Guild.

“I just don’t see the point in pissing off your parents if we’re going to be apart in a year anyway.”

“Lots of couples stay together when they go to separate colleges,” he said. “College isn’t forever.”

“You know it’s more complicated than that,” she protested.

“I guess I thought we were worth complicated,” he said softly.

She stared at her hands, folded in her lap, not knowing what to say.

Sasha was waiting outside the yoga studio, her mat slung over one shoulder, when they pulled up to the curb. She had known about Claire and Xander almost from the beginning, and she watched as Xander hopped out to give Claire a quick, distracted kiss good-bye.

“See ya, Sash.” He lifted his hand in a wave as he turned to go.

“Bye,” she called back, turning to Claire. “Seriously, that guy gets hotter every time I see him.”

Claire sighed. “Can we just go?”

Sasha looked surprised. “Sure,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“It’s . . . you know,” Claire said. “Whatever. Let’s just go. I could use some Downward Dog right now.”

“Okay.” Sasha looked at Claire’s bag. “Where’s your mat?”

“I had errands to do. I didn’t want to haul it all over town. I’ll borrow one from Cecile.”

Vinyasa Yoga was on the second floor of an old building on Oak. Claire and Sasha climbed two flights of rickety stairs and entered the serene studio run by Cecile Rivera. They dropped their stuff and took a place on the floor as Cecile assumed her position at the front of the class. Sasha barely had time to tie back her braids before the session started.

For a while, Claire forgot everything about Eugenia Comaneci, the house on Dauphine, and her fight with Xander. Her body warmed and loosened a little more with each pose, her breathing deep and loud the way Cecile had taught her. By the time the hour-long session ended, Claire felt more stable.

She and Sasha were still lying on the floor in Corpse Pose when Sasha looked over at her. “Feel better?”

Claire smiled. “Much.”

“Wanna go to the Cup?”

Claire nodded.

They got up, grabbed their stuff, and headed outside.

It was sticky and humid as they hurried down the street, anxious to get inside the air-conditioned haven of the Muddy Cup. They talked about the ball and the inevitable Guild gossip that would arise after a few hours with everyone in close proximity. A few minutes later, they entered the funky little coffee shop that was home to debates, study sessions, and the occasional heated argument.

After an hour with Cecile, Claire was feeling her lack of lunch. She ordered a lemon blueberry muffin to have with her iced tea, and she and Sasha claimed their favorite table by the window.

“So? What’s up? And don’t say with what,” Sasha said as soon as Claire set her bag down. “Because you know what I’m talking about.”

Claire shook her head. “You know Xander. It’s always the same thing.”

Sasha took a sip of her coffee. Claire wondered how she always managed to drink it hot even when it was ninety degrees outside.

“Sure, I know Xander,” she said. “But I know you, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just . . . Xander’s a big picture kind of guy, and you’re a detail person, that’s all.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Claire broke off a piece of the muffin and put it in her mouth.

Sasha thought about it before answering. “It’s like this: Xander loves you, and he knows you love him, right?”

“I guess . . .”

“Well, that’s big picture stuff. For Xander, nothing else matters. He figures if you have that—the big stuff—the rest will work itself out. But all you see are the details. How will you date if you’re going to college far away? What if you stay together after college? How would you have a life together if he wants it to include the craft and you don’t? Things like that.”

“Yeah, but that stuff matters,” Claire insisted. And then, the smallest shred of doubt. “Doesn’t it?”