Chapter 24

Ijumped when my pocket vibrated, Radclyffe's yelling voice echoing down the old stone staircase that led to his lecture theatre. For a second I thought the vibration was nefarious, irrationally scared it would kill me.

"Cat," Byron said, brushing my shoulder. "Your phone."

God. Fuck. "Right," I breathed, quickly taking it from my pocket and pressing answer. "It'll be the mechanic about my car."

I'd told Byron I broke down on the moor road last night but not why, and the less he knew the better.

"Hello?" I asked, the phone pressed to my ear, its screen cold against my hot face. I hated being shouted at, even by professors, and added to my unsettling morning, it was just the crap icing on a shitty cake.

I expected the gruff voice of the mechanic—I presumed all mechanics had gruff voices, apparently—but for a moment there was only silence. And then more silence, and—

Breathing.

A chill skated down my spine. Was it Nightmare? Or—a somehow worse thought—had Alastor Carmichael got hold of my number? It was in my school records, and someone had found out my name was Cactus; Mason Lindgren had known it. My number would be easy to find, too.

Lindgren…When I blinked, I saw his body behind my eyelids, splayed out on the floor of Ford House, his mouth open on a silent scream, eyes empty. I shuddered.

"Hello?" I demanded, angry with fear.

There was only silence, and breathing. Fuck you, asshole.

I wrenched the phone from my ear and ended the call, swallowing hard when I realised Honey's and By's eyes were on me. "Silent call. Probably one of those scam callers," I said, convincing myself. It was a good explanation. I got those all the time.

Byron slung his arm across my shoulders, sensing my unease. "Did I tell you about the back-to-back calls I got the other day?"

I frowned. "No."

"I'm sensing shenanigans," Honey said, stifling a yawn. She paused on the staircase in a square of bright sunlight, lifting her face into the warmth; I caught her arm and tugged her down the stairs after us.

"Morbid shenanigans," Byron confirmed. "I got a call from a very lovely man with a thick accent eager to sell me ten—I repeat, ten—packets of Viagra."

A snort left me, so sudden it surprised even me, and loud enough that it echoed around the stairwell.

"I politely declined him, obviously," Byron said as we passed the first floor landing and kept descending, his sapphire eyes glimmering. "And then ten minutes later I got another call—"

"Why do you answer them?" Honey asked, her eyes narrowed in judgement.

"One part fun, one part malice. This one was a woman very insistent on selling me a funeral plan despite me being nineteen, who was so ruthless I had to put the phone down. But maybe she knew something I didn't. And if you put the two together…"

I chuckled. "You're going down in a blaze of Viagra."

"Death by erections," Byron agreed with a crooked grin. "What a way to go."

Better than whatever Nightmare intended for Honey and I. Maybe I should order a shipment of lady Viagra…

"I bet I could climb that," Honey said suddenly, eyeing the three-storey wall ahead of us. The old stones were uneven, some jutting out further than others, but they were hardly safe handholds, and the way was interrupted by several austere paintings of what must have been the Ford family.

"No," Byron warned, and grabbed her wrist. If he thought Honey was acting strange, he never voiced it. "No suicidal climbing trips today, thank you very—"

He stopped abruptly when we reached the bottom of the staircase and a dark shadow stepped into our path—all I saw at first was a black leather jacket that seemed to swallow all light, then jeans that followed the sleek lines of his thighs, biker boots Dad would have called skull crushers, and a deep olive face both soft and sharp, illuminated by blazing eyes the exact colour of latte.

Tor was here. In Ford. In Milton Hall. In front of Honey and Byron.

I was malfunctioning.

"Can we help you?" Honey asked rudely, eyeing him down her nose in a way that was nothing like her friendly self and everything like cats meeting a new person for the first time.

"Nope," Tor replied, quite mildly. He lifted an iced coffee cup and held it out to me and I swore my heart melted into a pile of sap. "Here's the coffee you wanted last night. I noticed you left it in your car when it broke down."

I blinked, a smile forming. "How did you even find me?" Ford was huge… Had he used death god magic to locate me?

"Oh, I memorised your schedule," he said casually. "Have fun in your Circulation and Breathing lecture this afternoon."

He ducked closer while I was disarmed and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then glanced at Honey and Byron who'd been struck both still and silent. Miracle of miracles.

"Goodbye, Cat's friends. Goodbye, my cute little succulent."

"Goodbye, Tor," I laughed, completely stunned, utterly flushed, and probably beet-red. "Thank you for the coffee."

I glanced down at the clear cup, my heart stuttering when I saw the message he'd written there: you are so beautiful it's like a knife to the heart. When I lifted my head, he'd slipped away again.

"Marry him," Honey said suddenly and seriously, grasping my arm. "He's hot, he's sweet, he's got a unique term of endearment for you. What else do you need?"

"A massive cock that knows what it's doing?" Byron suggested, making me laugh. By was the grumpiest and quietest of us, and by far the dirtiest. I bet he'd know all those kinks I listed to Honey.

Honey pointed at him like he had a point, then pinned me with a bright blue stare. "As soon as you see his cock, just propose on the spot, Cat."

I shook my head, amused and—happy. "I'll take it under advisement."

"You do that." She hugged me suddenly, brushing her cheek against my shoulder. "I'm in the Ingrid Morris Building next, but I'll see you later?"

"Meet in the library?" I suggested.

She headbutted my neck in response, which could have meant anything, grabbed Byron into a fierce hug, and then slinked out the door with a grace she hadn't possessed last week.

"The crazy lady's right," Byron said with a laugh, shaking his dark head. "Based on the coffee and the nickname, that guy's a keeper. But be careful, alright? There are some psychos out there, and he did memorise your schedule. That's red flag number one."

"I know," I assured him, squeezing his arm but not quite able to push off the warmth of Tor bringing me coffee. I'd worry about the stalking later. "I'll be careful. And you be careful with—" I clicked my fingers. I'd already forgotten his name.

"Gustin," Byron supplied.

"Yeah, that guy. You be careful, too."

"I will." He backed away a step. "See you later?"

"Deserter," I teased. "Everyone's leaving me."

"You'll live," he teased right back, and tugged his collar up before he went outside, leaving me alone.

Right now, I hated being alone.