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Book Two in the Darien Grace Chronicles
"I couldn't hear the music. I knew that it was pulsing all around me, I could feel it vibrate through the air, but I couldn't hear it. I hadn't been able to hear it for a while now. I ju...
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Darien Grace
I'd been in new York for nearly two months, but today was the first day I ventured out into the depths of the city alone. Most days I split my time between my classes, the McKenney's townhome, and the University's practice rooms. I avoided my favorite room—the corner studio covered in windows—opting instead for one of the smaller spaces on basement level. Most students hardly ever wandered down to the lower levels, still I made sure the blinds obscuring the view from the small window set into the door were always shut. Caleb was the only one who knew where to find me. He'd pop by every evening to usher me home for dinner.
It didn't matter how many shields I took out onto the New York streets though, I still felt exposed and vulnerable. I knew that I'd have to face my demons sometime. New York City was magnificent—there was every possibility to become lost within its confines, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide much longer. I was running—I knew it. I also knew that I couldn't run forever. I needed to stop to rest, to breathe. So, when I woke before the rest of the McKenney's this morning, I'd forced myself to stop—or at least slow into a jog.
I hadn't gone far, only a few blocks down the street really. I'd let the flow of the near constant foot traffic carry me. We weren't terribly far from the townhouse and the University campus, but it was early on a Friday. Most every student and faculty member would still be in bed or at home—I hoped.
"Darien Grace?" I paled, freezing immediately at the voice behind me. I'd had had all but balled my hair up and shoved it under the blacked out Yankee's ball cap I'd stolen from the frat house a few years back. I'd knotted the shorter violet locks at the base of my neck and pulled the front of the cap low over my face. My hands began to shake and I suddenly wished I'd stayed in the fucking house—hell, I wished that I'd never left France.
I glanced up.
"Dr. Hernandez," I grumbled, only moving enough to nod in acknowledgment toward the professor. Her dark hair was styled into loose waves that hung around her face, dark eyes haughty and appraising. Her tight smile showing just enough to display the small gap between her two front teeth. I'd always wavered on whether or not I liked her. Sure, I'd taken a few of her courses—she was a fine teacher, that wasn't the problem. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't age. I swear, the woman looked as if she couldn't be more than five years my senior, but I knew the truth. Madame Dupond has thrown her a small party in the Music Hall for her thirty-ninth birthday. There was no doubt in my mind, though, that she was still bitter. I'd surpassed several of her students in order to secure my slot at the Gala—and well, we both knew how that had ended. I wasn't exactly in the mood to face her or anyone else for that matter.
"So the rumors are true?" She mused, motioning toward me with her hands. She followed me as the line for the to order moved forward—there were still three people in between me and the liquid caffeine.
