Chapter Thirty-Three
Next Saturday. 10pm.Diamond Court casino.
Look for the man in white.
That’s all it says on the note that I found inside of my ring. It took a little bit of work to get it open—the trick, I discovered after several failed attempts, is to twist the grinning skull emblem counterclockwise, causing a secret compartment to pop out of the side. Just big enough to contain a folded scrap of paper.
An incredibly unhelpful scrap of paper.
I’ve tried holding it up to light, rubbing it gently with a pencil, and even heating it under a curling iron that Aimee reluctantly let me borrow—and all that earned me was a particularly odd look from her.
But no matter how many different methods I try, no more words emerge. I’m left to contend with the fact that it isn’t a trick or a test. There’s no invisible ink, no secret message. Those twelve words, printed in the very center of the paper that was wedged into my ring’s secret compartment, are all I have to work with.
And I can’t ask for help unless I want my head on a proverbial pike.
Diamond Court is the closest thing I have to a clue. My mind goes to the four archways in the ritual room, the skulls with the gemstone eyes—the white ones could have been diamonds…
I’ll go back on Saturday. Follow the diamond skull path, and hope for the best. I hate that I can’t be more sure, but I suppose that’s part of the test.
In the meantime, I have more than enough on my mind.
Ryker’s texts, for example—he’s started sending them more and more frequently, teasing me. One morning before my Lit class, my phone lights up in my pocket, and a thrill of delight courses through me at the sight of his name on the screen.
Ryker: I’m tired of waiting around. I think it’s time for us to play again.
Between my messages to him and the group chat with the girls from dance, I’ve gotten faster at typing on my phone, and I tap out a quick response now.
Me: Soon, but I have class right now.
Ryker: Defiance doesn’t look good on you.
Ryker: But that skirt sure does.
Oh my God. Is he watching me? He must be—though, glancing around the green, I don’t see any sign of him. The thought lights me with a giddy flare of excitement, a quick ache throbbing between my thighs. It’s absurd how much I want him—embarrassing, even?—
But I really can’t afford to miss this class.
Me: Later. I promise.
As soon as I take my seat in Marko’s classroom, though, I find myself wishing I’d decided to skip.
“A comparative essay,” he announces as soon as he’s finished roll call. “It’s high time that I see how all of your writing skills measure up. Eight pages, double spaced, on the works of Bram Stoker and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. With particular attention,” he adds through a thin smirk, “to the way that the vampire is treated as a sexual being.”
Most of the class seems thrilled—Freddie flashes one of his canine grins, and Yuki giggles into her hands—but my stomach sinks. This time last week, I was a virgin. I can barely tell when someone is flirting with me; how on earth am I supposed to pick up on sexual undertones woven into the stuffy passages of nineteenth century literature?
Well, I have one idea. I slip my phone into my lap, angling it carefully to keep it out of Marko’s line of sight, and pull up my conversation with Harper.
Me: I’m gonna need your help with something.
Harper: Sexual positions… I can totally help you.
Me: Oh my god. It isn’t that. Keep your mind focused.
Harper: LIA!!!! It’s hard when you’re keeping secrets! I need details woman!
I don’t mean to keep details from her. It’s not exactly like either of us have had time to sit down and really talk about things. And it isn’t the sort of conversation that we can have over a casual lunch break.
“Miss Morgan.”
Uh-oh.
I turn the phone face down and raise my eyes to Marko, who’s watching me with his arms folded and his eyebrows arched high over the frames of his glasses.
“You seem awfully busy with something there. Why don’t you let the rest of us know what’s on your mind?”
“I was just making a note. Planning for the paper.” Which isn’t technically a lie, right?
Marko is unimpressed. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Morgan. If you’re so concerned with the paper, I’ll give you some personal instruction. After class, assuming you don’t have any… remedial Greek lessons to attend.”
Oh no. He knows. I’m not sure how—maybe he reached out to Professor Rowan after I fibbed my way out of meeting with him before, or maybe he’s just keen enough to call my bluff.
In any case, he’s got me trapped now.
“I don’t—that’s not necessary, sir,” I murmur.
“I rather think that it is. You’ve taken up enough valuable class time, but I look forward to our little chat.”
He returns to his lecture, and Yuki elbows me in the side. When I glance over, her usually sweet face is twisted in concern.
I’m so sorry, she mouths.
I shrug and turn my attention back to my notes. It’s definitely not a great situation, but I’ll survive. After last Friday night in the tunnels, listening to a man in a devil mask tell me that my life is in his hands, it’s a little harder to get worked up over something like getting in trouble with a teacher.
When Marko dismisses the class, I get another show of sympathy—or Freddie’s equivalent of it, anyway.
“You need him taken out, you know who to ask,” he mutters as he passes me on his way out of the room.
“Um.” I have no idea whether he’s joking or not. “Thanks?”
He winks and strolls off, leaving me alone.
Well. Almost alone.
Marko doesn’t speak to me at first, just crosses over and closes the door with a firm click that makes my skin crawl. I shift uneasily in my seat, looking at my desk, my tablet, my notebook—anything other than his leering, mustachioed face.
“Miss Morgan, Miss Morgan.” He folds his arms and leans back against the door with a disapproving click of his tongue. “Do you know why I asked you to stay after class today?”
“So that you can help me with my paper, sir?”
He laughs, dry and humorless. “I don’t believe that you need any help with that paper, young lady. It’s unfeasible to me that you don’t have a good deal to say about erotic themes.”
“Um…” What can I possibly say to that? This is definitely inappropriate, right? But I can’t just leave the room—he’s blocking my way out, watching me with undisguised greed in his pale eyes.
“Any other guesses? Go on, don’t be shy. You may be a bit irresponsible, Miss Morgan—airheaded, even—but you aren’t stupid.”
“Thank you?” My head is buzzing, trying to calculate a way out of here. I don’t think he’ll hesitate to get physical if I try to run for it. I can hurt him if I need to, but assaulting a teacher will probably land me in a whole world of trouble.
“I’ve told you before that you’re a lovely girl. Just gorgeous.”
“Okay…”
He’s approaching me now—from the side, not the front, so I don’t even have the protection of the desk between us. I stuff my class materials into my tote bag and hold it close to my chest, ready to bolt as soon as he tries something.
“Gorgeous,” he repeats, “but that look on your face is an ugly one. Why don’t you smile a little bit more? Are you sad? Lonely?”
I clench my teeth, straining to keep myself level-headed. “I’m just preoccupied, sir. I have a lot of studying to do.”
“You know you don’t need to study for my class.” He extends a hand and brushes it over the top of my head, combing away a few stray strands of hair.
His touch is repulsive, the polar opposite of Ryker’s—I feel dirtied, seized by the impulse to scrub away at my scalp until it bleeds, until every last trace of his sickening touch is gone. Danger is one thing, but this is foul. It’s wrong. I should put this monster in his place; I should?—
Keep it together, Lia. Don’t do anything extreme unless you absolutely have to.
“After all,” he continues. “It’s like I said. I know that you’re smart. If you don’t want to waste your time with superficial literary criticism, I’m sure we can come up with some… alternative ways for you to earn your credit.”
I can’t take this anymore. I wrench away from him and get to my feet, heart pounding.
“I’m not interested,” I snap—despite the frantic energy coursing through me, I manage to keep my voice low and steady. “And I really do have to get going now.”
I jog across the room and grasp the doorknob before he can respond. For a gut-wrenching moment, I expect it to be locked—but it turns under my touch, and then I’m bolting down the hallway, breath hitching in my lungs.
No looking back. I don’t slow down until I’m out the front doors of the castle, beneath a gorgeous early-autumn sun that couldn’t be less befitting of my mood.
God, that was horrible. I should tell someone—can I tell anyone? If word somehow gets back to Papa that a teacher was treating me like… that… I’d be whisked off of campus in the blink of an eye. I’d lose my chance, lose my friends, lose Ryker—and depending on how far the Order’s influence extends, I could very well lose my life.
Maybe I should tell Freddie. I’m still not sure if he was joking about taking care of Marko for me. The prospect of that awful man turning up dead is a pretty thrilling one, I can’t deny it?—
No, no, no. None of that. I am not going to fantasize about murdering professors. I’ll just keep it to myself, at least for now—and take extra care to make sure that I don’t end up alone with Marko ever again.
I come to this conclusion just as I reach the girls’ dorms. I’ll drop off my books, then figure out what Harper is up to. She’s probably dying of suspense after I left her hanging with the text messages, but the conversation about what happened between me and Ryker is one that needs to happen in person. Doing it over text feels too impersonal.
“Lia Morgan.”
Now, that’s an unwelcome voice.
I pause a few steps away from the door, forcing myself to take a deep breath. I could pretend not to hear her, but I have a feeling that this confrontation will need to happen sooner or later. I might as well get it out of the way.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn to face her, forcing a smile and tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Hi, Marissa.”
She’s lounging on a foldable lawn chair, soaking up the sun; her eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that look too big for her face.She crosses her arms and curls her lip, absolutely radiating distaste.
“We need to talk, sweetie.”
“Don’t you have sorority stuff that you should be doing?” My voice comes out a bit harsher than usual, but I can’t bring myself to care. After the Marko ordeal, Marissa is the last person I want to deal with. What’s she doing here, anyway? We’re nowhere near the OP house. Is she petty enough that she was waiting for me?
She waves a dismissive hand. “The sisters can handle themselves for an afternoon. I have business with you.”
“Look, if this is about Ryker?—”
Even hidden behind the sunglasses, I can feel the vicious burn of her stare. “If this is about Ryker? Fucking of course this is about Ryker. You think I don’t know what you two have been getting up to?”
Her voice is rising, halfway to a yell. A couple of other girls shoot her peeved looks as they exit the tower, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t care if you know,” I retort, readjusting my bag on my shoulder as I narrow my gaze. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“Then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought. Ryker isn’t for you. Maybe he’s decided to play with you for a while, but he will come back to me. I give him something that a little girl like you can’t even imagine, and he’s not going to be forgetting that in a hurry.”
“If that’s what you want to tell yourself.” I reply with a heavy breath. I couldn’t care less what she has to say, and I’m pretty sure I’m making that clear—but if she refuses to let this go, what else am I supposed to do?
“You’re pathetic,” she hisses. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop playing your fucking games with my man. Got it?”
Her words don’t scare me. I trust Ryker—I trust the authenticity of the bond between us. She’s delusional, and she’ll figure that out sooner or later no matter what I think. He’s not the type of person to be claimed by somebody he doesn’t want—and I know with a burning certainty that he wants me. His touch, his eyes, his growling voice—Marissa doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance, and I’d almost pity her if she weren’t so foul of a person.
Enough of this. She’s not worth my time. I hook a sunny, false smile back onto my lips and slicken my voice with sarcasm. “Got it. Enjoy your sunbathing.”
With that, I stride past her and into the dorm, pretending not to hear the last words that she fires at me:
“I’ll make you regret this, you bitch!”