The Book at the Top of the Closet

Chapter Thirty-Three

It's dark outside when I bolt out of bed, wide awake. At first it feels like a panic attack is setting in, but there's another feeling layered in, pulling me, pushing me, nudging my mind toward something. It's as if I'm compelled to do something, but I can't figure out what. I wander around my room, picking up things I haven't packed yet, and try to sense what it is that I'm being pulled towards. Finally, my hands find the smooth shape of the scrying mirror, and I know what I have to do.

Surrounded by boxes and shaking slightly, I sit down and try to scry. I don't know what I'm looking for, what I'm meant to see, but I know there is something intangible tugging at my mind. I wonder briefly if I'm being haunted, maybe even by Aria. There's no time to dwell on it, though, because I am pulled into a vision almost immediately.

Instead of watching from the outside, I am seeing through Aria's eyes this time. I feel the awful pressure as my face is crushed up against someone else's, feel the way my arms tighten, pulling against the hands holding me fast. When the face pulls back a little, I realize that I recognize him.

I yank my consciousness out of Aria's body and stand back, watching her leave. I study the guy for a minute, before my connection to Aria pulls me along with her. Even after she's safely back in her room, her mind is standing out there on the sidewalk, holding that useless pocket knife and waiting for someone to come to the rescue, to come make her feel safe.

That vision I had before, I realize, must've been from this. She wasn't literally standing outside afterward, but some part of her was, at least until Sunshine was there with her. The entire time she was huddled in her room, trying to stop shaking, it felt like she was still outside in the dark, vulnerable and exposed and terrified. The feeling of sharing her fear is so overwhelming, I can't pull myself out of the vision. I sit and watch her, and I want to reach out and tell her she isn't alone, but I'm not really here, and this moment is long gone.

When I do finally come back to my own body, I'm shaking violently. I know who hurt Aria. I met him at the bar not that long ago. He was such a jerk, but I dismissed him as harmless. I had no idea what harm he had already done. Anger burns through me at the memory of his face, and my stomach lurches with a horrible sick feeling.

My entire body begs me to stay where it's safe, to stay home and let the anxiety and the rage burn themselves out, but my mind is louder. I refuse to let myself hide away and cower- I will make this right. I will find this guy, who so casually took away Aria's power and safety, and I will show him what it feels like to be afraid. Before I can even question what I plan to do, I'm out the door, my feet carrying me faster and faster until I'm running toward the edge of campus, toward the bar, toward vengeance.

#

The door to the bar is propped open. For a minute, I stand outside in the glaring neon lights and catch my breath, wishing I hadn't come on foot. This seems like the kind of foolhardy plan that Veronica would've gladly backed me up on, and if I'd gotten a ride maybe I wouldn't be wheezing while I decide on a plan. Still, there's a chance that if I'd stopped to loop Veronica in, I would've talked myself out of this.

With a final deep breath, I step inside, not even making eye contact as I wait for the person at the door to draw little X's on my hands again. Instead, I scan the room, looking for Bar Guy. Aria mentioned that he was the bartender, but when I'd seen him it seemed like he was just another customer. If he hangs out here even when he's not working, there's a pretty good chance he'll be here tonight.

I spot him behind the bar, handing a brightly colored mixed drink to a customer. That ugly feeling of rage and nausea roils in me again. Half blinded by it, I storm over to the bar, pushing between two people so that I'm leaning against the edge of the counter. Ignoring the exclamations of the other customers, I haul myself up so that I'm half standing, half kneeling on a barstool. By now, Bar Guy is walking over, probably to tell me to get down and wait in line patiently.

"I'm not here for a drink," I say, leaning over the counter towards him. I look him dead in the eyes and continue, "I'm here to talk about Aria."