Wow, this is very late and also much too long but I hope you'll all forgive me. Trying out something new with Will's POV in this chapter, so please let me know what you think. I'll probably switch back and forth between their narratives.

Some quick notes before I start. Firstly, thank you to everyone who favourited, followed and reviewed. I can't believe that this story has gotten so much traction, it's very encouraging. I find it funny that so many people commented on the fact that either Will/Lizzie was being a dick, but no one said that they were both out of line. I think it just goes to show how much perspective matters. Secondly, the user krispieso mentioned that they might check out The Raven Cycle because of this story. I added my thoughts on the series at the end of the chapter if anyone is interested. Thirdly, I did some research on Vajrayana Buddhism and tarot cards for this chapter, however I am by no means an expert on either of these topics. I hope everything included is accurate, but if anyone notices that something about my characterization of either is off, please let me know and I'll change it.

Chapter Two: Three is Company, Four is a Crowd

(Will)

As a rule, Will Darcy is good at making room for himself.

That usually comes as a surprise to people. They tend to think that he's cold and indifferent. Quiet and reserved. Sometimes, they even think that he's lived his whole life with a silver spoon in his mouth and, as a result, is incapable of existing anywhere that isn't Pemberley Manor. And for the most part (though he hates to admit it) their assumptions are true. He is cold and reserved and he's definitely been handed his fair share of privilege.

If birth is a lottery, he hit the fucking jackpot.

But they also think that because of their other assumptions, they can safely deduce that he has no ability to adapt. Which is… honestly a little laughable considering that for most of his life, he's been kind of an outsider. Awkwardly enough, his parents (Mr. and Mrs. William Richard Darcy Sr.) never really wanted kids in the first place, meaning that his birth was hardly the thrilling miracle of some. His childhood home was massive, but he never felt like it had enough room for him. It was for his parents, not for him. And even when his parents were gone, leaving just him, his nanny and the maid, he could always feel the house rejecting him. He always knew that it didn't want him there.

After all, three is a crowd.

But the thing about Will is that he fights back. And back then, he fought back against his parents' indifference, fought back against the house and the staff that treated him with an underlying layer of resentment. He refused to let loneliness define his childhood and tried to bleach out what he thought was cruel and uninviting about the place he called home. He took a good, long look at Pemberley Manor and then he found a way to carve out a place for himself.

As a kid, he would write across the walls of the house; in the bathrooms, the kitchens, his parents' bedroom. Anywhere he could find space for himself. Once he realized that all that did was leave more work for the maids that already hated him, the walls of his room became the canvas. He smothered them with movie posters and vinyl albums and anything else he found during his extensive summer traveling. He invited friends when his parents were out (which was almost always) and together, they would try to use every room in the house, discovering some that he suspected hadn't been used in years. He learned to cook because once he got old enough, he realized no one else was really using the kitchen for anything remotely useful. He would make meals for the staff, slowly chipping away at the resentment they felt for him.

And then when Georgy came shortly before his mother passed away, he made sure to carve out a place for her too so she would never have to feel like he had; that's to say, she would never have to feel unwanted.

Over the years, he's decided that maybe he's just not meant to fit in anywhere. Which is odd; as an affluent, attractive person, many would think that he should fit in just about everywhere. But that never seemed to be the case. He had to carve out a place for himself at Harvard and then again at his own father's company, Darcy & Wickham Law. By this point, he's almost sure that he can make a place for himself just about anywhere.

Or at least, he used to think that. But that was before he met Elizabeth Bennet. Now, standing in a dim corner of her shop, he's no longer so sure.

Maybe it's not that he can't belong, but rather that he doesn't want to belong here.

But no. That's not completely true. Sure, he doesn't like Lizzie. He still thinks that whatever crap she's pulling here should probably be illegal. However, after her weird comment back at the restaurant and one insanely tense drive over to her shop, he's had a bit of a change of heart. Namely, he's realized that if Charlie is serious about this girl (which honestly, who knows, Charlie is serious about every girl) then he doesn't want to live out the rest of his life being verbally abused by her sister.

Which means he's going to have to be a little nicer. God, he hates Charlie.

He turns away from where Lizzie is explaining some cheap trick to Charlie, electing to analyse a sharp object in a glass case to his right. With his 'limited knowledge' (he's pretty sure Lizzie made a quip about that in the car) he can only describe it as a dagger. But given the cost (two hundred dollars?!), he can only assume that it's much more than a pretty thing to stab someone with. He scans the knife, which has three polished edges, all connected by gold ornamentation. Eyes drifting up, he takes in the handle, which grows thin before fanning out at the end, the metal fashioned into a grotesque face sporting a generous crown of skulls and other symbols he doesn't recognize. Will gets the oddest feeling that the object is staring at him in an accusatory manner.

Apparently Lizzie's things don't like him either.

It is beautiful though.

"That's a kīla," he nearly jumps out of his skin, "or you could call it a phurba."

He places a hand over his heart, shooting her a venomous look.

So much for being nice.

"Jesus, give a guy a warning, would you?"

She rolls her eyes at him, but otherwise makes no attempt to acknowledge what he just said. His eyes are pulled back to the display case and for a moment, they stand there. The object feels like an odd blend of something magical and yet inexplicably natural. He wonders if he's being affected by the heavy incense that's drifting through the air, clogging his sinuses and messing with his mind.

"What does it do?" he says, mostly just to break whatever spell has wrapped itself around them.

Part of him expects her to mock him for not knowing, but when she looks at him, it's with a hint of surprise. Like she forgot he was even here.

Her smirk is light when she says, "It doesn't do anything."

"Right," he lets the faux frustration seep into his voice. "What is it used for?"

She turns back to the dagger, voice neutral when she says, "Rituals in Vajrayana buddhism. It's their symbol of wrath and is meant to cut through the three poisons: delusion and confusion, greed and attachment, and aversion and ill-will. Traditionally, the head was driven into the ground to chase off bad intentioned nature spirits."

Will isn't religious. He thinks that maybe if you travel far enough down his family tree, you might find some Catholics. Or maybe Protestants. Or Anglicans. Who knows? Definitely not him. Anyway, it's never really mattered. But the way Lizzie talks about it, the awe in her voice… well, it makes it sound almost interesting. Interesting if for no other reason than to understand what people used to believe in and what they believe in to this day.

"So psychics believe in Buddhism?" he only wonders if this question is offensive after he's asked it.

Oh well, it's not like she could possibly hate him more.

Her eyes snap to his and she raises an eyebrow. It takes him a moment to realize that she's surprised by his curiosity, not angry about it.

"Not necessarily," she gestures to a series of crosses hanging across a different wall, "we use a range of different practices to understand the world."

He cocks his head, "But then how do you know which one's real? Which one actually works?"

"You're thinking about it the wrong way," she smiles, amused, "symbols and objects don't have power because they come from the so called 'right religion'. They have power because people believe they do. That's what makes them useful to psychics."

He considers this. On one hand, he has to concede that she has a point. That's why certain paint splatters go for thousands of dollars. Or why people spend their life savings on a World Cup final. And also why Lizzie can sell all this crap. As long as someone believes that it works, the 'magic' stays alive.

On the other hand… "How can anyone believe in what you do if it's so vague and ambiguous?"

Lizzie scowls at him, but before she can respond, Charlie's voice rings out from the other end of the shop. "I picked one."

She gives him a frosty glare before turning away without another word. He can almost feel the walls rising between them, blocking any kind of understanding they could've come to. He sighs and follows her, the weird feeling that he assumes comes from not belonging settling in his stomach like a rock. But there's something else there too. The weird rush he got when he brushed by her that first day. A rush reminding him that even though he doesn't belong here, something about this place feels inexplicably right.

'You like her.'

The comment had been irritating because it was false. The next comment Charlie had made was even more irritating because it was (and still is) true. He is interested in Elizabeth Bennet, but not like that. He's interested in her because of the weird feeling he gets when she's around, when he's in her shop. All he knows is that he refuses to believe it's some of that psychic crap that she would probably claim it is. He does want to know what's actually causing it though, which is partly why he decided to come watch Lizzie perform her party trick.

Also, definitely to keep Charlie from spending his money. That boy will fall for anything, especially if it's got the support of a pretty girl.

When he looks over Charlie's shoulder and at the counter in front of him, he sees two stacks of cards on the table. Charlie's gripping another stack like it's a goddamn lifeline and Will resists the urge to roll his eyes. The stack on Charlie's left is black and white with imagery that is ghoulish yet childish at the same time, sending him The Nightmare Before Christmas vibes that he doesn't like at all.

Okay, maybe he was a little scared of 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' as a kid. So sue him.

The other deck looks more traditional, with drawings that pull from medieval paintings. Will thinks it's incredibly telling that Lizzie has a deck like this, considering the fact that most of the things people believed during the Middle Ages were bullshit. He can't really see the deck in Charlie's hand, but he does notice Lizzie smile knowingly when she sees what's left on the table.

"Interesting choice," she cocks her head. "Okay, follow me."

Will guesses that this is all part of the act. She lets the client choose their deck because it makes them feel more in control. Makes the experience feel more personal. Makes the client feel more influential. And he can see in Charlie's eyes that it's clearly working. She hasn't even done anything yet and he's already looking down at the cards like they contain all the answers.

Lizzie leads them into a small room behind a beaded curtain that's probably supposed to be endearingly tacky, but just comes off as tacky. There's some incense burning on the edge of a round table draped in a geometric tablecloth, giving the whole room a stuffy, drugged quality. Two chairs rest on either side of the table and there are another two off to the side, probably for some kind of audience. The chairs are all antediluvian and large, with gold armrests and dark green upholstery.

He kind of feels like he's in the Slytherin common room.

All in all, he's disappointed to say that it's not nearly as gaudy as he thought it would be. Sure, the incense is a little much and the chairs were probably found in a dumpster and if not, then at some weird garage sale. But it's less hollywood movie and more teenage girl trying out Satanism for the first time.

He's really not sure if the latter is any better than the former…

By the time his eyes are back on the table, Lizzie's already settled in the chair on the far side. She motions for Charlie to sit down across from her. For a few moments, Will awkwardly stands at the edge of the room. Then he feels a tap on his shoulder and looks over to find Jane smiling at him. She walks over to the two spectator chairs and Will follows, feeling oddly thankful for the small gesture of kindness.

The further he walks into the room, the stronger the odd feeling of rightness becomes and in a nearly involuntary action, his eyes are dragged across the room until they land on Lizzie. She's already looking at him, back straight, legs crossed and knees tucked under the golden armrests. When his eyes meet hers, she holds the contact and he's too shocked to turn away. A chill goes down his spine and he suddenly has an innate impulse to leave, to call an Uber and drive back to Pemberley where he can talk to Georgy to distract himself from… From what? What is it about this place that pushes him away and then desperately tries to pull him back in?

Maybe she's actually psychic.

… Pfft, yeah right.

His thoughts are knocked off course when Lizzie's eyes flick from his to Charlie. There's a moment of suspension, a moment in which he feels lost without her eyes on his. Then, he realizes that he's hovering inches above the chair and that Jane is looking at him with concern. He huffs and falls back into the seat.

Once everyone is properly settled, Lizzie starts, her voice surprisingly gentle and soothing. "Do you want me to do a quick crash course on tarot before I start?"

"Is that what you usually do?"

"Not really," she shrugs. "Most people trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Trusting a psychic is an oxymoron," Will says and then immediately regrets the remark. He seems to speak a lot more than he thinks around Elizabeth Bennet.

"I guess I may as well teach him something they couldn't teach him at Harvard," Lizzie says, a mock smile plastered across her face. She doesn't even bother looking at him.

"There are different types of tarot decks, but I use a standard American one. That means 78 major and minor arcana cards. Major arcana represent life lessons and there's only 22 of them. The other 56 cards are the minor arcana, which describe day-to-day lessons. The minor arcana is split into four suits: cups, swords, pentacles and wands. These outline general human motivations. Each suit has ten numbered cards and four character cards represented by the page, the knight, the king and the queen. So 14 cards in each minor arcana. That's pretty much all there is to it."

"Really, is that all?" Will mutters sarcastically.

Charlie nods, "Yeah, that seems like a lot. How do you remember all of that?"

Leave it to Charlie to turn his sarcastic quip into a compliment.

"Practice." She hesitates a little before continuing, "I should warn you that my readings aren't always… flattering. If the presence of others makes you uncomfortable, now would be the time for you to ask them to leave."

"And you think your presence is more comforting than ours?"

Lizzie looks at him cooly, "Charlie signed a contract that forbids me from sharing his reading unless he gives me permission."

An awkward silence lingers as Will tries to think of something witty to say and Lizzie lets him stew in his mistake. Then Charlie claps his hands together and clears his throat, pulling all the attention back to him.

"Don't worry, I'm hardly used to flattery," Charlie laughs and looks over at Will, "he's never been worried about hurting my feelings."

Lizzie cocks her head, but then shrugs lightly, "In that case, let's start. Please shuffle the deck, split it into thirds and place them face down on the table."

Charlie follows her instructions, excitement splitting his face as he spreads out the cards.

"What's your job if Charlie's doing all the work?"

Lizzie's eyebrows furrow and she gives Will a small pitying smile, "The more Charlie does, the more specific his reading will be. His energy and life is transferred to the cards to improve the accuracy of the prediction. I interpret the cards based on my understanding of tarot and the readings I get from Charlie."

"So what you're saying…" Will's eyebrows raise, "is that your job could be fulfilled by a google search."

Lizzie snorts, "If you're the person interpreting then I doubt it. I bet this table has more psychic ability. Charlie might have a little more success though." Lizzie turns back to the table, looking over the three neatly made piles. She smiles at him warmly and Will gets the feeling that he's getting just a glimpse of what she's like with normal customers. When she smiles, she seems almost nice.

(He likes her smile.)

Wait, what?!

"Alright, flip over the top card on each pile and place it in front of its respective deck, then flip the entire deck over so that the bottom card is facing up."

When Charlie gives her a confused look, she pulls out another deck and demonstrates for him and then he does it without a second thought. The moment he flips over the first card, the one on his left, Will feels something pass over the room. A weird buzz, a cord of energy circling through the walls and the floor, making everything vibrate just a little. It starts from the corners and slowly creeps towards him, until it finally hits his chair. He feels a spark of panic, the urge to leave, but something holds him down and he waits as the energy continues to crawl. It starts in his fingertips, feels a little bit like his hand has fallen asleep. Instead of restricting his movements though, he feels lighter, more able. It's an incredible sensation and he feels it going straight for his chest, straight for his heart.

His eyes snap to Jane, expecting some kind of a reaction to what's happening. But Jane looks absolutely unbothered, her eyes focused on Charlie, brow creased in worry. Charlie's also calm and casual, a wide smile spreading over his face as usual.

The only other person who seems even slightly affected by the change is Lizzie, whose eyes have a glassy, distant quality, like she's not really in the room. Her lips are slightly parted and she's looking down at the cards in amazement. Then her eyes snap up to his and her jaw falls open. He feels his heart rate spike and he holds her gaze. The feeling of amazement, of power, washes over him. He can tell these feelings aren't his. But if they're not, then whose are they?

Impossible.

But when Charlie puts down the final card, Lizzie shakes her head a little and looks back at the table. She looks over them, pursing her lips, pretending to inspect them.

Finally, she looks back at Will, their eyes connecting for a second, a spark going through him when they do. Then she looks over to Charlie and she's talking and Will has to tune out of the energy and into what she's saying.

"The past," she starts, her voice deeper, surreal, "is conflicting. Filled with heartbreak and success."

Her arm stretches out delicately, a nail tapping against the first card on Charlie's left. Seven clouds, seven chalices resting on each, seven objects within each one. A lady's head and priceless jewels. A snake and a dragon.

"Reality and illusion are a frequent theme in your love life. You fall easily, are easily deceived."

Will resists the urge to comment. Of course Charlie is reckless in romance. He doesn't need a psychic to tell him that.

Apparently that's as specific as Lizzie is going to get because her fingernail traces up to the bottom card on top of the flipped pile. A woman riding a horse and holding what looks to be a tree branch. There's a few people holding the same symbol behind her.

Lizzie considers it and carefully says, "Nonetheless, you've made a name for yourself. Built yourself up. You're recognized yet modest about it."

The vague bullshit coming out of her mouth is offset by the fact that she seems legitimately possessed.

All of this is an act. So clearly an act…

Her hands slide to the left, palm resting on the first card in the middle.

"The present," she murmurs. Her brows furrow and she looks around the room as though she's forgotten where she is. The moment of panic that comes over him is shocking, mostly because he knows it's entirely irrational. But for some reason, Lizzie's panic transfers over to him. He grips the armrests, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

None of this is real. There's nothing wrong.

Her gaze sweeps back to the cards. She lifts the card she's holding, a wheel drawn at its center with winged animals peeking out at the edges, "The wheel of fortune is a major card, signalling long-term luck and a turning point in your life."

Will watches closely as Charlie's eyes flick to Jane and he tries not to roll his eyes. It's not that he doesn't like Jane. Sure, she's a little bland and she's definitely not as serious about Charlie as he is about her. But that's besides the point, which is that Charlie rushes into shit like this head first, fuck all the consequences. He's like a bull running at a red handkerchief held up by a matador. And then when the matador pulls the kerchief away (A.K.A. the girl breaks his heart), the bull (A.K.A. Charlie) comes crying to Will (A.K.A. Will).

He's admittedly had one too many nights full of ice cream, shitty romcoms and crying.

He looks over at Jane, who is still staring at Lizzie, completely oblivious to Charlie's adoring gaze. Will feels mildly sick.

Turning his attention back to Lizzie, he pushes the thought out of his head as she begins to speak, "There's a connection to your daily life. A change, a new relationship, maybe even new love and deep feelings of compassion."

Darcy scoffs. Of course she'd say that. She knows that Charlie and Jane just started dating. But he thinks it's a little cruel of her to go as far as to say that there's new love in his life. Charlie's feelings clearly aren't entirely reciprocated and it's a little mean of her to imply that they are just so that she can carry out some cheap act.

He watches Lizzie's eyes slip in and out of focus before shifting to the last pile on the table. The one on Charlie's right. The future. He watches her closely, catches every shift as her face contorts into an expression of confusion and… concern? For a moment, her gaze breaks. She carefully tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, a nervous tick he recalls from the restaurant. Then she taps the first card, a woman sitting on a stool, one slender arm holding out a large sword.

"I see a choice. A choice strongly connected to someone you love," her eyes slide over the room before catching, faltering yet again, when she gets to him. She stares him in the eyes, "Someone will try to influence your decision and I believe that you will heed their advice. Be careful."

She holds his gaze for several seconds as the silence lingers. No one else seems to notice. When she finally looks away, he feels the energy drain out of him. He feels attacked. He feels like she's somehow managed to include him in her wild fantasies and crazy ideas.

He feels like she may be right.

"I see this decision leading to disharmony, misalignment and loneliness," she says lowly, her eyes never straying from the last card. "From there on, it will be up to you to figure things out."

How convenient.

Lizzie nods once and takes a deep breath before gathering the cards in one sweeping motion. She smiles, but the gesture is distracted, "That's kind of how a tarot reading usually goes."

Charlie is still looking at the table in awe and Jane is looking at Charlie with a look of apprehension, as though trying to decipher how he handled finding out his 'future'. Will, on the other hand, couldn't give less of a flying fuck what Charlie thought of it. Something doesn't seem right.

"Kind of?" he asks.

Lizzie looks up and quirks an eyebrow at him, "What?"

"You said that's kind of how tarot goes?" he repeats. "Did something not go as planned?"

He sees the fire spark in her eyes, sees that she's recognized his challenge. Distantly, he knows that he gets some kind of sick pleasure from riling her up. The anger she radiates is exhilarating.

She bends her head, breaking eye contact and taking an excessive interest in shuffling the deck, "That's exactly how it goes."

There's something odd about her tone and he knows, beyond a doubt, that she's hiding something. But before he can push it, Charlie's already gushing again.

"Wow!" he huffs out. "That was-"

"Bullshit?" Will supplies, still staring at Lizzie.

Charlie looks at Will, affronted, "No. It was really, really cool."

Lizzie finally looks up, her face schooled into a small smile, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know it's a little vague, but tarot predictions are mainly supposed to act as guidelines. Nothing is set in stone so it's often difficult to pull out specifics."

"As opposed to other psychic powers which do what exactly?"

Lizzie rolls her eyes at him and he feels himself relax just a little. All the weird, intense staring was kind of creepy. He's probably more prepared to deal with irritated Lizzie than he is to deal with possessed Lizzie.

"Psychometry," she tries to smile but it turns into a grimace. She's clearly not over whatever was bothering her before. She hesitates, then smiles wickedly, the full effect finally coming out, "Now the fun starts."

"Great!" Charlie exclaims. "What do I do?"

Lizzie shrugs, "You don't really have to do anything. Is there anything on you that's associated with a memory?"

Charlie scratches the back of his neck and tilts his head and thought. That's when Will catches the flash of silver on his wrist. The watch that Will got him for his last birthday. The expensive watch that he almost dropped into a bowl of fruit punch at his own goddamn party.

"Your watch," Will says a little too quickly. He clears his throat, "I mean… your watch is associated with a memory."

Charlie nods, setting his arm on the table and tugging up the sleeve, "Yeah, that'll work."

"That's perfect," Lizzie says, turning Charlie's arm and spreading his palm out on the table. Will feels a pull and instinctively edges closer to the table. He stops when Lizzie shoots him another odd look. She cocks her head and then turns back to Charlie, dismissing him for what feels like the hundredth time today.

"Look at me," she says to Charlie. Her fingers hover over the watch as she looks him in the eye. She releases his forearm and Will briefly wonders if it's to keep the skin-on-skin contact from interfering with her connection to the watch. Then he realizes that's a ridiculous thought.

Lizzie's eyes close and her fingers move down to feel the watch. Right before her fingertips make contact with the smooth, solid face, Jane interrupts, sucking the silence out of the room.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" her voice a little desperate, almost manic.

Lizzie exhales loudly, her eyes opening lazily.

Charlie looks over at Jane, concern written plainly over his features, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jane stammers, looking over at Lizzie for support. Lizzie's mouth quirks up in a smirk and Will narrows his eyes at her.

Lizzie either doesn't notice or doesn't care. She turns back to Charlie, "Ready?"

He hesitates for only a moment, looking back and forth between Lizzie and Jane. Then he nods and Lizzie grabs his arm again. This time, the build up isn't nearly as elaborate. Lizzie closes her eyes, lets go of his arm, allows her fingers to hover over the watch. Then she lets her fingers come down on it. They move over the metal, quickly and precisely, getting a feel for the object. Her jaw tenses and she licks her bottom lip. Will resists the urge to follow the movement.

Finally, her eyes open and she sits back, crossing her arms and breathing deeply. She looks at Charlie, then at Jane, before her eyes settle on him. They stay there, overwhelming in their intensity. He didn't notice the colour of her eyes before. He does now.

They're green.

"You got this for him," she states plainly. "As a gift for his…" she pause to think. "For his birthday."

"That's right!" Charlie cries and Will can hear the disbelief and awe in his voice even though he can't see it.

Lizzie's eyes are still trained on his when she says, "There's more. Charlie almost broke it, dropped it in a bowl of punch at a surprise birthday party." She cracks a smile and it's only a little distracting, he swears, "His sister… Caroline? She caught it before it fell in."

She's right…

She's fucking right?!

"Amazing," Charlie breathes out.

"More like impossible," Will spits, turning on Jane, "you told her this story?"

Jane shakes her head, eyeing Lizzie and Charlie warily, "I didn't know it."

He looks back at Lizzie, dazed and confused by the turn of events. She's not looking at him this time. Instead, she shuffles the deck obsessively, cards passing over cards passing over cards. When the phone rings, she literally jumps out of her seat, the cards falling out of her hands and onto the ground. She stalks over to the landline on the counter and picks it up in a way that he thinks is a tad aggressive.

Everything is silent as they wait for Lizzie to speak. When she does, her voice is exasperated, tired and heavy, "What? What's happening?"

Will swears that he can hear someone yelling over the receiver from halfway across the room. At one point, Lizzie sighs and places a hand on the counter, letting her head swing down, "Yeah, okay… Jesus, I said okay. We're coming."

She pulls the speaker away from her face and this time, Will can definitely hear someone over the phone. Lizzie eyes the phone distastefully before hanging up. The voice cuts out and the silence prevails.

"I'm really sorry Charlie," she sighs as she walks over to them, "but my sister just called and we have some kind of family emergency to tend to."

Her sister stands up from her chair, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she growls, "Lydia wouldn't stop yelling."

Jane bites her bottom lip before nodding and walking over to Charlie, "I'm really sorry for this. Do you want me to give you guys a ride back to your apartment."

Will looks over at Lizzie who's down on the floor, picking up the cards. She scowls at her sister's proposition, but stays quiet.

"That's okay," Charlie smiles at her and turns to Will. "We'll be fine."

Jane comes over to shake his hand, "It was nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, just fantastic," Lizzie mutters, but it doesn't seem like her heart's really in it. Will can still feel it. The weird buzz. The connection that he felt during the reading. He doesn't believe it, but he also can't deny feeling it.

"Nice to meet you too," he smiles at Jane, ignoring Lizzie's comment.

Lizzie and Charlie exchange niceties and then he gives her a nod which she returns in kind. A silent acknowledgment of the fact that neither of them want to shake hands or speak to each other.

As they walk out the door, Charlie turns back and says, "Thanks for the readings Lizzie! I can't believe you knew what happened to the watch."

Yeah, Will can't believe it either. In fact, he'd go as far as to say that he doesn't believe it. But then, how had she known that it was a present from him? How had she known about the fruit punch and Caroline? There's no way that she could be an actual psychic, right?

Right?

Well Lizzie's acting pretty weird. Good thing that she'll get a chance to explain in the next chapter! Anyways, I hope everyone enjoyed chapter three. Please follow, favourite and review.

Notes on The Raven Cycle: I don't usually read YA, but my impression of this series is that it is more original than most. Stiefvater does use some interesting literary techniques to build up suspense, but overall, I found the series underwhelming. That being said, the second book is incredible. She does a lot of great character development on an LGBTQ+ character and I found the book really resonated with me. Even if you don't want to get into the series, read a summary of the first book and then go straight to the second one. 10/10 would recommend.

If anyone is looking for a YA series to get into and haven't tried The Cruel Prince, go read that. It's really great.