My hand brushed against something warm under my pillow when I curled up in bed.
Right. Mom’s crystal. I’d spent the last few years of my life intentionally keeping my dreams in check. It had been working. For a time. But as I lay there in the dark, watching shadows of birds and branches flit past the window, memories of last night’s dream inked into consciousness. My chest constricted at the sudden image of a raven penetrating my ribs, Munin’s dead white eyes piercing my vision as Brad watched and laughed.
How long had it been since Munin had invaded my dreams? Rather, how long had it been since I remembered? If he was getting vocal again. . . .
“No,” I whispered into the darkness. “I’m not going back.”
I closed my eyes and curled into my comforter, clutched the warm stone tight in my fist. And while sleep slowly washed in, I prayed the raven and the ghost of my ex would stay far, far away.
? ? ?
The weekend was the usual Islington fare: lots of homework, socializing in brief spurts, and then panicking about the work you hadn’t gotten done and going back to study. I seriously thought I was going to have a complex by the time I left this place; if I wasn’t busy working on something, I was fighting off stomach ulcers from worrying I’d forgotten a Very Important Project. About the only perk to this high-level stress and creative output was the fact that I didn’t have to interact with Chris. In fact, after the concert, I’d been doing my best to give him the cold shoulder. I felt bad about it, sure. He was a sweet guy and he deserved someone great. The trouble was, I couldn’t be that “someone great,” and the sooner he realized it the happier he’d be. Thus, I’d kept my headphones on while working in the painting studio, even when he glanced over with a look that clearly said he wanted to talk. I preferred not to think of it as rude, but as focused. And, hell, if I’m being honest, thoughtful. He didn’t want to get to know me. It would be better if he went for someone who was actually sweet and charming and emotionally available. Like Jane. He and Jane would be a very cute couple.
Long story short, by the time Monday night rolled around, Ethan and I needed out. And seeing as there weren’t too many places to go around here—least of all on a Monday—we used our usual escape tactic. It was maybe seven, and we were sitting in the back corner of T’Chai Nanni surrounded by hipsters discussing Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, or whatever hipsters discussed. Ethan and I were too deep into our work to really notice. Even with the tea—a simple peppermint this time—my stomach was in knots, and I couldn’t tell if it was the stress of the work or the stress of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even though my dreams were blank, I still had a gnawing feeling that shit was about to get real. Too many memories of Brad drifting to the surface. Too many black birds waiting for me in the snow. I told myself over and over it was my tired, overactive imagination, that I was being ridiculous. So far, even drowning in work, I was unable to really convince myself of it.
I was just about to put academic work away to focus on sketches for my upcoming silversmithing project—anything to do with chains—when Ethan’s phone buzzed on the table. He gave it a cursory glance and let it ring out.
That was the unspoken rule of fishing: Phones only told the time. Nothing more.
I don’t know why it reminded me of the raven, as though the vibration on the table mirrored the guttural call that had been following me every time I left the dorm. My stomach clenched into a clove hitch. Never ignore an omen. Never ignore an omen. I sketched wedding rings joined by a thick iron chain. Work was the answer. It was always the answer.
When his phone rang again, I looked from the phone to Ethan, who was contorted back on the sofa with an arm behind his leg and his worn copy of Great Expectations held in one hand.
“You should probably answer that,” I said. I don’t know why I said it; normally I’d recommend he turn it off. But I didn’t think my stomach could take any more nervous twinges.
“I don’t want to be rude.”
I didn’t say anything, just gave him a look. He dog-eared his page and picked up the phone.
“Hey babe,” he said. “What’s up?”
Ethan’s brow furrowed. His next response was slow.
“Are you serious?”
My phone started to ring then, and I snatched it up without waiting for the second buzz. Unknown number, but Michigan area code.
“Hello?”
“Kaira?” The voice on the other end was familiar.
“Yeah.”
“This is Maria, your RA. Where are you right now?”
I told her. Ethan was still on the phone with Oliver, and he looked even worse. I heard him say, “Who?”
“We need you to come back to campus now. Please. Both of you.”
“What? What’s going on?”
A long silence.