Kissing Midnight (3 page)

Delia looks a little jealous, even though she shouldn’t. I’m sure a guy like this flirts with everyone, and I’m not in a place to be interested.

“I speak fluent British,” Delia says quickly.

“Deals,” I smile, “They speak English in—”

“I know, but they use different words! Like
bloody hell
and
bangers and mash
and
snogging
. I was in My Fair Lady my freshman year of high school and everyone said my accent was spot on. Absolutely smashing.”

Dev doesn’t respond. His mind seems to have wandered.

“So.” Delia changes the subject. “You’re new here?”

Obviously he is. We would have noticed him before if he weren’t. Fitzgarren is a small college—only about two thousand students—and although Delia and I have only been here a few months, it feels like a lifetime. I’ve already come to recognize most of the students at a glance.

“Just transferred. Needed more of a challenge. I’ll be starting after the break, but I thought I’d get here early and settle in.”

“I thought you must be new.” Delia twists one pigtail around her finger the way she always does when she’s flirting. “I knew I would have remembered you.”

“What major?” I ask. Geek question, but so what?

Dev’s brow furrows. “I haven’t declared. We’ll see how my credits transfer. Ordinarily I’d say history is my best subject, but right now I’m trying to concentrate on the future.” He smiles, but there’s a sadness behind it and I get the feeling there’s a story there. For a second I feel a connection, even though I know that whatever he’s trying to leave behind isn’t anything like what I’m running from. It can’t be.

Still, I feel for him. “This year’s almost over,” I say quietly.

“Right!” Delia snaps back to the subject at hand. “The ball! We were just working on the theme. It’s a masquerade, of course. Costumes, dancing, fireworks at midnight…” She slides a yellow save-the-date flier out of her notebook and passes it to him. “What made you want to volunteer?”

He looks the flier over. “I told them at the registrar’s that I needed something to do over break, and the woman there suggested it, and since New Year’s is my favorite holiday…”

I think of what he said, about focusing on the future. “Mine, too,” I say. “A chance to start over.”

There’s something strange in the way he smiles at me, like he’s in on a joke I’m not privy to. “My feelings exactly.”

“Well, the ball is totally pricey,” Delia says, “so you’re smart to volunteer. That way you can get in for free.”

Dev waves the thought away with my pen, like the money thing doesn’t matter. “I’m sure it’s for a good cause. I just wanted to help out so I can, you know, meet people.”

Delia gives me a little smile. “Well, we’re happy to be met. And we could use the help because we’re way behind and we’ve still got a crapload to do. We have to go to the theatre warehouse for decorations and costumes, send out the theme announcements…”

“Sure.” Dev slides the planning folder from in front of Delia and rifles through the pages: catering contracts, planning committee schedules, spreadsheets of alumni to invite. He pauses on a past year’s flier, a black-and-white image of a man in a tux and a woman in a gown, standing in front of a clock about to strike midnight.

“What?” I say. He looks so serious.

“Nothing.” He slips the flier back into the stack. “It just reminds me of… Cinderella.”

“It’s so weird you should say that!” Delia’s face lights up. “I was just telling Saintly we should do a fairy tale theme this year!”

“Wait,” I say, “I thought
I
was telling
you
…”

“Like, A Fairy Tale Romance,” Delia says quickly, “Or Once Upon A Time?”

“Happily Ever After?” Dev suggests, and he smiles at me, “Since it’s a new start, like you said?”

“And an ending, at the same time.” I nod. “I like it.”

“Well,” he glances out the window at the clock tower. “I actually have to go. I said I’d pick up my new dorm key from the RA. But here.” He flips the flier over and uses my pen to scribble his number on the back. He slides it to Delia. “If you need help with picking up those props or whatever, I have a car.” He hands her the flier. “Nice chatting with you, Delia. Saintly.” He smiles in my direction, and I feel my face go hot again. God, how embarrassing.
He’s just a guy
, I tell myself.

Dev turns and heads for the door.

“Bye!” Delia calls after him. She’s holding the flier to her chest like she’s afraid someone’s going to steal it. The second he’s out the door, she turns to me, her eyes huge. “Oh my God! Can you believe he goes here now? How weird to transfer in the middle of the year.”

I’m watching Dev go. Through the window I see him cross the quad, moving against the current of the students headed home. “It seemed like something wasn’t right at his last school. Like he was trying to leave something behind.”

Delia nods. “Hurting puppy for sure. And I know just the girl to help him pick up the pieces.” She smiles slyly. “And I have so many ideas for the ball! We could have a pumpkin coach! Take photos of guests on thrones! Glass slippers full of flowers at every table!”

“Wait,” I say, “I thought you didn’t like the fairy tale idea.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect.” I watch her add Dev’s number to her phone, like she’s adding him to her to-do list. “What did he say his last name was?”

“Renard.” It strikes me as familiar, but I can’t place why.

Not until a few hours later, when the word comes up on my French exam.
Renard
. Fox.

I think of Dev’s red-blond hair. The fierce intelligence in his eyes. The sly humor in his smile.

Yes
, I think,
It fits him
.

Dev

As soon as I’m out of sight of the student union, the demon joins me, shape-shifting smoothly from her sleek black cat form to her equally sleek human form and falling into step beside me. I nod at her. “Anathema.”

“You know I prefer Antoinette.”

“I’ll call you by your real name, thanks.” Names have power, especially with demons. “So you were watching, right? What did you think?”

“You want the blonde, right?” She tosses her own long, golden curls over her shoulder and flashes me a charming smile. “Gentlemen prefer blondes, do they not?”

“I don’t consider myself a gentleman, An.” I grin back at her. “And no. I want the other one.”

Her blue eyes widen in shock. “The little Latina girl? Why? The other was ready to climb into your lap.”

“Sure,” I say, “And if I was looking for sex then I’d fuck her on the spot. But I’m not just looking for sex, am I? I need a girl who’ll fall in love with me, right? What I’m looking for is love.”

“And you think little—what’s her name?”

“Mariana. Saintly.”

“Saintly.” She can’t resist smirking at the nickname. “You think she’ll fall in love with you? No offense, Deveraux, but the girl seemed guarded. Closed. Not at all the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. Her scent was…” Anathema’s nostrils flare at the memory, “Virginal. Why do you want her?”

I don’t answer. Instead I walk a little faster, the December chill nipping at my face. The truth is, I can’t quite put it into words. I see what An is saying, of course, but something about this girl draws me, something I can’t quite place. I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, “I just do.”

Anathema’s red-painted lips frown. She grabs hold of the sleeve of my jacket and tugs me to as stop. “Dev,” she lowers her voice, glancing around to make sure no one can hear, “When you called and told me what happened to the other girl, I thought,
yes, it will be close, but Dev knows what he’s doing. He’ll be all right
. But now…” Her perfectly arched brows crease with concern, “Now is not the time for challenges, Deveraux. Now is the time to play it safe,
n’est pas
? You remind me of when we were young and we would stand on the train tracks and jump off just before the train hit us. Fun, perhaps, on another day, but now is not the time to take risks.”

I tug my arm gently loose of her grip. “I know what the risks are.” And I know that, unlike a speeding train, choosing the wrong girl could actually kill me.

“Then why not the blonde?” she pouts her blood red lips, “Why not one of the other girls on campus—or in the world, for that matter? Dev, why are you even here?”

I give her a flirtatious smile. “I thought you were happy to see me.”

Her expression softens, as I knew it would. “Yes, of course. I simply mean you seldom hit the same place twice.”

I reach up and run my hand through my hair, sending down a flurry of snow. “It’s been over a century since I’ve been here, so it’s safe to say my trail has grown cold. It’s not like anyone will remember me. I told you, I want familiar hunting grounds, a home court advantage. Besides,” I smile, “I wanted to be close to you. I may need the restaurant as a setting. Can’t I ask an old friend for help?”

She sighs, exasperated. “I’m
trying
to help you, Deveraux! I’m giving you good advice. Choose an easy girl!”

I’m suddenly tired of this. I drop the smile. “And I’m trying to tell you that you have to let me work.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” I say. “Stay out from under my feet.” I knew it might be a risk, involving An. Ironic though it may be, she has always been jealous of my “midnight girls,” as we call them, my special New Year’s dates. She’s always had a thing for me, in spite of the fact that she knows where we stand: Demons like her are fun in the off-season but no use to me when it counts, and I can’t let her jealousy cloud my vision.

“Anathema, how many years have you known me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Too many to count.”

“And in all that time, have I ever judged wrong?”

“No,” she admits slowly, “you haven’t.”

“And in the centuries before we met? Did I ever choose the wrong girl?”

“No, but—”

“No. Because if I had, I wouldn’t be here, would I? Where would I be?”

She lowers her gaze to the frozen ground. “Dead.”

“Yes, dead, with my immortal soul in Hell. But I’m not in Hell, am I? I’m in New Hampshire. And that’s where I’m going to be when the sun rises on New Year’s Day. Why? Because I’m not stupid, Anathema. Because I’m not a total ass.”

“Of course not.” She lowers her gaze and forces an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Deveraux. Of course you know what you’re doing.”

I wait a beat before I let the smile come back to my lips. “Thank you for your confidence.” I turn and keep walking toward the dorms that will be my home for the next few weeks.

An glances over her shoulder to make sure no one’s watching. Then she flicks anxiously through each of her forms, the big black wolf and the raven and the snake flashing past before she settles again on the cat. “I’m a hunting animal, too,” she says, “I understand the need to trust your instincts.”

“Exactly.” My gut is all I have to go on, right? Even if I can’t explain quite what it is that draws me to that particular girl. Even if I can’t explain exactly what it is about her that makes her stand out.

I shake off An’s concerns. I can’t let her nerves infect me. I have to stay on my game, and it doesn’t pay to over think.

I’ve never been wrong before, and I don’t intend to start now.

Jesse

Did that girl just actually make eye contact with me? I’m staring at her as if
I’m
the one who has seen a ghost. Man, she’s beautiful: petite, with warm brown skin and long black hair and big, deep-brown eyes.

Eyes that looked right at me. Eyes that actually saw me.

Just the thought is enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and my palms sweat. It happened, right? I replay the moment in my mind: She looked up and noticed me and our eyes met and she held my gaze for a full heartbeat before her friend interrupted us and she turned her attention to the guy.

Is he her boyfriend, I wonder?

Not that it matters.

Okay, Jesse, get a grip
. She might not have seen me. Maybe she just happened to look where I was. Maybe I imagined the way our eyes met. Maybe I’m finally going nuts after all this time.

Or maybe…

I try for the zillionth time to brush my bangs out of my eyes so I can see her better—and, I remind myself, so I look okay when
she
sees
me
. I mean
if
she sees me. The thought makes me so nervous, I actually look down at what I’m wearing to make sure I look okay, which is ridiculous because it’s not like what I’m wearing ever changes. It’s the same old sneakers, the same worn jeans, the same red-and white striped T-shirt under the same denim jacket with the pins I used to like before I got sick of them: Baby Dyke and Lesbian Avengers and Riot Grrl. My hair is the same choppy mess it has been since I cut it myself in a moment of half-drunk desperation, with the scissors I stole from the library. Man. It’s almost enough to make me wish the girl couldn’t see me at all.

Almost.

I really need to know if she can see me.

Do I just go talk to her? How awkward would that be? “Hi, I know your friends probably can’t see me, but I wondered if you might want to chat? Maybe do coffee some time?” No. I can’t put her in that position. Does she even realize what I am? What if I freaked her out?

I have to find a way to test it out, to see if she really can see me, and I have to do it when she’s alone.

I come up with a dumb little plan, and I step outside the student union to wait.

And wait. And wait. What’s taking her so long? I see the guy emerge and head toward the dorms, but the girl isn’t with him. (Does that mean he’s not her boyfriend? Not that it matters.) Then, a while later, her friend with the blond braids comes out and heads in the opposite direction. But what happened to my girl? (I mean, not
my
girl. The girl who saw me.) Is she still in there? Did I somehow miss her when she came out? I wish I had looked at the clock tower (even though I usually try to avoid looking at it) just so I would know how long she had been in there. Should I go back in and try to find her? Try to talk to her?