Chapter 3

Clay and I head into Mummy Mocha, which is located on the first floor of the CU library. The gold-and-blue decor is all fake crypts and sarcophagi, but I dig it. I've been in here a few times since I arrived at school, and I can tell I'm going to be a regular.

"Dammit, we forgot to look for a container for Spidey. Do you think, if we ask, they'll have a jar of some kind here? Or maybe we just use an empty coffee cup," I say to Clay, as the spider crawls around his fingers.

"What do you need a jar for?" someone asks from behind us.

We turn and see a tall, dark, and handsome man. I've already heard of him—Sethem Adham, crush of all the monster boys on campus. The ones who are into guys, that is.

"I'm giving my new nokk roommate this spider," I say. "But we need something to put him in. And hi, I'm Brandon, and this is Clay."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Seth." He grins. "I have just the thing. Give me five minutes."

I look at Clay and shrug. "Thanks, dude," I say to Seth's departing back.

The line moves fast, and when it's my turn, I order a sarcophacappuccino over ice.

"Do you want anything?" I ask Clay.

"Nah. I'll get blood later."

I pay for the coffee with some of my remaining cash—grateful that the cafeteria will supply me with food for the weekend—and while we're waiting for Seth, we sit at a table and I down my drink. The caffeine hits me, and I feel more energized. "Help me prick my finger," I say.

Clay scrunches his nose. "And I really can't drink your blood?"

"Nope. Gimme." I gesture at his hand, and he sighs and lets me poke one of his sharp nails into the pad of my index finger. Then I smear three drops of blood onto the microscope slide I just bought and cover it with a little square piece of glass.

"Too tempting, Bran," Clay says, looking at the blood longingly and licking his lips.

"Not for you, and not sorry," I say, setting the slide in the bag with the vodka and sucking my finger to stop the bleeding.

Seth returns holding a small jar, which he places in my hands. "Here you go."

It looks like something from ancient Egypt. I furrow my brows. "Where did you get this?"

"I'm a mummy shifter. I have access to lots of jars." He winks.

"Thank you. This is awesome." I hold up the small jar, which has a metal lid that isn't at all modern, and inspect it. "Can I punch a hole in this to let the spider breathe?"

"Do what you wish," Seth says, with a go-ahead gesture.

I pass it over to Clay, who uses one of his fangs to make a hole in the metal. Then we set the spider in the jar, and it seems to be content. At least, it's not shriveling up or anything.

"I appreciate the use of the jar," I say to Seth. "Let me get you a coffee."

"Dude, I work here," Seth replies through a chuckle. "I get plenty of coffee. No need."

"What about me?" Clay asks.

"Do you want coffee?" I ask.

"You know I don't."

"I'll let you pick the movie next time, even though it's not your turn."

He seems mollified.

"See you around?" I say to Seth.

"Sure thing!" But he's already smiling at some guy across the room.

Clay skedaddles to see if he left his key in his room, and I'm whistling as I take the stairs inside Karloff Hall two at a time, paper bag in hand. Although the gothic, gray stone buildings of Creelin U are imposing, inside it's a different world—sleek and modern, with fast internet. This place is the coolest. I've only been here a few weeks, but it's already starting to feel like home.

I open the door to my room and startle a dude who's sitting, shoulders slumped, on the twin bed opposite mine. My new roommate! Adrenaline surges through my body, and I suck in a deep breath.

He lifts his head, and our eyes lock. My heart starts beating so fast I'd be worried if I didn't know I was healthy. My skin is tingling. I'm unable to peel my eyes from him, and he seems to be reacting the same way.

My new roommate's eyes are super dark, with no whites—so dark that I can't tell the shape of his pupils. On top of that, he's wearing heavy black eyeliner. Those fathomless eyes flick over me rapidly as he takes me in—I'm still in my ripped tank top, shorts, and flip-flops. His face is extremely symmetrical. He licks his full lips and then drops his gaze to the floor. He's dressed all in black, and his clothes fit closely to him—not skintight, but definitely not loose. A dark gray hoodie sits beside him on the bare mattress. His body is long and lean, but his form seems fuzzy, like the outline of his body is staticky.

His straight, shoulder-length greenish-black hair falls over his eyes and contrasts with his extremely pale skin. But other than his eyes, he could pass for human. Except for his slightly webbed fingers and that static thing.

I want to erase the distance between us, and I don't know why. I just want to touch him.

"Hi! I'm Brandon Fernandez!" I say cheerfully, bounding over to him and holding out my hand to shake his.

Tilting his head up toward me, he takes my hand. His skin is cool, but not cold like Clay's. Energy pulses from his long, slim fingers to mine, and I shiver in pleasure. I'm very aware of my own heartbeat. I don't want to let his hand go.

His eyes again catch mine, though his dark hair obscures them. "You may call me Steve." Steve's voice is lilting, reminding me of running water. He has a Norwegian accent. I mean, it has to be Norwegian, though I have no basis for comparison. I don't think Steve is a Norwegian name, but what do I know?

Also, he's … fascinating . I keep staring at him, those black eyes drawing me in. But I don't want to be rude, so I force myself to let go of his hand and look away. My fingers immediately throb with the need to touch him again.

A backpack and a few oversized duffel bags sit in the middle of the floor, along with two black cases—one large, one smaller—that must hold musical instruments. Each duffel bag has a small red flag with a blue-and-white cross stitched on it. That must be the flag of Norway. Then my gaze returns to him.

Steve's tongue darts out to lick his lips. He pushes his hair behind his ears. I'm breathless, and I don't know why.

"Nice to meet you. I brought you a present!" I blurt, shoving the paper bag at him. He takes it gingerly, like it's going to explode. I pull out one of the desk chairs, turn it around backward, and straddle it, hanging my arms over the back. I have goose bumps, even though I don't feel cold.

He opens the bag, and his eyebrows squish together. "What … what is this?"

"Three drops of my blood, a black animal, and vodka." I tap the chair back and bounce my knee. "There's a spider in the jar. I couldn't find a cat on short notice."

Steve gives me a look like I have zombies crawling out of my ears. "Um. Okay. Thank you."

"Did I mess up?" I ask, rubbing my bottom lip. My chest tightens. "I was trying to welcome you to the United States. I Boo-gled it. Witchipedia said to give a nokk those three things."

Steve narrows his eyes. "Did the website inform you that I now have to teach you an enchanting form of music?"

Does he not want to do that? Did I accidentally invoke some magic I was unaware of? My throat constricts, but I wave a hand. "I just wanted to give you a present. I don't care about you teaching me anything."

"That is the reason for the tradition," he insists. "People give the nokk these gifts to avoid being drowned and to learn music. Now I have to educate you." He opens his mouth like he's going to say more, but stops. I'm distracted by his bright white, even teeth. Finally, he says, "I insist."

Warmth radiates through my chest. I smile and clap once. "Well, if you insist, Clay and I were talking about going to do karaoke for my birthday. It's coming up. You can go with us! Do it then."

"Oh my gods," Steve mutters. "Teach you the music of the nokk at a karaoke bar? No. That is not done."

"You don't have to teach me nokk music. Just sing something, and it'll count. Can you sing ‘Let it Go'?"

Steve throws his shoulders back. "I most certainly cannot. nokks sing about loneliness and longing for salvation because we are not children of god. We shed tears for our lot in life."

Is he serious? I think he is. "I'm sorry to hear that. ‘Let it Go' makes me cry. Sure, it's a girl-power song, but don't we all have shit that we want to get past? So, what about it?"

His lips press together in a slight grimace, and he shakes his head. I hold my breath. Then, finally, he says, "Yes, I can come to your celebration."

Steve with no last name kind of looks like a movie star. I'm not sure which one. He just has that vibe about him. Handsome. He's handsome, I think.

Something flutters in my stomach. "Yuss! I'll let you know when we have firm plans. Thanks, Steve-o!"

"No," he says. "It is only Steve. Not Steve-o. You can call me Steve."

It's funny the way he says I can call him Steve. Maybe this way of talking is just a nokk thing. "Oooh-kay," I say slowly, chewing on my lip. My shoulders drop.

Seeing my face, which must look hurt, he says, "It is best if you call me Steve."

"It's not your actual name?"

"It is not."

I knew it. "Are you under witness protection?"

He wrinkles his nose. "No. nokks do not readily share our real names. Only someone fully bound to a nokk may know their name."

Bound? I raise my eyebrows. Now I'm really curious. "Are we ever going to be bound so you can tell me it?"

"No."

I want to ask him why not. But I can respect nokk culture. I rub my face and then gesture at the bag. "Do you at least drink vodka?"

"Yes. The nokk drink vodka and coffee."

"Only vodka and coffee?"

"And water, I suppose."

"Fascinating," I say, questions bubbling up inside me. I want to know all about him. "I'm sorry; you're not a test subject or something. I'm just interested in you, that's all. I'm headed to the cafeteria in a little bit. What are your favorite things to eat? Maybe I can bring you a snack."

"No, that is not necessary. I do not eat very much. But when I do, it is fish, mostly, or fruits and vegetables."

"That sounds healthy. I'm mostly on a health kick, too," I say, patting my stomach. "I'm in training for water polo." I point to the bed he's sitting on. "You want this side of the room? It's not too late to switch if you want the other side. I don't have that much stuff."

"No, we do not need to change. This side is acceptable. Thank you." He pushes his dark hair behind his ears, which are small and cute. "I have a question for you," he says, and I nod a few times. He tilts his head. "Are you always like this?"

My stomach sinks. Am I already too much for him?