Odin's Murder Page 4

  “No, not her. Faye.”

  “Oh. Seventeen. Birthday is April fourth.” I give his hand a tug. “And since when do you need to read books in Czech?”

  “I could study in Prague, if I can’t transfer to Oxford.”

  “As far away from me as possible, huh? Do you think it will help?”

  “Don’t be like that.” He tries to pull his hand away, but I don’t let him.

  *

  I catch Faye as the cafeteria is closing. She’s alone.

  “Here,” she says, handing over a juice and a peanut butter sandwich. “I suspected you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

  I take them both and attack the sandwich. “Thanks. I’ll buy yours tomorrow. Julian gets a little intense with his research. I was trying to get him to come for lunch but no chance. He can let his own roommate bring him food.”

  “I doubt that will happen.” She nods across the campus. Ethan sits on the edge of a round fountain holding his camera. “He’s quite talented.”

  “But?” I ask, responding to her tone.

  “The Star of Babylon is an odd way to introduce yourself,” she says, troubled eyes shifting from me back to the boy at the fountain. His back is to the sun, shadowing the camera as he adjusts something. “Aleister Crowley and the Golden Dawn used it in a lot of his rituals and mysticism. It’s a very old ward against evil.”

  “The creepy magic dude? Who else would know? Other than someone like you, someone who specializes in all this? I only know because Julian went on a reading binge about occult stuff and forced me to make sketches for his files.”

  “Hi, girls.” Zoe approaches us from the other direction. She’s got a packet of mail in her hands, bound with a rubber band. “So, I just wanted to tell you that it looks like your roommate, Sonja, won’t be attending SHP this summer.”

  “Oh,” Faye says. “What happened?”

  “I’m not really sure. Dr. Anders called me into his office and said she wouldn’t be here. He thought you’d want to know, since she’s in your group. I guess she pre-registered, but it’s past the deadline for late arrival.”

  “Her mom lives right off campus. Has anyone asked her?”

  Zoe shrugs her shoulders. “I’m not really sure, I only know what Dr. A. told me.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say and she walks away.

  “That’s sad,” Faye says. “I was looking forward to getting to know her. I like meeting people.”

  “Julian is going to be very upset.”

  “Oh? Was he in love with her?”

  “Jules?” I choke on my laughter. “No. He’s intimidated by girls, especially ones like her.”

  “Like her how?”

  “Gorgeous, popular, sexy. No, he’ll be pissed because the group is down a person, and that means a bigger workload.”

  “What do you think she is doing instead?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe something just came up. She’s been posting things about an exhibit in Paris online. Whatever it is, it’s got to be better than this place.”

  Faye blinks. “So why are you here, if you hate it so much?”

  “It’s important to Julian. He was a runner-up last year.” And I might have had something to do with him not winning, but I don’t tell her.

  “So, where he goes, you go?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “Our parents are on a sabbatical retreat in England, and they think I’ll get into trouble if I’m alone in the house, so here I am.”

  “So how does one have fun at a summer scholastic program?”

  A guy in a muscle shirt nearly walks into us. He’s the teacher’s assistant who hauled Ethan out of the cafeteria yesterday; today he’s got a whistle around his neck and a soccer ball trapped in a tanned elbow.

  “Careful,” I tell him, lowering my lashes with my trademark smile. “A girl might think that you don’t notice her.”

  He swallows air and blinks, flustered and cute. I walk around him, pulling Faye after me. She glances behind us, watches him walk away, her mouth turned up in an appreciative smile. “Ah,” she says. “That’s how.”

  Yeah, she’s getting the hang of this place. Now if I can only get her into clothes that don’t look like she’s going to a funeral for the general of the Salvation Army.

  5.

  Exposure

  “Ready?”

  “Let me just finish this last chapter.”

  I sigh, but this kid does read faster than Justin Bieber can crash a Ferrari. I sit back down on the bed in my scratchy new swim trunks, holding my never-been-washed, rainbow-striped beach towel. My caseworker had bought everything I needed before she dropped me off at camp. The detention center sure didn’t have a lake or a pool and every time I get tossed into lock-up, my belongings scatter like the wind. Mary holds on to my camera, but that’s it.

  “Hurry. I’m starving,” I tell Julian.

  I turn on my camera and flip through the photos from earlier that day. Nothing too impressive, just some shots of campus. The architecture is interesting and makes for some neat shadows in the stones. I thumb the forward button until I get to a series with Memory and Faye. The zoom is pretty good on the camera, and I was able to catch them walking across campus. I had made fun of Cherry’s heels earlier, but that was all bluster. They make her legs stretch for miles, ending in shorts that would have her kicked out of a high school for strippers.

  I need to find a distraction.

  “I was serious before,” Julian says, tapping the camera as he walks past.

  “Come on, she’s hot.” I grin at his grimace, and add, “Seriously, she is. Give me a break.”

  “What you see on the outside is barely a scratch of what goes on in the inside. Trust me, there are better ways to amuse yourself.”

  I shove my camera and towel into my bag. “I hear you, loud and clear, but I can’t say I won’t look.”

  He opens the door to the hallway. “And I can’t say she won’t grab you by the balls and twist until you beg for mercy.”

  I’m trying to decide if this is a bad thing, the next time I see her. Keeping my eyes off Cherry is going to be hard enough with all her clothes on, but the minute we arrive at the lake I know I’m in trouble. And so is the rest of the male population currently mingling around the edge of the sandy man-made beach, doing whatever they can to catch a glimpse of Memory in her black bikini.

  “I’m getting some food,” I tell Julian after we claim turf on an empty picnic table.

  The place is decked out like a luau, plastic palm trees with pink flamingo lights, and the smell of a roasting pig has my mouth watering hard.

  Two nights ago I was pulling night duty with the janitor for causing a “disturbance” in my section block, and tonight I’m surrounded by a hundred half-naked girls and real food, not government surplus out of a can; this is grilled chicken and baked sweet potatoes in foil. Constance is at the end of the food table, wearing a flower in her hairnet and a plastic lei over her apron, cutting up fresh pineapple with a huge butcher knife.

  I skip the bowls of things I don’t recognize, and take three rolls out of a basket, shoving a fourth in my mouth.

  “Hungry?” The blond from class this morning is balancing her plate and cup with one hand. The pink strings from her bathing suit top tie in a loopy bow behind her neck.

  Distraction accomplished. I chew my bread and swallow. “Always.” I pluck a roll from the pile on the table. “You want one?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She takes it from me, brushes my fingers with hers. “I’m Danielle.”

  “Ethan.” I grab a drink and start back to my table. Julian is gone, probably in line himself. I ask, “You want to sit with us?”

  “Thanks.” She smiles up at me. I cram the rest of the roll in my mouth. I’m all about girls, but it’s been a long while since I’ve made conversation with one. “So how’s your group?” she eventually asks.

  I remember to wipe my mouth with the napkin. “Good, I guess. They’re a crew of geeks, but that’s
the point, I guess.”

  “Sonja Williams was supposed to be on your team, right?”

  “The third girl that didn’t show up today? That could be her.”

  “What about Sonja?” Memory asks. She sets her plate on the table and sits down next to Danielle.

  “Oh, I was asking if she was in your group. We were roommates last summer.”

  “She was going to be in our room this year,” Memory says. There’s tension between the two girls at the table, and I’m curious about the no-show chick now.

  “Zoe told us she wasn’t coming,” Faye says. She’s wearing a wet-suit under her dress, and her erotic necklace from this morning has been replaced with goggles, nose pinchers and a silver whistle. She sits next to me, Julian on her other side. “Dr. A. told her to let us know.”

  “For real? So we’re one down in our group,” Julian says. “Perfect.”

  “It’ll be fine, don’t freak.” Memory turns to Danielle. “Any idea where she is?”

  “Not really. We’ve kept in touch with emails and Facebook and stuff but as far as I know she was planning to be here.” Danielle pauses, taking a bite of pork. “But, she’s kind of flighty. All over the place. Like her first year here, she was in performing arts, for dance. Last year, sculpture.”

  “She really should have told someone. It’s completely irresponsible to leave our group short like this,” Julian declares to no one in particular. “I suppose this could be better, though, in the long run. One less opinion to deal with.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Memory says. “I’m not talking about this project anymore. Tonight is supposed to be about having fun.”

  He’s about to retort, but she leans across and lays a hand on his wrist, posture tense. “Jules, be careful, there’s a bee.”

  We all freeze. One nice thing about brainiacs, they’re smart enough that they don’t start waving their arms around at stinging insects. I follow Memory’s eyes to the left, where one is nosing around in a discarded piece of pineapple.

  “Are you allergic?” Faye asks.

  Julian nods.

  “Do you have your Epi-pen?” Memory asks.

  Irritation flashes in her brother’s eyes, but his hand slides to the pocket in his cargo shorts. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Bees were a symbol of kings in pre-dynastic Lower Egypt,” Faye says to no one in particular.

  Danielle raises one blonde eyebrow, and her eyes flick from Faye to the twins and then to me. I shrug, and ease the bee’s plate further down the table. The bug is more interested in the fruit than human prey.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian,” I say to Memory, watching her lick sauce off her thumb. I’m not that kind of photographer, but now I want to be.

  She shakes her head. “We don’t eat chicken. Or turkey.”

  “Why not?” Danielle asks.

  “Because birds are foul,” Julian says.

  Faye laughs. “Nice pun.”

  I stare at all of them, one by one, as if they’re visitors from an exotic country. My roommate grins with his own cleverness, his sister dabs her lips with a napkin. Danielle nibbles at her corn on the cob with her pinkies in the air, and Faye draws designs in some pink gravy stuff with her fork. All around me are happy, well-off kids from nice homes, a plastic cup with a paper umbrella in one hand, a paper plate in the other. They chatter in polite tones with decent language, elbows at their sides, not jutting out in aggression to take up more space. Teachers mingle through the groups, unafraid to turn their backs to the crowd.

  I wad up my napkin, spin my empty plate. They aren’t the foreigners, I am.

  A big man with a graying beard stares at me from the shadow of tree. He’s wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt with clouds on it, and a straw hat with a tattered brim low over his face. He’s the college president or something; he’s got that bearing of owning the place. I look away, fast.

  “Oh!” Memory’s focus tracks across the lawn. “I think I just found the kind of fun I’ve been looking for.” She leaves us, heading toward a group of advisors standing around the drink table.

  I have no idea why she would think they were a source of entertainment until I see her in the middle of the group, a hand on the arm of one the male leaders. Jeremy. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the odds of Memory choosing Joe College for her first victim. He’s nice enough, in a toolish kind of way. I’d bet my camera and three rolls of film that he’s never been in a fist fight.

  “Great,” Julian mumbles, picking up his plate and walking off.

  The two remaining girls and I sit together at the table in an awkward silence until Faye stands and says, “I wonder if there is a campus rule about skinny dipping?”

  “Some group you’ve got yourself in,” Danielle says as we watch Faye disappear into the crowd. “Aren’t you guys all roommates, too?”

  “Yeah. Is it always like that?”

  “Not usually. Sometimes.” She shrugs. “I guess it’s random.”

  “They’re a bunch of nut jobs.”

  “You’ll be fine. Memory and Julian always fight. Last summer they were on different teams and it was scary, the level of competition between the two. Maybe the teachers thought things would turn out better if they were on the same team this year.”

  I look at the girl in front of me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, hot pink bikini top. Pretty. Why am I talking about my study group? I catch her eye and smile. “Want to show me around? I haven’t quite gotten the feel of campus yet.”

  Her knees bump mine under the table. “Okay. Let me go tell my roommate?”

  I gather our plates and trash. “Sure. Meet me by the gate over there.”

  Fifteen minutes later I’ve forgotten about study groups and Memory and anal-retentive roommates. Danielle walks close to me, leading me around, grabbing my hand to show me this landmark or that location on campus. So far we’ve see the gym, the soccer fields, sorority row, and several groupings of academic buildings. Currently she’s telling me the history of some kind of campus chapel, but all I can focus on is how hot her hand feels in mine and how long before she’ll drop the getting-to-know-you act and let me kiss her.

  “This is the oldest original building on the college grounds. Supposedly, beneath the chapel is a well, built here long before the Moravians settled here or even the Cherokee Indians that lived in this area.”

  “And this is interesting?” I ask, letting my hand fall to her waist, hoping she’ll get the point. “An old well that no one cares about anymore?”

  “Archeologists might care. And history professors and theologians. Not to mention practicing witches and those who follow Greek mythology.” She’s a little hurt. I feel her defenses go up and she pulls away from my touch.

  “The building is pretty cool,” I tell her cleavage, unhooking my backpack and digging out my camera.

  “You should come back during the day when the light is better.”

  “No, I like it like this.” I fiddle with a setting, and gesture with a nod. “Stand by the crack there. I’ll show you.”

  She gnaws on her bottom lip in uncertainty, but leans against the crumbling stones and pastes a smile on her face.

  “Relax,” I tell her. “Look off to your left.” I snap a shot, framing her in antiquity and twilight. I take two more and then show her.

  “Oh,” she whispers, forgetting wells and Greeks and other things I don’t care about. “You’re good.”

  I say nothing, just smile; I’ve stripped her of her intellectual shields, she’s just herself, no pretenses. I walk around the building, and she follows me, now. I take some shots of the molding near the roof, an odd carved detail that I’ve never seen before, the ancient stonework and heavy doors as backdrop. Danielle preens. I wear the camera like a mask, so she can’t see my face, and she flirts, posing, one hand trailing up over the curve of a breast to tug on the strings of her bikini top. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen since my latest sentencing, and I crouch down on my heels, hoping my bathing suit doesn’t betra
y my response. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, smiling, twisting against the wall. She stills, leaning back, inhaling deep, but it’s an awkward pose, with her hips jutting out and her shoulders in the background. She won’t like it, so I focus on her fingers and the neon pink strings. I wonder if Memory would be good in front of a camera, and lower the Nikon with a frown.

  “What?” Danielle pouts, so I snap that, too, and then turn on my heels back toward the building where I can click through the photos without glare. She comes close, leaning over my shoulder, and she smells like sunscreen and pineapple. “So how long have you been into photography?”

  “Since I was fifteen.” I squint at the screen, trying to figure out why there seems to be a flare hazing several of the photos. “You do archeology? Or Greek shi—stuff?”

  “I’m here for creative writing. Poetry. But I have lots of talents.” Her voice goes low, whispery, and I look up and realize the only thing separating us is my camera and my lack of attention.

  I glance over her shoulder. Constance is bossing around a clean-up crew. I figure I only have fifteen minutes before I’ve got to get to the kitchen, but Danielle is toying with the laces of her top, looking at my mouth, her own lips parted. I lower the lens and refocus.

  6.

  Midnight

  I slide into my room at midnight on the dot. From her bed, Faye looks up behind square framed reading glasses. “Hi,” I say, locking the door behind me. I walk to the closet and reach for my plaid pajamas.

  “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

  “Not when you’re with a student advisor—what’s he going to do? Report me?” I grin.

  She puts down her book and leans forward. “You were with him the whole time?”

  I take my earrings out, lay them on the shelf under the mirror, and pull my tank over my head. “Yeah, just talking... and stuff.” I give her a wink.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jeremy. He’s doing graduate work at Wake Forest,” I say. I turn on my laptop, and swipe half-heartedly at my makeup while it’s booting up. “He’s cute, nothing to linger over, but better than listening to Julian freak out all evening. What are you reading?”