Page 43 of Stealing Embers
“What about this?” I ask, pointing to the large leather-bound book still resting on her desk. We haven’t touched it yet.
“Oh right! Why don’t you go ahead and borrow it? You won’t be able to read it just yet, but it will be useful in time.”
My fingers hover over the cover once again, but I don’t allow them to connect with the symbols.
“What are these?” I ask, pointing at the scrolls embossed in the aged leather.
“The language of the celestials. Angelic writings. This is The Book of Seraph. Essentially, a history of our species. We’ll start studying from this later in the week. Once you have a general understanding of the markings, instinct will kick in and you’ll be able to read it in no time.”
I hesitate a few moments before gingerly grasping the ancient tome. Setting it in my messenger bag, I heft the satchel over my shoulders.
Sable settles in behind her desk and gives me a short wave goodbye as I slip out of her office.
My steps echo off the empty hallway as I walk to the elevator. Classes have already started, which means I’m going to be interrupting the session when I show up late.
Great, more people staring at me.
Hitching my bag farther up on my shoulder, I round a corner. Since I’m looking down—which is my habit in public—I almost run right into another student. We both skid to a halt, just in time.
After taking several quick steps back, I lift my head, prepared to apologize. The words stick in my throat like bugs on flypaper.
The smile on Nova’s face doesn’t match the cold look in her eyes.
“If you looked up, it would help you see where you’re going.”
There’s just enough honey in her voice for someone to confuse her words for good-natured ribbing.
I’m not convinced. I’ve run across numerous “Novas” in my life. Every school has at least one.
I can’t stop myself from giving her a quick once-over. Except for the artfully messy braid banded across the top of her head like a headband, her hair is down in flowing waves the color of burnt autumn leaves. The ends brush the space between her shoulder and elbow. She’s wearing a tight pink tank with the wordprincesswritten in sequins. Her short jean skirt is wholly inappropriate for a fall mountain day, but leaves an expanse of toned leg on display—no doubt exactly what she intended.
Her feet are covered in what have to be at least four-inch, pencil-thin red heels, bringing her already tall stature well above six feet. She’s towering over me in my cute flats. At almost six feet myself, that rarely happens.
Is this a joke? She couldn’t be more cliché right now. Well, maybe if she was in a tiny cheerleading uniform—but a shirt that saysprincess? I can’t make this stuff up.
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” I say flatly while trying to sidestep her. As I move to my left, she leans to her right, blocking my path.
I sigh.
The elevator is just beyond her. I can see the doors. Do we really have to play this game?
“It’s Emberly, right?”
Yep, I guess the games have begun.
“That’s right.” I grasp the strap of my borrowed book bag with both hands and wait for her to get to whatever catty point she’s leading up to.
“I heard about your first day here, when the Forsaken attacked. That must have been pretty upsetting.” Again, her voice carries all the right tones to convey sympathy, but her slightly narrowed eyes tell a different story.
Why does every girl think they need to stake their claim on a guy? Are they really so insecure that they have to figuratively pee a circle around a man to keep him out of the clutches of another woman?
As if that crap even works.
And if thatwaswhat you had to do to keep someone interested, why would you want him to begin with? Is it so hard to wait for a guy who won’t be swayed by a pretty face?
I’m thinking too deeply about this. Time to wrap up this little tête-à-tête.
“Yeah, it was a shock for sure. Glad no one was seriously hurt.”