Free The Lebrus Stone by Miriam Khan Page A

trickled down my own cheek.
    "What are you doing here?" he muttered.
    Did he know it's me? Did he mean at the house or in the garden?
    I had a feeling he meant both.
    "I came downstairs for a drink and saw the fire." I shivered from the cool night air and wiped the tear from my cheek.
    Cray glanced to the side of him, moving until he was standing opposite me on the other side of the cylinder. The flames hissed with the low howl of the wind as he continued burning the pages from his book without a peek in my direction. From the minimal interactions we'd shared, it was clear he was going to be good at making me feel invisible.
    "No one forced you to come here," he said.
    Again, it seemed as if he was referring to my actual visit. I kept to the present.
    "I came because I wanted to."
    Nothing was said in return.
    "Are you always so reckless?" he asked after what seemed like a time.
    "No."
    His eyes met mine. The hood of his jacket overshadowed their color, but I could just about see the intensity of gold from the reflection of light bouncing from the fire. It didn't warm the surrounding shape of his dark, penetrating eyes. They seemed just as driven to dislike me. And the memory of his laughter in my dream after watching me plummet to perhaps my death, made me shudder. But it was just a dream. This Cray was craggy, emotionally detached in a way I could understand since I was often like that, myself, but he wasn't heartless. Not even close. I could tell. It was what I could read about him.
    I hugged myself, and he looked down at the ring on my finger, the way the small rubies glistened under the moonlight. He then turned away, ending any interest that might have seeped into his mind for a few seconds by mistake.
    "What are you burning?" I dared ask.
    "Things."
    "Such as?"
    "My things."
    "Which are?"
    "Mine to burn."
    "Okay," I said, giving up on trying to be civil. "Maybe next time you could try recycling." He turned his head to the side.
    Maybe hiding a smirk?
    "So, are you always so...enigmatic?" I asked.
    Silence.
    "Do I irritate you or something?"
    Silence.
    "Have I offended you?"
    Another silence.
    "Because if—"
    "You should go," he said, not in a mean way. It was more like a soft command.
    With another glance my way, he continued to burn the remaining chapters of his book; words untold, but possibly memorized. I left him to it, recalling the tortured look in his eyes that had become imprinted to my memory; mirroring a hidden pain.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    By the time I arrived downstairs the next morning, Cray and Gal had left, which meant I could have a relaxing breakfast with Isobel and Zella. But it was as if Cray timed my steps and knew exactly where I was going to be so as to avoid me. I couldn't help but be relieved and annoyed at the same time.
    Taking a seat at the kitchen table, I insisted on pouring myself a bowl of cereal. Syd was either deep in thought or agitated at Zella's questions about the upcoming Apple Blossom Festival. She still poured me a glass of orange juice even though I had declined twice.
    Asking Zella if she'd been in the attic yesterday was on the tip of my tongue. But I figured she would have said something if she'd seen me. Then again, she might have forgotten about it.
    I chewed on asking the question, deciding not to throw them a reason to find me odd.
    "Did you sleep well, Crystal?" Isobel asked, before spooning oatmeal into her mouth.
    "I did; thank you, Isobel."
    "I hear you met our dear Jessica," she continued.
    What?
    Had she been spying on me?
    "Jess dropped by to see you," Zella explained, biting into an apple.
    "When?" I was surprised Jess had thought to visit me so soon, especially when she seemed so reluctant.
    "A few minutes ago," Isobel said, tight lipped. "The poor girl lost her grandmother a year ago. Her parents died when she was a child. She lives alone, as you are perhaps aware. The town prefers to keep a close eye on her. We fear she could be losing her mind."
    The girl I met