Chapter 6 Sutton
SUTTON
For centuries, Dupont Manor has hidden away in the foothills of the White Mountains, overlooking Avernia College.
It’s a haunted shell of an estate, complete with massive sitting rooms, outdated floral wallpaper, and a swimming pool no one bothers to fill now that my youngest sister, Gigi, is at boarding school in London.
I don’t enjoy coming here. Sometimes it still smells like Bellamy, like hope and mint chocolate, though before her death, she lived on campus like me.
Ice lines Beckett’s blue eyes where he glares from across the main living room, like twin glaciers attempting to freeze me solid.
I glare back, because what appears to be an impromptu meeting between him, Mother, and Dean Bauer does not constitute a fucking emergency, yet he ended my night early by claiming there was trouble brewing.
A night of mistakes, maybe, but one I was looking forward to nonetheless.
The scent of latex still clings to my fingers as I enter, glancing past Beckett at Justin Bauer, who sits on one of the sofas gawking at my mother.
She’s a stunning woman in her own right, but I imagine it’s more the novelty of having Claire Dupont in his midst that’s causing his rapture.
It’s rare for the lech to get invited places because he’s wildly unpopular among the founding families. But he’s so gutless, they keep him around.
Hence, I imagine, his presence now.
Dean Bauer is also easily intimidated and seduced by severe women, so I find his impropriety unsurprising.
What I do find surprising is the fact that he’s here at all, considering I watched his campus home go up in flames mere hours ago, and I was certain he’d been in it. Yet he’s clean and polished, freshly showered and feigning nonchalance as if nothing happened at all.
Such is the way at Avernia. Without mystery and anonymity, the university doesn’t function. I don’t know why I’m ever shocked at the lengths city and school officials will go to to cover shit up.
Mother lifts her chin, her dark green gaze unyielding as it meets mine.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, breaking the silence when no one else tries to.
“An intervention,” Mother replies, sipping from a porcelain mug. She pretends it’s oolong tea, but I don’t need to walk over to know it’s spiked with something—an antidepressant or French wine, perhaps.
Between arthritis ending her career as a pianist early and losing a child, I wouldn’t blame her for sedating herself more openly.
Beckett huffs at her answer. “Is an intervention a group therapy session where we talk about my faults and wonder out loud if I can be trusted in public anymore?”
“Sometimes yes,” Mother says, patting the space on the love seat beside her, beckoning me. “Sutton, darling, come sit. This is important.”
I walk over, perching on the cushion before she can ask again. “Where’s Father?”
She rolls her eyes. “Jean-Louis is having one of his spells. You know how those go. Don’t expect to see him outside his bedroom unless you’re a Westwood or Blackwater.”
“They are on the city council together,” Dean Bauer notes, like he thinks any of the current patriarchs of Fury Hill’s founding families might be able to hear him kissing their ass. “I’d find the will to face them no matter how bad I was feeling as well.”
Mother’s expression remains unimpressed. “Yes, you do enjoy bending over for them, don’t you, Justin?”
Beckett snorts, earning a dirty look from her. He groans, dropping his head over the back of the couch and running a hand through his black locks.
“Can we get on with things?” I say, checking the ornate gold analog clock mounted above the ebony fireplace across the room. “Some of us have classes to prepare for.”
“Right. Speaking of which, this concerns your brother’s expulsion,” the dean replies.
“I thought his board hearing wasn’t for another few weeks.”
“It was, but we had an emergency session tonight, and that’s what brings us here.”
My gaze snaps to Beckett’s. Did he know about this when he called?
“Normally, I’d say no to allowing a…troubled pupil back on campus so soon,” Dean Bauer continues, glancing at my brother as he tugs on his tie. “But Avernia’s board has reversed their initial decision.”
My brows knit together, and I cross one ankle over the other. “How is that possible? They are aware of why he was expelled, right?”
“Thanks for having my back,” Beckett mutters.
Dean Bauer clears his throat, taking a drink of the water on the polished end table next to him.
“Indeed, the board is intimately familiar with the…incident that occurred in the Tenarus cave last semester. However, in the short time we’ve employed you as an adjunct, you’ve proven to be more than trustworthy.
No codes of conduct have ever been broken—despite several students’ attempts to sway you, that is. ”
He laughs as if it’s some big joke. I roll my eyes.
Like I’d ever be so fickle as to be tempted by a student. I was one not long ago.
They do not interest me.
“So in respecting you as a professor at Avernia, not to mention your family’s influence, the board is willing to release Beckett from his punishment. After all, I’m certain he’s had time to learn his lesson, and we’d hate to lose such a bright young mind for good.”
Beckett stretches out, hooking his long legs over the couch’s arm as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling. His index finger taps a rhythm on the sleeve of the black Curator blazer he wears.
Being president of the most prestigious student organization on campus had been his greatest accomplishment. It was his pride and joy, which is why it pained me so much to watch him throw it away all for some bullshit curse our father convinced him to believe in.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Mother says, offering a small smile to my brother. “Don’t you think, darling?”
“I’m waiting for the catch.”
“No catch. Though I do think it’s important we set some ground rules.” Bauer sweeps a hand over his forehead, wiping off the sweat collecting on his pale skin. “For instance, Beckett’s previous residence in the Curator clubhouse will be revoked. He’ll be expected to live in Cadmus Hall.”
I nod. “Seems fair.”
Beckett makes a noise of disapproval. “Cadmus? Why don’t you just take me behind the Lyceum and shoot me?”
“Darling,” Mother chides. “Dean Bauer is doing you a favor here.”
“A favor,” he repeats, laughing humorlessly. “Wait til Father finds out. Cadmus is the worst-kept dorm on campus. I’d rather be stuck in Erebus with the social rejects.”
“Cadmus Hall is our newest dorm,” Dean Bauer says. “The accommodations might be sparse compared to what you’re used to at the clubhouse, but I assure you, each residence hall is safe and adequate as far as housing for college students goes.”
The dean cuts me a quick look, as if to challenge that claim. We both know the dorms are frequent targets for trouble.
Of the four acknowledged student organizations, Death’s Teeth and the Curators have the vilest histories, but only one of those is school-sponsored and on the books. After last semester, I imagine the Curator presence itself will be much less intense going forward.
At least until things die down enough that the group—which thrives on important networking opportunities to maintain their reputation—can operate without question again.
Avernia’s attention span for controversy is low despite supposedly being a university for the best and brightest. I guess not even intelligence can save you entirely from your personal biases and desires.
The Curators’ platform has always been about exclusivity. They’re usually the most sought-after organization, with membership being invite-only, so I’m sure the murders and curse talk will become ancient history in a short while.
On the other hand, Death’s Teeth is the school’s most elusive group.
They operate in the shadows, in library basements and caves within the Primordial Forest. It’s a fringe organization run by anonymous founding family members and Fury Hill officials.
Their purpose is to emphasize the cyclical nature of life and the importance of tradition, and highlight how everyone must bend to death.
They exploit fear and anonymity to maintain order, recruiting anyone with Fury Hill blood, trying to keep the line of their leadership “pure.”
Fledglings aren’t privy to such information, but when you’re the one they think was chosen by some made-up god to run the organization, you get more insight than you bargained for.
Even if you refuse to step into the role of Incarnate, knowing it’s a far more complex situation—involving human sacrifice, blood oaths, and exhibitionist displays—than they say.
That’s why I’m still just an Elder despite years of participation. If I go any higher, whatever freedom I have left disappears.
Not to mention if I’m not the target, that puts Beckett in their path.
I suspect that’s what made Bellamy their sacrifice eight years ago, though there’s no proof.
No body was ever recovered, and my parents didn’t look into it.
Any journals logged by the campus parasite, Pythia—who runs the school’s hyperbolic and invasive newsletter from a faceless account—were lost or destroyed.
When I offer no objection to the dean’s claims, he goes on.
“It’s also imperative that we don’t draw attention to your relationship.
The two of you don’t look that much alike, so it’s possible the average student won’t notice if we don’t point it out…
and if you don’t spend too much time together in public. ”
My skin starts to itch as the migraine from before returns, pulsing around my nose.
Mother scoffs. “Avernia is much too small to get away with that, no? Everyone knows who the Duponts are.”