The Shadow Prince

chapter twenty-four DAPHNE

The landline phone in my room rings. I can hear it from my private bathroom, where I stand in front of the large, oval, Swarovski crystal–encrusted mirror that hangs over the marble-countered vanity. I’m not used to having my own bathroom—there was only one in the bungalow that I shared with my mom and the varied guests or strays we occasionally had staying with us—let alone one so opulent. If I were in a better mood, I might be tempted to pretend I am some sort of diva in my dressing room before a big show. Instead, I am inspecting the faint red mark that stretches across my right cheekbone. It almost looks like I’d merely gone too heavy with my blush, but the pain that pulses under my skin reminds me of a burn. It is almost exactly the same as the marks left on my arm when Haden had tried to grab me in the grove.

The strangest thing is that I didn’t think the boy, who I assume is Haden’s cousin, based on Bridgette’s description, had actually touched me. Haden had stopped him before his fist collided with my face—and yet, I had felt a burning heat slap against my face. I guess it is possible he’d grazed me with his fist after all, but it had happened so quickly, I wasn’t sure.

The phone starts ringing for the fifth time since I got home. I’m in no hurry to answer it. I am home alone, and it is most likely someone for Joe—probably a reporter trying to get a statement about his new musical endeavor with the high school—and I am in no mood to talk about it. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. When I look up in the mirror again, the mark is gone, but my skin still stings. I prod at my cheek with the tip of my finger, suddenly wondering if I’d imagined the mark there in the first place.

I’d never had to question if I was just imagining things back in Ellis.

Something weird is definitely going on in this place.

Maybe Olympus Hills is dumping hallucinogens into their water supply. Maybe that was the big theory Tobin had wanted to share with me. I laugh at the mirror. Yeah, right.

The phone finally stops ringing, and I assume the call has gone to voice mail. It’s probably better to let Marta get Joe’s messages anyway, I think as I wander back into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my plush bed.

The phone starts ringing again. The sound echoes in my large, lonely room. That has to be a reporter. Nobody I know would be that persistent.

I realize it could possibly be CeCe. I’d left her three messages since I’d gotten here, telling her to call me back on this number.

I reach for the phone, and another possibility hits me. Another person might know this number. Someone who might have picked up my bag in the grove and who now has my cell phone—and all my contact listings—in their possession …

The phone’s shrill ring makes me jump. Despite my better judgment, I pick up the receiver.

“Hello?” I ask tentatively.

“Daphne?” says a male voice on the other end, and my shoulders relax so much at the syncopated, friendly tone that accompanies it that I almost forget I’m mad at him.

“Tobin,” I say, trying not to show too much relief in my voice.

“You’re a hard bird to get ahold of,” he says. “I would have come by your house to see you in person, but I’m kind of grounded. Also, I was worried you might slam the door in my face.”

“You deserve both the grounding and the door slamming,” I tell him.

“Yeah. I know.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I say, brushing my hand over my cheek. “But I might hang up on you if you don’t tell me what you thought you were doing in the cafeteria. That Haden guy might be dangerous. Why would you try to take him on like that?”

I would never have confided in him that I think Haden Lord is the guy from the grove if I’d thought that would cause Tobin to go after him. It hadn’t crossed my mind that a guy like Tobin would try to pick a fight. I might expect something like that from a stereotypical jock or something, but starting a confrontation seemed so against Tobin’s nature. But then again, I’d known him for only a couple of days. I’d assumed he was like CeCe because they share a similar inner song, but maybe I don’t know as much about his nature as I thought.

And the fact that this Haden guy hadn’t even tried to fight back when Tobin attacked made me question—ever so slightly—if my assumptions about him had been incorrect, too.

“I’m sorry,” Tobin says. “I wasn’t planning on starting anything with him, but it’s like I saw him and something came over me.” I hear strange notes coming off him—the same low, cold tone I’d noticed in music class. Right before he was about to confide in me.

“Does this have something to do with what you were going to tell me before?” I ask him.

“Yes. It’s just that …” Tobin trails off, and I hear someone else’s voice in the background. “Yeah, Mom. In a minute,” he says away from the receiver. “I’ve got to go, Daph. I’m not supposed to be on the phone.”

“It’s just what?” I ask before he can hang up, my curiosity edging into my voice. “You can’t say something like that and not finish. Again.”

“You’re still coming to the party Friday night?” he asks.

For half a second, I don’t know what he’s talking about, and then I remember that he was in the middle of inviting me to a party for the music department when we discovered Pear Perkins in the lake. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“I’m not. Are you still coming?”

“Your mom is still having the party?” I thought she might cancel, considering what had happened to one of the invitees.

“She’s even more determined to throw it after what happened to Pear. She thinks it will be nice for the music department to come together and collectively send their goodwill vibes to Pear. That and she already paid the caterer. Besides, she wants to meet my costar.”

“I don’t know.…” The last thing I feel like doing is celebrating my part in the play, and considering Tobin is the only one in the music department who is willing to talk to me, I’m pretty sure everyone else probably feels the same way. But then again, since Tobin is the only one of them still acknowledging my existence, it might not be the best idea to alienate him by not accepting his invitation.

“Come, okay?” Tobin whispers into the phone. “I’m suspended through Friday, so I won’t get a chance to see you until then.”

“You’re still trying to change the subject.”

“The subject is the reason I want you to come. I need to show you something.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. But this had better be worth the wait.”

“It is,” he says, and hangs up.