Chapter 6
I stood outside my new dorm just after dusk, cradling a note that had magically appeared on my door earlier in the afternoon. Thick, ivory parchment embossed with a dark, swirling emblem. It was unlike any stationery I’d seen at Edenvane before. With all the drama of the last several weeks, I was half-convinced it might be another vicious prank, some elaborate trick. But the swirling emblem looked legitimate, closer to a seal or a crest than a doodle by bored, rich kids.
The message read only:
“Nubia—Come to the Boat House at midnight.—A.”
Nubia. The name struck me, though I still felt uncertain about claiming it. The meaning, gold, or golden one, echoed in my head with a sense of dark irony given how tarnished everything felt these days. I knew it was Anubis’ half-joking, half-ceremonial nickname for me, though I hadn’t granted him permission to re-christen me anything at all.
I tucked the note in my jacket pocket. My fingers shook with dread, and maybe something else. I still didn’t fully trust him. Anubis Edenvane, the ultimate bad guy who seemed to thrive on controlling the board in whatever twisted game he was playing. He reeked of danger and promise and money, the trifecta that had undone many people before me.
And yet, in my silent grief after Toccara’s death, I found I didn’t entirely hate him. More shocking was that part of me wanted to see him again. If anything, I needed answers.
I looked around the near-empty hallway of the new dorm, half-expecting to see someone peeking out to confirm I’d found the note. The campus police had still been roaming around, questioning anyone who even vaguely knew Toccara. Meanwhile, the Dean had demanded I join a campus organization so I wouldn’t make further “poor” decisions. Therefore, I’d rushed headlong into the Howler, our campus newspaper, only to be told to investigate the rumors of an elite secret society, the Skulls. The entire experience was overshadowed by Toccara’s funeral, which I’d attended alone.
That was a week ago. A week of emotional purgatory, of me sleeping in this new dorm and venturing out only for coffee and to sign off on the last bits of police paperwork regarding Toccara’s room. The authorities insisted my roommate’s death was a suicide, but I couldn’t accept that. The Toccara I knew was a high-octane influencer, in love with her own reflection, chasing success. Would she truly have thrown it all away?
I gnawed at my lip. A new wave of sorrow prickled my chest. As I closed my eyes against it, I caught myself whispering the words, “They floated her.”
The real possibility my roommate was murdered by the Skulls weighed me down as I remembered Anubis’ explanation for why students ended up in the river. His threat, that either I joined him in some insane initiation or they would float me too.
Nevertheless, whether it be lack of sleep, grief or my wits working, I didn’t trust anything that had happened the other night, down in that cold, dark grave. After all, it could all be an elaborate prank, like all the others. Anubis could be playing me.
With trembling resolve, I headed for the Boat House.
The night air was crisp and the moon low, casting silvery shards of light over Edenvane’s manicured lawns. A few late-night study lamps glowed in students’ windows, but no one else walked the cobbled paths. That quiet loneliness comforted me. Even if Edenvane’s campus was vast and often unwelcoming, at least in the stillness of this hour, I felt less judged.
The Boat House loomed ahead, a structure that never quite seemed to fit its name. It was more of a palace by the river, a grand wooden building combining sleek modern architecture with old-world money. The fieldstone walkway leading to its doors was lit by tall torches dancing in the breeze like it was hosting some medieval festival.
A single figure stood in the shadows. A guard, presumably. I wondered if he was hired muscle or simply a student pledged to guard the premises. He wore an Edenvane jacket, black with a discreet silver crest over the breast. The crest looked suspiciously like a stylized skull.
When he caught sight of me, the guard shifted his stance and seemed to assess me head to toe. I zipped my jacket higher, conscious that I was wearing only leggings and a fitted tank top beneath. I might’ve chosen something else if I’d known someone would be waiting.
“Card?” he said, his voice echoing against the quiet.
I pulled out my gold pass from earlier in the semester, the same one Anubis had given me for that disastrous party. The guard gave it a quick once-over and nodded. “Swipe,” he directed.
I whipped it across a small electronic reader on a portable table. It chirped pleasantly, and the guard pressed something on his own device.
“Head inside,” he said. “You know the way.”
I didn’t. But I forced a nod and passed by, heart hammering. The large wooden doors were cracked open, inviting me into the lavish interior. Inside, the Boat House had this faint smell of orange blossoms mixed with that rich, old-money scent, leather, cologne, the whole nine yards.
Walking deeper into the hall, I half expected to see more partygoers strewn on velvet couches or around glass tables with lines of something illegal. But it was quiet, too quiet. The overhead lights in the main lounge were off, leaving everything cast in moody half-shadows. A single overhead fixture from the second floor created a warm golden spotlight that fell onto polished floorboards.
Where was Anubis?
I took a few slow steps. The hush was eerie, especially after my last disastrous experience with parties here. Then, from a corner beyond the bar, a figure emerged. Deliciously tall, strong upper body with brown hair that captured the golden hint of that overhead light.
And that smirk. It was him. The bad guy.
My stomach did a complicated somersault the moment I recognized his silhouette. I tried to breathe steadily, but a traitorous part of me tingled with raw anticipation.
“Come down, girl,” I whispered to my coochie.
He wore a black button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, his forearms flexing as he beckoned me closer. No flashy logos or illusions to wealth. There was something subdued about him tonight. The regal way he stood, the cut of his shirt, and the quiet storm in his eyes reminded me that, however rebellious he acted, he was still an Edenvane in name and blood.
“Glad you finally came,” he said softly.
There was no mocking lilt in his voice. If anything, he sounded almost relieved.
I cleared my throat, struggling to swallow a sudden dryness. “You left a note. After everything that happened…”
His expression flickered. We never specifically said anything about the grave, but it hung between us, anyway. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he murmured, nodding toward a hallway. “We can talk privately.”
Private. The word set off alarms in my brain. For so long, I’d wavered between suspicion of him and an undeniable attraction. But I remembered the grave and the night after. And the vow I made shortly after to myself to keep my distance, for the sake of my own sanity.
Still, I followed him. Maybe because he was the only one who seemed to acknowledge I wasn’t okay. Or maybe because some hidden part of me had longed to see him again, even if it was dangerously foolish.
He led me into a smaller side room I recognized from before. A lounge with walls lined by rowers’ trophies, antique rowing paddles, and black-and-white photographs of centuries’ worth of Edenvane champions. Thick curtains shielded the windows, and the only light source was a standing lamp with a tinted glass shade that made everything appear tinted a smoky amber.
He gestured for me to sit on a leather couch. I did, tucking my hands between my knees. I felt as if I were facing a teacher’s scolding, not entirely sure where his head was at. After all, the fact didn’t escape me. We weren’t having this private conversation in his bedroom.
Anubis pulled out a chair from the corner and sat across from me, leaning forward, arms braced on his knees. A faint bruise darkened his cheekbone. If I squinted, I could see hints of older bruises around his knuckles. My mind flicked to a rumor I’d heard from the Rowing team, he’d been in a recent brawl, presumably about some House rivalry or intramural scuffle. Or maybe something more sinister for all I knew.
He watched me with an intensity that made me squirm.
“I’m sorry,” he began, voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “For your roommate. I know you and Toccara weren’t exactly best friends, but…”
I folded my arms, feeling old frustration bubble up. “She was in my dorm, Anubis. We might’ve fought sometimes, but we were building something like a friendship. She was my only friend here. And she’s gone. The official story is…you know.” I swallowed, a mass of grief lodging in my throat. “But it doesn’t add up.”
His gaze flitted away. “I know,” he said, tone loaded with meaning. “And if I could give you the answers you want, I would.”
“Then give me something.” The plea escaped me. “You know I know about the Skulls.”
“Your biggest mistake. Other than keeping me waiting for an entire week.”
I ignored the fact, I didn’t meet him after our time together and focused on the later. “The Howler’s editor basically demanded I investigate them if I want to stay on staff. He thinks Edenvane’s… rotten in ways that connect to Toccara’s death and others.”
A flicker of wariness crossed his face. “You’ve been reading the lore?”
I nodded. “In the archives, yes. But they only go so far, and everything after 1900 is basically redacted. All the rumors I’ve heard around campus are contradictory. I can’t tell what’s truth and what’s ghost stories.” I paused, meeting his gaze. “But I suspect you know more than you admit.”
He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. A tension carved the lines of his shoulders. “I do. But telling you outright…it isn’t that simple, Suede.”
I grimaced at the mention of my real name. Part of me was always waiting for him to call me Nubia. Did I hate it, or did I want to accept it? I couldn’t tell anymore. I fidgeted, weighing my next words carefully.
“Why invite me here, then?” I asked, my voice edged with mistrust. “To keep lying to me?”
He pressed his mouth into a tight line. For a moment, I thought he’d retort with some clever barb, but he sighed instead. “No. I’m… I’ve given you space to grieve. I want you to stay close, because you’ve been caught in the crossfire.”
“According to you, if any of what happened was real, you put me in this situation.”
“No. Forces in this place, my family’s legacy, are at play, and you keep getting singled out. I’m trying to protect you.”
I might have laughed if his tone wasn’t so bitter. “Protect me?” I repeated. “Half the time, you’re the one messing with my life. The hair fiasco. That ridiculous party. Getting me strikes with the Dean. Then you vanish without warning.”
He winced. “Those were attempts to get you out of this place, because I thought if you left, you’d be free. But everything changed after Toccara died. A—” He glanced down, maybe catching himself before saying a name. “Someone else made it clear that your presence is…non-negotiable now. Because of the scholarship. Because you’re digging into secrets. You’re in deeper than you know, Suede.”
I tried to read his face. The flickering lamplight made it harder, but I picked up guilt and sincerity woven in his expression. He was telling some version of the truth. Maybe. Or was this all part of a bigger prank? Strangely enough, relief washed through me. He’d admitted it. I wasn’t crazy. He had orchestrated some of those humiliations. And he’d done it, so he claimed, to protect me. The logic was warped, but Edenvane’s labyrinth of politics might indeed require twisted logic.
I took a shaky breath. “So what do I do now?”
Anubis reached across the gap between us, resting a hand over mine. Despite everything, the warmth of his touch sparked a comforting electric pulse along my skin. I let out a slow exhale and didn’t pull away.
“I want to show you something,” he said at last. “But it means you’ll have to trust me for at least one night. No prying editor, no illusions that you can run to the Dean or the campus police. I need you to keep an open mind. Will you come with me?”
I wasn’t sure how wise it was to trust him. The last time I went with him, I found myself buried alive as he buried his bone in me. The memories that flooded me as I thought of it did little to discourage me. But also Toccara’s face flashed in my memory, and with it came the strangest sense that she’d want me to keep prying.
“Alright,” I whispered.