8
I stare at my grave.
And while I guess I’m expected to scream or something, instead I find myself laughing so hard, tears fall from my eyes.
This is exactly the sort of prank Elodie would dream up. And I’m willing to bet she’s laughing right along with me from some hidden place.
“What do you suppose she died of?”
I look up to find a tall, broad-shouldered boy standing in front of me. His jaw is sharp, his mouth generous, and his nose has a bit of a bend in the center that makes me guess it might’ve been broken. His dark wavy hair falls midway down his neck, and though his eyes are covered by a royal blue mask, his vintage suit hails straight out of the Victorian era.
I glance between him and my supposed grave. “I, uh…I’m pretty sure she died of boredom.”
He regards me for a long, cool moment, his mouth tipping ever so slightly but stopping well before it reaches anything close to a grin. “I’m Braxton,” he says.
“You’re the boy from the phone,” I blurt, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment the second it’s out.
“Sorry?” He bends his head toward me as his lips tip up at the sides.
“Nothing,” I say, with a quick wave of my hand. “Just…your friend’s with Elodie, right?”
My eyes graze over him.You’re the beautiful one. The one who seemed so familiar. The one who supposedly wanted to meet me. And you’re even hotter in person. No filter required.
While I have no idea how he’s reacting behind the mask, I’m relieved to see his grin grow significantly wider.
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll answer to that.The boy from the phone, Braxton, even Brax—they all work.”
His voice bears a hint of the sort of clipped British accent that makes me think of posh boarding schools, fox hunts, and every dashing hero from my favorite gothic novels. And it leaves me wanting to know more, tohearmore. But then I notice he’s waiting, and I realize it’s my turn to introduce myself.
“I’m the dead girl,” I say, nodding toward my grave.
He tilts his head in study. “I have to admit, I’ve never seen anyone react the way you did.”
“How do people usually respond to news of their premature death?” My tone is more flirtatious than usual. I blame it on the mask.
“Let’s just say you’re my first laugh.”
Though I can’t quite make out his eyes, I can feel the weight of his unwavering gaze settled on me. And while I’m sure I’ve never met this boy before—mainly because nothing about him is the slightest bit forgettable—there’s something so familiar about the way he fills up the space, the way the atmosphere shifted the moment he arrived. Like there’s an invisible current thrumming between us, and it leaves me feeling so trippy, so out of balance, I rush to fill up the silence in hopes he won’t notice just how unnerved he’s made me.
“So, what exactly is this place?” I say. “I mean, I was expecting a club, but so far it’s more like some kind of super-stylized haunted house.”
Braxton shoots a quick look over his shoulder, then turns back to me. “It really is a club,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to find your own way.”
“Then why’d you go off script?” I ask, aware of the way my breath hitches as I watch him run a hand across his jaw as though deciding what to do next.
He shrugs. “Guess I got curious,” he says.
Then, without another word, he leads me out of the graveyard and into a much stranger place.