He pushed himself out onto the street, falling into a mud puddle. As Balthazar spat dank water from his mouth, he looked up to see that Redgrave, Charity, and the rest were gone; no doubt they’d fled this place as fast as they could.

As the fire-reddened sky overhead churned and faraway screams split the night, Balthazar thought, They’ve left me here in hell.

Chapter Fourteen

THE NEXT DAY, REDGRAVE DIDN’T COME. HE didn’t approach Skye at school, didn’t stalk her house, anything.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

During study hall on that third day, Skye texted Balthazar, Did you actually scare Redgrave off? Or talk him out of it?

I doubt it. I just can’t believe it’s going to be that easy.

Balthazar had told her about his altercation with Redgrave, and that he’d basically given him the equivalent of an antidrug speech. There was something else he hadn’t told her about what Redgrave had said or done—she could sense Balthazar holding back about it. Regardless of what that might be, Skye didn’t think one serious talking-to was going to be enough to save her.

She typed, So what’s he waiting for?

I don’t know. He can be patient, when he wants something. He knows how to bide his time.

That sent a shiver down her spine, and she sank back in her library chair. This place seemed so ordinary, so cozy—like if anything as terrifying as Redgrave walked in here, he’d turn to dust or burst into flame, the way vampires in movies did when they walked into a sunbeam.

And yet he could appear at any minute.

“Who do you keep texting?” Madison said quietly, though not quietly enough; people at nearby tables—and Balthazar—would’ve been able to hear her.

“Shhhh! It’s just—a friend of mine from my old school.” Skye couldn’t resist a small smile; after all, she was telling the absolute truth.

Somebody at a nearby table muttered, “In other words, a friend she thinks actually counts.”

Madison flushed so deeply with anger that her freckles seemed to disappear. Skye snapped back at the other girl, “The only person in this room who doesn’t count is you.”

“Ahem.” Balthazar rose from his desk and strolled toward them. How was it he could look that hot while wearing glasses and a blazer? But the glasses did something to his face—made his cheekbones look even more cut, maybe—and there was apparently no piece of clothing that couldn’t be rendered hot by being draped over those shoulders. “Study hall is for studying, young ladies. Not for arguing. Let’s keep it down, okay?”

Skye had to look away from him to keep from laughing. As he went back to his place, she quickly texted, Young ladies?

I’m trying to talk like a teacher! Too much?

You’re hilarious. But I think they’re buying it.

She stole a glance at him at the same moment he was stealing a glance at her. Though she would’ve thought that would make it harder to keep from laughing, it had a very different effect. As their eyes met, she remembered their two hungry kisses—the way it had felt to be held in his arms—and she knew, beyond a doubt, he was remembering that, too.

Quickly she looked away, turning back to her books, though calculus had never seemed less interesting. Madison whispered, “Is it just me or is he getting even better looking?”

“It’s not just you.” With determination, Skye kept her eyes on her calculus.

“Now I need to change panties.”

“Madison!” Skye started giggling despite herself.

Her phone chimed again. Let’s keep it down, young lady.

Which only made her laugh harder. But she kept it quiet.

As the days went on, and Redgrave didn’t come, Skye and Balthazar began to fall into a pattern. He watched her get on the bus in the mornings, from a distance; they never saw each other then, never spoke, but she knew he was there to guard her if needed.

They saw each other for the first time each day in her homeroom, where he took her name and tried to act official … and, when she wore one of her skirts, tried very hard not to look at her legs. Skye supposed she could have worn jeans a little more often, if she wanted to make things easier on him; they were definitely warmer, which counted for something in upstate New York during January. But she didn’t. All those years of riding had given her great legs—they were her best feature, she thought—and she liked the warmth that rushed through her every time she caught Balthazar stealing a peek.

History class was less fun, because Balthazar took history seriously. “So are we still going to use the textbook?” Madison asked one day as Balthazar handed out these enormous packets of photocopied material.

“No, we’re not.” Balthazar sounded extremely satisfied about that. “You won’t need it until Mr. Lovejoy returns, and frankly, you’d be better off without it even then. For a genuine perspective on the colonial period, you need to go back to original sources.”

Flipping through the packet, Skye saw that their materials were now old legal deeds and diaries and other documents from the colonial era. Not excerpts, not interpretations, not commentaries: just the original stuff. The rest of the class started to groan, and she was mostly grateful she had access to the ideal tutor.

“I know this doesn’t look good,” Balthazar said, though he remained cheerful. “But I’m here to help you as much as you need. If there’s anything about this era—anything at all—ask me, and I’ll explain.” Britnee’s hand shot up. “Already! Okay. What is it, Britnee?”