9

M iles got to school early the next morning, too antsy to wait around. He had no idea if Gabriel had been serious about staying enrolled now that he'd gotten what he'd come for, but Miles would find out soon.

Freezing hands tucked in his jacket pockets, Miles crossed the parking lot and made his way to the grassy courtyard area around the front of the school. It was chilly, but on days where rain hovered heartbeats away, it was usually less crowded than the lunchroom.

Rounding the corner, he found Gabriel sitting at Miles's usual table. He was alone, the collar of his charcoal gray peacoat turned up against the brisk autumn wind, another book lying flat on the table in front of him.

Relief lurched in Miles, apprehension nipping at its heels. If Gabriel was waiting for him, cornering him here before school, it couldn't be for anything good.

Before he could chicken out, Miles strode over and sat down next to him.

Gabriel squinted at him. "Are you stalking me?"

"Funny."

"Is it?"

Miles tapped his seat. "This is my table. I sit here almost every morning."

Gabriel looked appalled. "Well, if I'd known that, I wouldn't have sat here."

Coincidence, then? Yeah, as if.

Okay, universe, Miles could take a hint. Deciding to help Gabriel wasn't enough—the forces at work wanted them to trip over each other every time they turned around.

Miles couldn't shake the feeling he was being laughed at.

He resisted the urge to give the sky the finger, focusing on Gabriel instead. He hadn't stormed off or punched Miles in the nose, so that had to be a good sign.

"Since we're both here, can we talk?" he asked.

An unenthusiastic sigh. "I suppose."

"I wanted to say sorry about yesterday." It was hard to push the words out, but Miles needed to get them off his chest before they ate him alive. "That this is happening to you, and that you heard it from me. I know you don't believe me, but I wouldn't lie about this."

"I know."

Miles blinked in surprise. It wasn't an apology, but it danced dangerously close to one. Probably as close as he would get.

It might have been wishful thinking, but he could've sworn the air shifted between them, a tingle across his skin. But when Gabriel glanced up, his eyes the same shade as the stormy clouds gathering, they were full of familiar coolness.

"Okay, uh, I'm glad we're on the same page, then," Miles said. He shifted, nearly knocking their knees together under the table. "Because I also wanted to tell you I've decided I'm going to try and figure out what my premonitions mean. And stop them."

"Stop them?" Gabriel repeated incredulously.

It'd be nice if just one person would believe in Miles. "Yep."

"Why?"

What sort of a question was that?

"Because… if I don't, you're going to die. I should probably try to do something about it."

"How is that your problem?"

More people gathered in the courtyard as they waited for the bell to ring. Miles detected multiple probing stares at them—the potential of juicy Hawthorne gossip must be worth the risk of getting rained on.

"Well," Miles said slowly, "aside from the moral dilemma—which I have a feeling you won't quite connect with—how about because I can't handle having the weight of someone's life on my shoulders, and I'd really like to figure it out before it pushes me over the edge?"

That got through to Gabriel. He nodded, but said, "I didn't ask for help."

"I know."

"And I don't want it."

It was a good thing Miles knew better than to expect any thanks. "Too bad. You can't do anything to stop me. Besides, do you really want to deal with this alone?"

He couldn't imagine how he'd react if he found out he was going to die soon, but he had people he'd turn to without hesitation. Facing it alone was unthinkable.

"That's how I always do things." Gabriel's answer wasn't snide or sarcastic; he wasn't mocking Miles. He said it with quiet certainty, an unchangeable fact.

They weren't friends because they were having a single semi-civil conversation, but Gabriel's response was so… sad. A pang of sympathy went through Miles.

"Like I said," he told him lightly, "too bad. So, tell me everything you know about why our families hate each other."

This clearly caught Gabriel off guard. "Why?"

"It's important."

His gaze narrowed in suspicion. "I don't know the exact reason or event that started it," he admitted stiffly. "I've never thought to ask. Mentioning your family to my mother isn't usually a good idea."

That, Miles could relate to. He was still disappointed to hit another dead end.

"Why do you ask?" Gabriel questioned.

"I've been trying to figure out why I'm the one seeing these premonitions. I mean, why not an actual seer, someone who makes sense?" Miles shivered, the glacial metal seat a block of ice beneath him, the wind biting through his jean jacket. It was time to upgrade to something waterproof and insulated, but he was attached—his mom had splurged and bought this one for him last Christmas after his growth spurt, and he wore it daily. "There has to be a reason it's me, and all I can think that's connecting us is the feud." He didn't dare mention the picture he'd found of his dad and Felicity. It could all be a waste of time and the why didn't even matter. "Plus," he added quickly, "I figured it couldn't hurt to know as much as I can. Cover all my bases."

He braced himself, expecting Gabriel to spit out a scathing remark, but instead, he glanced down to his book.

It wasn't the same book he'd been reading yesterday, this one wider and flatter. On the far page, a black-and-white picture was taped in of a woman in a dress and knee-length coat with thick fur around the collar. Her mouth was thin and unsmiling, vaguely familiar. She was standing in front of a marble building with pillars and double doors that looked like—

"Is that a mausoleum?" Miles asked. He'd seen enough of them at the Thistle Cemetery.

Gabriel put his arm over the book. "Has anyone ever told you you're nosy?"

"And you're evasive." And ungrateful. Prickly. Difficult. The list went on and on.

Gabriel glowered at Miles, the breeze ruffling his hair, a stray lock brushing against his forehead. In a nearby group, people burst into giggles as a milk carton went flying, exploding on the school steps.

"Does it have to do with my vision?" Miles asked.

Gabriel looked annoyed enough that Miles knew he must've gotten it in one. He hefted his backpack into his lap and pulled out his sketchbook. Waving it enticingly, he said, "I'll share if you do."

He knew he had him when Gabriel's scowl deepened. "Fine," he bit out, shifting his arm. "If you must know, it's my family's mausoleum. I thought it would be smart to figure out where your vision might take place."

Ah, the mausoleum made sense. Old—check. Musty—check. Stone—check.

It was gratifying. Some part of Gabriel must believe Miles, and that the future could be changed, his death prevented, or he wouldn't be bothering with his own research. It was nice to not be alone in that.

"So," Miles nodded at the open book and picture facing out, "is that it, then?"

"Undecided. I'm still working through everything."

"What if it is?" Excitement bubbled up in Miles. "Can you just avoid it? Would that work?"

"I don't know."

Of course he didn't. It wasn't like he had experience of preventing his own death.

"Well, it's a good place to start. And this might help." He flipped through his sketchbook, passing it to Gabriel. "I saw it on the wall of the room."

The page was covered in the tree he'd seen—a thick trunk with twisted branches mirrored by roots underneath, and a pointed star above. When he'd tried and failed to sleep last night, he found himself drawing instead.

Gabriel's jaw clenched.

"What? Do you recognize it?"

Wordlessly, he turned his book towards Miles, pointing at the picture. Carved above the double doors of the mausoleum was the same tree. "It's my family crest."

Yikes. On the bright side, that narrowed things down—there could only be so many musty stone buildings with the Hawthorne crest.

"Then it's not the mausoleum," Gabriel muttered. He flipped to the next page where there were more old photographs, these showing the interior. The mausoleum had stacked vaults along the walls, plaques mounted above each handle. A stained-glass window on the far wall illuminated the space, its color lost to the black-and-white photograph. "The crest isn't inside. And what color were the walls you saw?"

"Gray."

"This is white marble." Gabriel's fingers drummed against the tabletop, making it vibrate. Someone had doodled flowers on it with black marker. "But I've never seen the crest anywhere else, aside from on gravestones and family heirlooms."

"It must be a place you've never been. Does your family have another property?"

"No, just the one."

"A second mausoleum? Secret dungeon?"

Gabriel's mouth twitched at the corner. "No. No hidden passageways, either."

"They wouldn't be very hidden if you knew about them, would they?" Miles pointed out. "Kinda defeats the purpose."

Gabriel let out a huff that wasn't quite a laugh, caught between exasperation and amusement. It was a strange victory.

"It does bring up the question of how much of the vision we should take as fact," he said thoughtfully. "Some are safe to take at face value, but others could be context clues to a bigger picture. This place you saw might not even exist. It could simply be a stage for your vision and mean something else entirely."

Miles wasn't awake enough to completely follow that. "I feel like I'm in English, trying to analyze the author's use of blue curtains. Can't the curtains be blue because it's a nice color?"

Surprisingly, Gabriel looked pleased. "A fair comparison. But with premonitions, the vision is the author. It's our job to decipher what it's trying to tell us." He paused. "Or the room could be just a room."

Great. Because things weren't complicated enough already.

"You know a lot about premonitions," Miles commented, after peeking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. The only person close enough was watching an obnoxiously loud video about linear motion on their phone. They must have a physics test today, too.

"I'd be a poor excuse for a seer if I didn't."

"Oh." He wasn't sure why he was surprised Gabriel offered up that information so freely. But he was relieved—there was nothing unnatural about being a seer. "You haven't seen anything about this? About what happens to you?"

"No. And, before you ask, I have no way of controlling what I see. Things come to me in my dreams with no warning." He made a considering noise low in his throat. "I'm not even sure if I could see a death premonition of myself."

Miles didn't know, either. "Maybe you can't have premonitions about yourself at all."

"I can." Gabriel sounded like he'd lost his footing. "I mean, I have. Seen myself before."

There was another peculiar change in the atmosphere between them. Gabriel shifted in his seat, the tips of his ears turning red from the morning chill.

"Who knew this was going to be so hard to figure out?" Miles grumbled, looking away. "It would be nice if my vision had laid it all out, you know? Nice and clear."

"We could…" Gabriel paused, as if caught off guard by his own uncertainty. "We could try bringing on another vision. Perhaps you'll see something else, something more useful. It seems… illogical not to try."

He was right. Miles felt idiotic for not suggesting it himself. But he was nervous, and not just because his palms were sweaty.

He was afraid of what he might see this time.

It was difficult to offer his hand, to place it face up on the seat between them, out of sight of anyone else. An uncomfortable sense of vulnerability itched at the nape of Miles's neck, and he resisted the urge to pull away.

"If I fall over again, act like I passed out." The last vision had knocked him to the ground, so no telling how hard this one would hit. "If I'm lucky, I'll get out of my physics test."

Gabriel faltered, fingers flexing against the fabric of his pants. Maybe he had to work himself up to touching Miles. Maybe he was afraid, too.

When he did reach out, fingertips settling against Miles's palm, nothing happened.

Gabriel's eyebrows knitted together in a frown. He flattened his hand against Miles's. The tip of Miles's middle finger was against the inner skin of Gabriel's wrist, and he could feel his pulse, faint but steady.

It was all he could feel—no vision to drag him under or toss him on his ass.

"I guess not," Gabriel said, pulling away. "Strange."

And disappointing. Miles had been apprehensive, but he'd take any lead they could get.

"Well, I guess reading it is, then." He held out his hand for Gabriel's book and tried not to grimace—research wasn't a strength of his. He was much more a SparkNotes-the-night-before kind of guy. "Pass it over, I'll take a look before the bell rings. I'll have an easier time recognizing the place I saw if it's in here."

The miracle of all miracles happened: instead of arguing, Gabriel reached into his bag and pulled out another book. "This is everything I could find in our personal library from around the time the estate was being built."

"I'll start this one?" Miles offered. "You can finish yours."

Gabriel sized him up, a whole slew of potential insults rising in the air between them— do you even know how to read, don't get your Warren germs on my precious books, these are fancy family heirlooms —and hesitated.

But after a pause, he only shrugged. "Fine."

Miles opened the first book, holding it up to hide his grin.