Page 39 of Hollow
I have to wonder if that boy sleeps here. He must. But then, who is his mother if no families are supposed to be on campus? Who takes care of him? The coven?
“Kat?” I hear Crane’s voice come from the darkness.
I kiss my horse’s nose and then walk toward the lantern that’s coming closer to me.
“Did you see a little boy walk past you?” I ask him.
“No,” he says, looking around. I’ve never seen Professor Crane in the dark before. In the lamplight, the shadows under his cheekbones and brows are pronounced, making him look chiseled from marble. Or like a skull. It gives him this otherworldliness that I don’t think I’ve really grasped before.
This man is a witch.
This man is magic.
And he wants me to create magic with him.
“Who was it?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at him, at the way his hair seems to blend in with the shadows, how dark his eyes look, how they draw me in.
“The stableboy,” I say. In the distance, most of the buildings are dark, with the only lights coming from the dorms and the dining hall, where I’m sure a few people are still lingering over meals. There is no sign of another lantern, like the boy vanished into thin air.
Perhaps he knows shadow magic too, I wonder.
“Stableboy,” Crane muses. “Can’t say I’ve ever noticed him.”
“He’s not staying in the men’s wing of the faculty dorms?”
He shakes his head. “No. Perhaps he goes into town like you do. Or maybe he lives in the cathedral with your aunts.”
It’s only now that I notice that in one of his hands, he’s holding what looks to be a black tie. “What’s that?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You’ll see.” He holds out his arm for me. “Come on, let me walk you to the lake.”
My stomach flips. From nervousness or something else, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s everything. Two witches walking into the dark together.
I put my arm into his, and we walk down the path until we reach the main one that takes us close to the lakeshore. The air has a bite to it, and I’m grateful for my warm dress and gloves. But it’s also peaceful, the sound of our footsteps punctuated only by the occasional hoot of an owl, so soft that it sounds like a dream.
We stand at the foot of the lake, the water as black as anything. It looks bigger here, feels deeper, seems like it stretches on forever. Mist clings close to the surface, but up above, the sky is clear. I suck in my breath as all the stars come into view, as if the clouds just parted like a curtain.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the clear sky here,” I say quietly, my neck craned as I stare up and up and up. All the constellations spread out like someone had thrown diamonds in the air and they got stuck there.
“Neither,” he says. His hand brushes against mine as he lets go of my arm, and for a moment, his finger gently wraps around mine, holding it. “I think you brought out the stars,” he murmurs.
Then his fingers start to move up against the back of my hand, touching the edge of my glove. “Can I take this off?” he asks softly.
I gulp. “My glove?”
“I would like to bestow you with what I’ve seen,” he says. “So that you know what we are looking for.”
My pulse hammers in my throat, and I turn my head slightly to look at him. He has a zealous look in his eyes that I know he gets when teaching. “Will you promise to give but never take?”
His face widens in a slow grin, showing off perfect teeth. Still, in this light and with the sharp cut of his features, the effect makes me shiver. “Only this time,” he says smoothly. “I like to give, but I love being selfish too.”
From the husky tone his voice took on, I get the feeling we aren’t talking about the same thing.
“I don’t want you trying to read my—”
“I won’t,” he implores, his fingers curling over the hem of the glove.
Then, with one quick snap, he pulls it off, leaving my skin bare, the cold making goose bumps along my flesh.