Chapter 9
He guided me toward the door like nothing happened. “Let’s get out of here. Staff will be coming soon to set up for tonight’s event.”
We rode the elevator back up to the main level in complete silence. My lips and throat were sore. But I felt a strange satisfaction, regardless. And longing.
As we stepped into the lounge, I spotted a cluster of staff setting trays of champagne flutes on the bar, adjusting centerpieces, and hanging discreet black-and-silver banners. None of them seemed to notice us. We were ghosts floating through an underworld that wore the veneer of wealth and refined tradition.
Anubis steered me to a quieter corner near a decorative suit of armor that always struck me as ridiculous for a Boat House. He exhaled slowly, raking his hand through his hair. “My father’s going to be here tonight for some philanthropic event with major donors,” he said. “It’s a big deal. They’ll probably talk about expansions, new buildings, how wonderful Edenvane is.”
Bile rose in my throat at the hypocrisy. “Good luck,” I muttered. “Pretending everything’s normal.”
His eyes flicked to me. “You have something to say?”
“What was that back there? I ought to call the police.”
“That was humiliation. How they expect me to treat my casket.”
There was that word again.
“Use you. What they demand of me. I have to prove I’m cruel. And I am cruel. I get off on it.”
I rolled my eyes big time. “What an excuse… The skulls made you?”
“There are expectations of me, and if what we talked about the other night has a chance, I can’t be suspected.”
“Of what?”
“Of having feelings for you,” he said as quietly as he could. Then he changed the subject with an abrupt change to his tone. “Sophie will be here, too. But since you have that coffee meeting with her, watch your timing. She’ll probably show up later.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry not from Sophie but from his talk about having feelings for me. Was he fucking with me? “I’m supposed to meet her at seven. Maybe I can slip away before she heads here.”
He hesitated, then gently slid an arm around my shoulders. His warmth seeped into me, and I realized my hands were trembling from adrenaline and fatigue. Normally, I might resist such a public display, but in that moment, I felt oddly comforted by his touch, even after what he just put me through.
“You sure you want to do this alone?” he asked, voice low. “Going face-to-face with her, especially after what we found in those files?”
My heart beat a staccato. “I have to. If I back down, she’ll know I’ve been tipped off. I’d rather make her believe I’m uncertain, maybe even curious about her offer, so I can glean what she’s up to.”
His gaze lingered on my face. “You've got more balls than I thought.”
A strange tightness formed in my chest. Before I could second-guess, I leaned in, pressing my forehead lightly against his shoulder. Our body language was hidden in the corner, behind that silly suit of armor.
He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed, resting his chin on my head. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered, so softly I barely caught the words. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, but we’ll find a way through.”
I closed my eyes. Part of me wanted to stay pressed against him, ignoring the entire night ahead and the danger swirling around us. But we couldn’t hide forever.
At length, we broke apart, the contact making my skin tingle. He walked me to the door, where staff and a few early event arrivals shot us discreet glances. Stepping outside into the late afternoon glow, I inhaled deeply, determined to keep my composure.
Before I left, he caught my hand. “Text me as soon as you’re done meeting Sophie. If anything feels off, call.”
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. “I will.”
Then I released his hand and walked away, the note in my pocket heavier than ever. The sky was tinted a purplish hue, a sure sign twilight was near. My mind whirled with a million possibilities of how tonight’s conversation with Sophie might go.
I considered telling Harry or even the campus police about the infiltration, but I doubted it would help. Sophie’s mother was the Dean. Any move I made would reach her ears instantly. No, I had to handle this carefully, wearing the mask of a na?ve scholarship student looking for any chance to rise in Edenvane’s ranks.
Ascend or break . The phrase from the ledger repeated in my thoughts. Toccara had tried to ascend, and she’d wound up in the river. I’d be damned if I’d share that fate.
I forced steady breaths and hurried back to my dorm to freshen up, bracing myself for a night of deceit and tea-sipping diplomacy.
The campus café near the art building was nestled under a canopy of oak trees lit by tiny string lights. Usually it was a cozy spot for students to study or gossip, complete with mismatched chairs and chalkboard menus listing overpriced lattes. This evening, it felt more like a stage set for a cunning negotiation.
I arrived a few minutes early. My nerves were ragged, so I ordered a simple black coffee to keep my hands busy. Sophie swept in at precisely seven, wearing a sleek trench coat and heeled boots that clicked briskly on the hardwood floor. The barista gave her a beaming greeting, like they knew her well.
She breezed over to me, setting a slender designer purse on the table, then removing her coat to reveal a stylish blouse that probably cost more than a month of our rent back home.
“Suede,” she said smoothly, glancing at my plain coffee. “Is that all you’re having? I recommend the salted caramel macchiato if you like sweeter things.”
I forced a polite laugh, my lips still tasting of Anubis. “I’m good. I’ve had enough salt for today.”
She raised a brow, then signaled the barista for an iced Americano. Once the barista left, Sophie folded her hands and gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I appreciate you coming,” she began. “I know you’ve had a tumultuous start this semester. First the hair debacle, then that unfortunate Boat House fiasco, and of course, your roommate…”
Her words made my stomach twist, but I kept my expression neutral. “Yes,” I said, “it’s been a lot.”
She leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. “A place like Edenvane can be overwhelming, especially for someone from your…background. Some students thrive on our traditions and step neatly into the circles that matter. Others stumble or find themselves lost. I’d hate to see you lost.”
Lost in the river? I sipped my coffee, ignoring the spike of annoyance. “I appreciate the sentiment,” I said, opting for a diplomatic approach. “I’ve been trying to find my place—join a club, keep up my grades. It’s…a lot of pressure.”
She nodded, her eyes gleaming with a strange satisfaction. “I can take some of that pressure off. Dean Mence, that is, my mother, respects my opinion on certain scholarship matters. If I vouch for you, the eyes on your every misstep could fade. No more silly strikes for trifles.”
A swirl of anger flickered through me, but I kept it concealed. “Why would you do that for me?”
Her half-smile spoke volumes: Because you’d owe me . But she didn’t say that outright. Instead, she took a sip of her iced Americano, lips curving. “You remind me of someone I used to know. She tried to prove herself at Edenvane. Worked day and night to fit in. She had real grit. That’s admirable in a place where so many take their privilege for granted.”
Was she talking about Toccara? Or maybe some older case of a scholarship student? I studied her face but found only a polished veneer.
“It’s not that I want special treatment,” I said softly. “I just want to succeed on my own terms.”
She bobbed her head with a show of sympathy. “Of course you do. And you can. But sometimes we all need a little guidance. So, Suede, let me be frank. I’m involved with certain…leadership committees on campus. We’re always looking for fresh talent, especially from those who show resilience. If that’s you, I might put your name forward for an opportunity.”
My pulse drummed in my ears. This was it—a backdoor invitation to the Skulls, or a related stepping-stone. “What opportunity?”
She shrugged elegantly. “Consider it a mentorship program. You learn from the best, get access to exclusive resources, maybe gain a powerful network after graduation. You could be more than a statistic. You’d be a real contender.”
I tried to appear skeptical without tipping my hand. “What would I have to do?”
Her lips curved. “Nothing strenuous. Show up to a few gatherings. Keep an open mind about tasks you might be asked to fulfill. Prove your loyalty to the people who can shape your future.” A beat passed. “You’d be expected to sign an NDA, of course, for confidentiality. The details of our gatherings are private.”
I forced a swallow of coffee, trying to quell the surge of panic. This was classic grooming for a secret society, all polished up with corporate-sounding phrases. Toccara must have heard a very similar pitch.
I put on my best pensive face, twirling a lock of green hair. “It sounds…intriguing. I won’t lie. It’s nice to feel like someone sees my potential instead of just my financial aid status.”
She reached across the small table and patted my hand, a practiced gesture that made me want to recoil. But I kept still. “I do see your potential,” she said sweetly. “So think it over, Suede. I’ll be in touch soon with a formal invitation if you’re still interested. But if you’re not, well… I won’t waste your time. You can go on muddling along in the standard scholarship track.”
The subtext: I’ll crush you if you say no . Or possibly: You’ll float in the river like Toccara did .
I mustered a tight smile. “Thank you, Sophie. Let me have a day or two to think about it?”
“Of course.” She downed the last of her Americano, then rose gracefully, draping her trench coat over one arm. “I do have a donor event soon, so I’ll have to run. But I’ll text you.”
I rose too, feeling unsteady on my feet. “Enjoy the event.”
She nodded, her expression unreadable, then pivoted and exited, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive perfume.
I sank back into my seat, letting out the breath I’d been holding. My coffee was cold, my palms were sweaty, and my throat felt raw. The conversation had been carefully scripted, each line designed to lure me in while dangling an unspoken threat. She was good at this. It confirmed all my worst suspicions: Sophie Mence was a master manipulator.
Outside, I texted Anubis a succinct update:
Just finished. She wants me to attend some “gatherings.” Might happen soon. Talk later?
He replied almost instantly:
Be careful. I’m at the event now. Will call you at midnight.
The time read 7:46 p.m. I had a few hours to kill before his call. My entire being buzzed with leftover adrenaline. Maybe I should head straight to my dorm, lock myself in, and bury my nose in the caretaker’s ledger notes I’d scribbled. But the restless energy in my veins wouldn’t let me just hide.
I decided to walk to the Journalism building, see if I could catch Harry. If I told him about Sophie’s approach, omitting certain specifics like the caretaker’s cottage, maybe he’d have advice on how to spin this.
It was well past standard club meeting hours, so the hallway outside the Howler’s office was deserted, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing softly. I peered inside the glass door. A lone figure hunched over a laptop. Kate, one of the staffers. She glanced up, surprised to see me.
“Hey,” she said, waving me in. “Thought you’d left for the night.”
“Just stopping by,” I explained. “Is Harry around?”
Kate shook her head. “He’s out covering that big donor event. Supposedly there’s a rumor that Dean Mence might announce a new project. The Howler’s trying to get the scoop.”
Of course. That made sense. The same event Sophie mentioned, the same one Anubis was forced to attend. “Right, okay. Thanks.” I rubbed my arms, feeling a sudden chill. “I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
Kate studied me with mild concern. “You okay? You look pale.”
I forced a smile. “Just a lot on my mind. It’s been a rough week.”
She nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about it. Half the staff is either sleep-deprived or paranoid. We keep hearing weird rumors about that skull you found in the library—”
“It was a sheep,” I corrected quickly. “A dead sheep. Not a human skull.” I suppressed a shudder at the memory.
She shrugged. “Right, but still weird. Anyway, try to get some rest, Suede.”
I thanked her and turned to leave, but paused at the office door. “Wait, do you have the keys to the archives room? I might do a little reading.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Knock yourself out.” She rummaged in a drawer, retrieving a small set of keys, and handed them over. “Just remember to lock up. And if you see a ghost, try to get a quote, so we have an exclusive.”
I let out a soft laugh, grateful for a moment of levity. “Will do.”
The Howler’s archives room was basically a converted supply closet in the same building. After unlocking it, I flicked on the single overhead light, illuminating rows of musty file boxes stacked on rickety metal shelves. On a desk in the corner sat a battered microfiche viewer, the same type the official campus archives used, but older.
I navigated around, scanning labeled boxes until I found one marked “Obituaries & Incidents: 1970–Present.” If Toccara’s death joined the list of “student suicides,” that might be where the editorial staff would store it once it became public record. Maybe I could find patterns linking older cases to the Skulls.
I plucked the box off the shelf, set it on the desk, and opened the flaps. Dust wafted into my face, making me cough. Inside lay thick manila folders, each bearing the name of a student or staff member. For a moment, I was struck by how many there were. This was just since 1970?
I started flipping through: accidents, heart conditions, even a few overdoses. One folder I opened revealed a well-known name, an Edenvane daughter rumored to have drowned at the Boathouse docks in the 1990s. The official story was an accidental fall. But scrawled on a sticky note was a half-legible reference to “Skull Soc. speculation?”
My pulse quickened. I found more suspicious drownings or “fall from tower” incidents. Each time, there was at least one note from a staffer: “Family settled quickly,” “Campus hush money rumored.”
Finally, near the back, I found a handful of articles referencing “riverside suicides.” The oldest dated to the early 70s, the most recent about three years ago. Each one bore a near-identical headline: “Tragic Loss of Promising Edenvane Scholar.” Phrases like “pressure,” “mental health,” “sudden downturn in academic performance” repeated.
Fear and sorrow coiled in my stomach. This was Toccara’s story all over again, only it spanned decades. I swallowed hard, removing my phone to snap pictures of a few key lines. Although I was exhausted, I forced myself to read, searching for any direct mention of clandestine societies. I found only speculation or coded references. No one named the Skulls.
Still, a pattern jumped out at me. Every official obituary echoed the Dean’s line of “no foul play,” “signs of depression,” “the student showed a drastic change in behavior.” Or “the student left a note referencing heartbreak or family issues.” And always a note. It was too consistent, too neat.
I set down the last folder, heart pounding. Toccara’s official file probably wasn’t compiled yet. But I was certain it’d mirror these. Another “suicide.”
A wave of frustration welled in me. If the Skulls had orchestrated these tragedies or at least abetted them, how was I supposed to fight something so embedded in Edenvane’s foundation?
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I jerked, nearly dropping the folder. Checking the screen, I saw it was a text from Anubis.
Where are you?
Brief, urgent.
I typed quickly:
At the Howler’s archives, looking into older suicides.
He responded almost immediately:
Go to your dorm. Now. Big commotion. Police might be looking for you.
My blood ran cold. Immediately, I thought: Did Sophie manipulate something already? Or maybe the admin found out I was poking around sensitive topics.
I fumbled, stuffing the folders back in the box, carefully returning it to the shelf. Then I flicked off the light, locked the door, and all but sprinted out of the building. Kate was gone, the main office dark. My footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor.
Outside, the campus lights shone like beacons, revealing a small cluster of campus security vehicles near the main walkway. My heart hammered as I ducked behind a hedge, uncertain if they were waiting for me or dealing with something else. I saw two officers talking to a faculty member, but couldn’t make out their words.
I circled around, slipping through a side path. My mind whirled with worst-case scenarios. Maybe Harry had tried to run a story prematurely, or maybe Sophie decided to frame me for something. Either way, trouble was close.
Reaching my dorm, I quickly scanned my ID to unlock the door, dashed up the stairwell to my floor, and pressed myself against the wall, breathing hard. The hallway was calm, though I heard murmured voices from somewhere below. My door was at the far end.
Cautiously, I approached and swiped my keycard. The lock clicked. I pushed the door open, stepping into darkness. I flipped the overhead light. Everything seemed in place—my laptop on the desk, bed still messy from the morning. But my skin prickled. Something felt off.
I closed the door behind me and turned the deadbolt. Then I jumped when my phone buzzed in my pocket again. Another text from Anubis.
Stay in your room. Don’t talk to them. I’ll explain soon.
Them—the police, presumably. I sank onto my bed, adrenaline thrumming in my veins. Flicking the lamp on, I noticed a folded piece of paper on the pillow. My heart lurched.
I recognized the neat script:
We expect an answer soon. — S.M.
Sophie Mence had been in my dorm room while I was gone. The realization cut like a knife. How did she get in? She was the Dean’s daughter. She probably had access to a master key or could manipulate staff.
I stared at the note, mind spinning. She was proving a point. She could reach me anywhere. If that was meant to scare me, it was working.
The hours crawled by. Outside, I heard distant doors open and shut, occasional voices in the hallway. I glimpsed a campus security officer leaning against the wall near the elevator, as if stationed on my floor. Probably waiting for me to leave so they could question me. But I refused to budge.
Finally, at 12:02 a.m., my phone rang—Anubis. I snatched it up, pressing it to my ear.
“Hey,” I whispered, as if the officer outside might overhear. “What’s going on?”
His voice was low and urgent. “They’re investigating an incident at the donor event. A woman collapsed after drinking champagne. Some say it’s a drugging or poison. The police want to talk to anyone who might have left the party early or had access to the bar area.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Why me?”
“Because one of the staff told them you and I were skulking around the lounge earlier. They think you might’ve seen something. Sophie’s behind this, no doubt. It’s a small push to keep you in line.” His frustration crackled through the phone. “Just hold tight. I convinced them you were with me until 5:30 p.m., so they have no direct timeline linking you to the party. Do not open your door. In the morning, they’ll calm down. Or I’ll see to it.”
My breath trembled. “So, someone was hurt?”
“A donor. She’s stable now, but there’s a big hush around the circumstances. Sophie and my father are spinning it as an allergic reaction. But it’s suspicious. This is how they keep everyone on edge.”
I shivered, recalling the black files in that annex. “God. This is insane.”
His tone softened. “I know. Are you safe?”
I glanced at the ominous note from Sophie on my pillow. “Yes,” I lied, not wanting him to panic. “I’m locked in. No plans to go anywhere.”
“Good. I’ll come by tomorrow morning, if you’re okay with that.”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see. “Yes, please.”
A beat of silence passed, heavy with unsaid worries. Then quietly, he said, “Try to get some rest, Nubia.”
My throat tightened at the name. I wanted to argue I wasn’t Nubia, but after everything we’d faced, maybe that identity was forging itself around me whether I liked it or not. “Thank you, Anubis,” I whispered. “You, too.”
We ended the call. I sank onto my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. Despite the swirl of fear, confusion, and simmering anger, exhaustion pulled at me like a riptide. Eventually, I kicked off my shoes, turned off the lamp, and curled under the blanket, letting fatigue drag me under.
I drifted off with the note from Sophie still on my nightstand. Its presence felt like a loaded gun, waiting to be fired. The sense of being hunted, whether by the Dean, the Skulls, or the ghosts of Toccara’s memory, pressed on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.
Tomorrow, dawn would bring another day. Another chance for the Skulls to tighten their noose. Another day for me to gather evidence that might blow it all wide open or bury me in the process.
Somewhere out on the campus, the Edenvane River flowed silently in the moonlight, carrying away the secrets of those who succumbed. I vowed I wouldn’t be the next thrown into its dark waters. I clung to that oath as I slipped into a restless sleep, uncertain of what new horrors or alliances the next chapter of my life at Edenvane would bring.
But one thing was certain: there was no going back to the na?ve scholarship girl I’d been on move-in day. I was part of the underbelly now, and if I was going to survive, I’d have to master the darkness the Skulls had thrived on for generations.