There was a beat of loaded silence as my words soaked into the walls, as if inking themselves into my room, settling as a universal truth.

“I better go see Ms. Hawthorne about my room.” Pope jerked his thumb behind his shoulder.

Was he as nervous about Vaughn as I was?

“Sure. Duh.” I rolled my eyes with a smile. “Well, good to see you. Maybe we can grab a bite downtown after you’re done settling? Kebab and Irn-Bru?”

It had been a tradition for us in prep school.

Each weekend, Pope and I would march an hour into the nearest town to get kebab and chips in vinegar from a little tourist shack by the Thames. We’d never determined whether the food was divine because we were used to the organic, sugar-free cafeteria food at Carlisle Prep, or because the hour journey each way in the rain, snow, or baking heat unclogged our appetite and led us to devour the food when we got there.

“Ah, the feast of warriors and nectar of gods.” He offered a theatrical bow on his way out, tipping an imaginary hat. “Your wish is my command, milady.”

“Nerd.” I mocked.

“Drusilla,” he teased, his smile radiating just enough heat to make my childish room seem more bearable.

After Pope left, I sank back to my chair in front of the drafting table and shook my head on a chuckle as I bent down to pick up the pliers. When I glanced at them, I realized my thumb was still bleeding. Too lazy to make the trip across the castle to ask our secretary, Ms. Hawthorne, for the first aid kit for just a Band-Aid, I sucked the remainder of the blood into my mouth.

I threw my head back, closing my eyes.

His blood.

Why was I so thirsty for his blood? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? Despite what Arabella had said, I wasn’t a vampire. I wasn’t into blood play. At least, I didn’t think I was. Yet there was something about Vaughn Spencer I wanted to break.

I had a fierce need to peel back his flesh and see what was underneath. Unveil all his secrets.

I dropped my eyes shut, shook my head, and smeared my blood across the crown of thorns.

There is so much beauty in the darkness. It’s just harder to find.

As Pope and I spent time together over the next week, I got a lot better at pushing Vaughn out of my thoughts. He barely occupied my mind anymore. I gained confidence with each passing day, convincing myself I’d be able to assist him with his mysterious piece and still work on mine.

I’d survive his cruel words, his annoying tendency to burst into my life with garbage and blood and taunts. And for all I cared, he could parade his blow job partners around all day long. The vast majority of students at Carlisle Prep weren’t of legal age yet, and I doubted he was dumb enough to try any funny business with them.

Pope and I worked all day from dawn till sunset—he on his piece and me on mine—eating biscuits and drinking sweetened tea during lunch breaks. Pope worked on a magnificent, floor-to-ceiling painting on canvas. He was attempting to paint a futuristic, post-apocalypse London—dark, edgy, and extra gray. For now, he was setting the general tones and coloring on the canvas. For this moment in time, the castle felt like our playground, as it was completely empty, aside from a handful of staff and my father, who was holed up at his office. At dinnertime, Raff and I walked to the nearest town for fish and chips and came back full, satisfied, and slightly drunk on ice-cold lager. Poppy still sent me sweets, and sometimes Pope and I dropped chocolate buttons into our morning coffees and devoured them before we started the day.

On Friday, summer session students began to trickle into the castle. Saturday, they were going to pour through the hallways in a rush of squeaks and giggles, getting ready for classes on Monday. Raff and I avoided the entire commotion by borrowing Papa’s boat and sailing it on the Thames all weekend while getting drunk on cheap wine. The sun shone so bright, its rays sank past my skin. My freckles came out, and my hair became golden and softer. The little crinkles beside my eyes reappeared, too, which meant I was finally smiling again.

On Sunday, we anchored the boat by a little hill and had a picnic. Pope was juggling fruit. “Catch!” he’d command when I least expected it, throwing grapes and apricots into my mouth. He was always in a good mood, goofy and sweet-tempered—so different from the tortured, scowling artists I’d grown up around. Only I knew better than to think there wasn’t darkness hiding behind his ultra-bright smile.

“How’s your sister doing?” he asked, out of nowhere, after we’d both decided to dip our feet into the freezing water.

I had absolutely no doubt Raff had zero interest in Poppy. Growing up with him, I knew his style. Neither I nor Poppy were it. He liked the sweet but psycho ones. Emphasis on the latter. Every girl he’d dated at Carlisle Prep had ended up dropping out due to poor grades, suspended, or expelled. Whether drug use, body dysmorphia, or cutting and severe depression, they always had a reason to disappear.

Normal bored him to death, and I knew even my slightly Goth self was too sweet for more than friendship. Probably the extra-strength All Saints version—with the dyed hair and extra-weird clothes—would’ve still been too vanilla. To him, Poppy was a prudish angel.

“She’s fine. She quite liked California,” I said carefully, thinking about her time before the breakup with Knight. “But I think she’s happy to be back in the UK.”

“Poppy fits right in with the California girls.” Raff popped a grape into his mouth.

I shrugged off his comment.

“And Vaughn Spencer? What terms are the two of you on right now?”

I wanted to laugh, because who knew? Last I saw him, he’d saved me from a fire before promising to give me hell. No one knew what Vaughn was thinking, including, I suspected, Vaughn himself. God knew I’d stopped trying to figure him out.

“Doesn’t matter.” I drew circles in the water with the tip of my toe. “I want to stay here. I want to work with Harry, Papa, and Alma. With you. If that means tolerating the bastard for six months, so be it. He’s not the king of the school anymore. And if he tries to hurt me, I’ll make sure he stands corrected.”

Pope grinned.

“What?” I frowned.

“Bastard toughened you up,” he observed, standing up and shaking his wet feet in my face.

I tried to punch his thigh, but he took the hand I sent his way and pulled me up. I didn’t want to go back to Carlisle. The hallways were going to be jammed with students, the toilets forever clogged, and I’d have to go back to wearing flip-flops to the shower to avoid fungus. I was going to miss the quiet and seclusion of having Papa and Rafferty to myself.

“I toughened myself up. The so-called bastard had nothing to do with it,” I hissed.

“So feisty for a Virgo,” Raff tooted, reminding me he was little brother to two horoscope-enthusiasts. “Which reminds me, your birthday is coming up. Anything special I can give you?”

I had something in mind, but now wasn’t the time to ask for it. The idea was so crazy, I knew he’d be into it. Although, it wasn’t the sort of thing one usually asks from a childhood mate. Then again, Raff and I were both quite abnormal, and he never shied away from bizarre things.

“Yes, actually, but you’ll have to keep your mind open.”

“My mind is nothing but open. An artist with a closed mind is like a limbless dancer.” He winked.