Page 122 of Bite Me

The meeting is “taking longer than he thought.” Yeah, no shit. He’ll be gone for a few days. What part of this meeting would take days to complete? This isn’t a business meeting; it was specifically about confronting his grandfather about personal matters.

Maybe the most confusing part of the text is “Luv U.”

I scroll up through all my texts from him. Granted, Dacre hasn’t typed “I love you” to me in a text yet, but he doesn’t abbreviate. Even in the announcement texts for the culinary club, he spells out the word “birthday.”

I might be coping. This is the text I’ve been waiting for all day, and it’s not what I expected. He didn’t even answer any of my questions, which makes me think maybe he can’t.

Across the campus, the lights of Luxxia glow. This isn’t what I had planned for the night.

It could be a typo or maybe a weird fluke of autocorrect. But since when does Dacre not take every meticulous minute to curate everything in his life? He even uses a period after every sentence, with proper commas and grammar. In this, he didn’t put the period at the end of his sentence, as if he were in a hurry.

Something isn’t right.

Chapter Forty-Six

Emma

Two days have passed, and I’ve heard nothing. Washing my hands at the sink for the fifth time now seems like the best way to pass the time this morning. I can’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, because the moment I open my eyes, I reach for my phone to see if Dacre has texted me. My mind replays that night in the kitchen again as the water runs over the back of my hands. The same spot where Dacre is now scarred, thanks to someone he considered family.

That could be where he is right now. Alone. Hurt.

I scrub harder under my nails to keep myself from crying. The kitchen feels empty without him. I hate not knowing if he’s okay, but what evidence do I have? A text message that clearly says he’ll be gone for a few days? That won’t make the authorities do anything.

There’s nothing to do but to keep going to class as usual. Since Luther’s being investigated right now due to my tip to the dean and Dacre is nowhere to be found, that leaves only one other person to teach the culinary club.

“You’re still here?” Verity brushes past me and dumps her purse on the countertop. Her usual polish is dulled by the dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I don’t want you here. It’s your fault Luther is gone.” She hooks a hand at her waist. “Happy?”

“I don’t care what you think of me. I’m here. Get used to it.”

Cooking is the only thing keeping me sane, and I won’t give it up easily, not when it’s all I have.

“Suit yourself. But I need you to make sure the kitchen is spotless. Mr. Everhart is coming. He can spot a sprinkle on the ground, and I know you love dirtying up the kitchen in the morning with all your baking.”

My heart skips.

“Clyde Everhart is coming . . . today?”

That sick unease slips its way down my spine. Wouldn’t that mean Dacre should be back? I get the itch to check my phone again, but I’ve got it set to vibrate. I’d know if he’d tried to contact me.

“Yes, will that be a problem for you?”

“No, Chef.”

I break for lunch when there’s no sign of Dacre’s grandfather. As much as I’d love to wait around in the lounge and see if he shows up at noon, I need to check on Evangeline, who has said very little over the last few days. When I don’t find her in the dining hall, I head to her door at Stelliea House. There’s no answer to my knock.

She should be in class right now. If I were my sister and I weren’t in class or eating, where would I be?

The Stelliea garden is the next place I check. It’s huge. I comb the rows and rows of pumpkins and herbs and come up with nothing. I don’t have special senses like Weres or vampires, but I do know my sister. If she wanted to be alone, she’d do so outside.

I see a break in the woods just a few feet away that’s lined with cobblestones and fairy lights, leading away from the garden. Her pink bow sticks out in the wash of orange and yellow leaves around us. Her silhouette is seated on a tree stump next to a small pond.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, careful not to muddy my shoes, and sit beside her.

“Hiding.” She sighs. “Orientation is done, and . . . I have to find someone to donate to. I’m trying to avoid anyone claiming me right away.”