12. Sylvester
Chapter 12
Sylvester
I toss my duffle bag over my shoulder, shaking out the excess water from my hair as I step out the natatorium, not that it matters much. Altair is a never-ending cesspool of rain.
Passing a few of my teammates chatting outside with a few lingering fans, I wave before heading in the opposite direction.
The puddles beneath my feet splash with each step, mingling with the constant drizzle from above. I pull my tracksuit jacket tighter around me, though it does little to ward off the chill that seeps into my bones.
As I round the corner, I catch sight of a familiar silhouette leaning against a lamppost.
I force a smile, trying to ignore the twist of disappointment in my gut. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She pushes off the lamppost, her blonde hair bouncing beneath her headband as she closes the distance between us. “We need to talk.”
“We’ve already gone over this, Sutton,” I remind her, tugging my hood up.
“Well, I want to go over it again.”
I sigh. “Can’t this wait? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
Sutton’s eyes thin, her lips pressing into a flat line. “No, it can’t.”
I glance around, noting the few stragglers still milling about. “Fine. But not here. Let’s go somewhere dry at least.”
We walk in tense silence, the rhythmic patter of rain on cobblestone our only accompaniment. I lead us to the library, its soft, warm lights a beacon in the gloomy afternoon. As we step inside, the rich aroma of coffee envelops us, a stark contrast to the damp chill outside.
We find a secluded corner booth, and I drop my bag and shrug off my jacket. Sutton sits across from me. “You want anything to drink from the cart?” I offer, but she shakes her head, and I go to grab my own.
I return with a steaming cup of black coffee, its warmth seeping into my hands as I settle back into my seat. Sutton’s eyes follow my movements, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the table.
“Alright,” I say, taking a sip and wincing as it burns my tongue. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until I was dry and warm?”
Sutton leans forward, her voice quiet. “I think you’re wrong about her.”
My stomach drops, but I keep my face neutral. “We aren’t. We know what we’re doing.”
Sutton’s eyes flash with frustration. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re all making a mistake.”
I take another sip of my coffee, buying time to choose my words carefully. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but this isn’t your decision to make. We’ve been over this countless times.”
“You made a decision based on incomplete information,” she hisses, leaning closer. “You don’t know everything.”
I feel my jaw clench. Alex has been here for all of five minutes and Sutton thinks she knows her. Damn, the girl has even got Bishop keeping secrets. I mean, he’s like that anyway, but what was that about this morning?
How can we support him if he doesn’t share what happens with us so that we can effectively provide back up? We were supposed to be a team.
This girl is bad news, and we need her out.
No, my mind would not be changed.
“And you do?” I counter, raising an eyebrow.
She hesitates, then nods slowly. “I think I’m beginning to.”
I feel a flicker of unease, but I push it down. “You don’t, I promise.”
“Neither do you!” Sutton’s voice rises, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables.
“Keep your voice down,” I warn, glancing around suspiciously. The last thing we need is for this conversation to be overheard.
She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Look, I know you think you’re protecting them, but—”
“But nothing,” I cut in. “Alex Prescott is bad news for Altair.” For Legacies. For everyone.
Her eyes narrow, and I can see the stubborn set of her jaw. She doesn’t want to back down, but it doesn’t matter, because I refuse to see it any other way.
“You keep saying that, but what exactly has she done?” Sutton challenges. “Besides existing?”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “It’s about protecting our own.”
“And who decides who ‘our own’ is?” she fires back, before shoving back her chair and storming out of the library.
I feel a surge of anger, but I force it down. Losing my temper won’t help anyone.
I finish my coffee before rising from my spot and shoving my arms back through my jacket. My mood has officially soured.
“Mr. Oliveri,” a familiar voice calls after me as I shuffle my way past a narrow row of bookcases.
“Professor O’Donnelly,” I say tersely, coming to a stop beside the check-out desk at the front.
“I haven’t gotten the chance to discuss how your one-on-one with Miss Prescott went the other night.”
My teeth gnash together. Looks like we’re both wondering the same thing, since she didn’t bother to show up. I waited sixty whole seconds past the scheduled start time before deciding to ditch it myself. I had better things to do than help improve Alex’s incompetence.
I force my features to remain neutral. “It went fine, Professor. Her academic disability is something I’m handling.”
She smiles, an eager glint in her eye. “Of course you are. You’ve always been one of our more…brilliant students.” Her hand brushes my arm as she reaches past me to grab her book on the counter.
I resist the urge to flinch away from her touch, maintaining my composure. I was going to need at least two more showers now.
She lifts her chin, her smile never wavering. “You know, if you ever need any... additional support with Miss Prescott's situation, my door is always open.”
“I need to get going.”
She nods but doesn’t move away. If anything, she gets closer. “Of course, of course. But before you go, I want to mention that you and I might have to spend a period or two together to formulate a plan if she continues to be an issue.”
My stomach turns. The last thing I want is to spend more time with any Professor, but especially O’Donnelly.
I force a tight smile, my fingers clenching involuntarily around the strap of my bag. “I appreciate your concern, Professor, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I have the situation under control.”
“Still,” she muses in a way that makes me want to throw up. The wrinkles around her mouth, a sign of her age, only make it worse. “I should probably stop by sometime to be sure.”
“Great…” My voice dies.
She leans in closer, her perfume—a cloying mix of lavender and something sickeningly sweet—invading my senses. “I look forward to it.” The smile on her mouth never faltering.
Lovely.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I sidestep around her, my shoulder barely brushing against hers as I make my escape. “I really need to get going.”
I hurry out of the library, my skin practically crawling from the encounter. Fresh air hits me as I step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease.
Ugh! It was as if a thousand ants were crawling under my skin anytime O’Donnelly touched me.
As I make my way across campus, my mind races. Now, not only do I have to deal with Alex’s incompetence, but I have O’Donnelly breathing down my neck, looking for any excuse to get me alone.
Alex would be at our next session if I had to drag her there, kicking and screaming. There is not a chance in hell I was going to be forced into individual time with O’Donnelly because the girl refused to actually show up and learn something.
Nuh-uh. Not happening.
Alex Prescott would be present at our next scheduled meeting, whether she agreed to it or not.
Thursday, she was mine.
I change course, heading toward the Whitlock dorms instead of my own. The additional steps give me time to simmer, my irritation building with each step. By the time I reach Cam’s room, I’m practically seething.
“What happened to you?” he asks from his spot on the couch, taking in my disgruntled expression.
“O’Donnelly,” I offer, knowing it’s not the entire reason.
Cam nods in perfect understanding. This professor may appreciate the male students around her, but everyone understood she had a special appreciation for us Legacies.
A fresh shudder races its way down my spine.
I flop down next to my friend, letting out a frustrated groan. “She’s insisting on ‘checking in’ on my sessions with Alex. Meaning she’s really just looking for any excuse to meet with me alone.”
Cam grimaces. “Gross. That woman gives me the creeps.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. “I need to make sure Alex shows up on Thursday, or I’m screwed.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
I lean my head back against the couch, closing my eyes. “I don’t know. But I’ll figure something out.” I don't really have a choice unless I want to spend more time with O'Donnelly, which I definitely do not want.
“Why don't you use your charms on Alex to get what you want? It's not like it's a new tactic for you, right? Besides, we agreed that your tutoring sessions would be great for gathering additional information.” Cam suggests, knowing that my reputation for being persuasive extends beyond just casual flirting. My talents in the bedroom are well-known across campus, but my friend is being modest.
“That would only work if she actually decided to show up,” I grumble.
Cam shrugs nonchalantly. “Then make sure she does.”
I let out a groan. This girl has only been here a hot minute and is already screwing everything up for us all.
There’s a moment of silence before I speak again. “Where’s Bishop? I thought you guys were going into town for pizza after my meet.”
Cam shoots me a knowing look and I click my tongue in disapproval.
“You know how he is,” he says.
“I know, I know. Leave no stone unturned, and all that. It’ll be helpful if he shares what he finds with us, when it happens,” I complain, still annoyed about this morning. Because, seriously, what was that? We’re on the same team. Team exterminate the threat.
“Yeah, well, you know Bishop,” Cam says. “He’s like a dog with a bone when he’s on to something.”
I nod, still annoyed, but understanding. Bishop’s thoroughness is usually an asset, even if it’s frustrating right now.
“Speaking of Bishop,” he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Before he ditched me for the old you-know-who’s, he said he might have found out something interesting about our little problem child.”
My head snaps up, suddenly alert. “What did he find?”
Cam shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye. “He didn’t say much, just that he’d tell us when he got back.”
A spark of hope ignites in my chest. Maybe this is it. Maybe Bishop has found the key to getting rid of Alex once and for all.
“When’s he supposed to be back?” I ask, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice.
“Dunno,” he replies glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. “But it’s been a few hours, so probably soon.”
“Good.” I nod, settling back into the couch, and kicking up my feet on his coffee table. My mind races with hopeful possibilities. We needed this girl gone. Stat.
Just then, the door swings open and Bishop strides in, kicking my feet from the table and dropping a pizza box between us in way of apology. His face is set in a grim expression.
“Speak of the devil,” Cam mutters, already digging in while I ignore the way my stomach growls. The delicious aroma of garlic, pepperoni, and melted cheese is making my mouth water.
I study Bishop’s face. “You found something?”
His brown hair is windswept, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that immediately puts me on edge.
“Well?” I demand, sitting up straighter to distract myself from the tempting smells of freshly baked dough and sauce.
Bishop glances between Cam and me, his expression unreadable. But this is nothing new. The guy is as closed off as they come, actually, I’m pretty sure if you had a contest for the most enigmatic person on the planet, Bishop would win, hands down.
“Yeah, get on with it,” Cam mumbles around a mouthful of pizza.
Bishop’s lips twitch, the barest hint of amusement crossing his face.
He raises a single envelope, addressed to Alex, that’s been decorated with glittery stickers of smiley faces, cherries, and other random objects.
“I found her weakness.”