Chapter 10 Sutton
SUTTON
“Have you made a decision yet?”
Jean-Louis’s voice is a constant fucking pain in the back of my skull, but especially so when he feels well enough to call me at school. Normally, I screen his attempts to reach me on my cell, but the office landline is a different story.
Only faculty have the number—or so I thought.
I would hang up, but I suspect he might make his way to campus, and I don’t feel like dealing with him right now.
Anything a founding family member touches ends up stained with blood. There’s no getting around that fact—it’s as much a curse on this town as Cronus Anderson’s descendants.
Something pinches in my chest, and I glance at the student files spread across my desk.
Quincy, Asher, and Noelle Anderson.
The three descendants are on campus together at the same time, just like the curse warns.
I wonder if Jean-Louis knows about that, but I don’t ask. Frankly, I’m trying to forget about it—and the hazel-eyed seductress—entirely.
She’s a theater major, which is unsurprising, but her file is also stuffed full of glowing recommendations from her community troupe back in Los Angeles and several Grandeur Playhouse directors. Her roster of speaking parts is admirable enough, and she aced each of Avernia’s entrance exams.
On paper, she’s an exemplary student and actress, willing and eager to learn the craft, but at a certain point, her résumé just…stops.
About nine months ago, her work vanishes, and it appears she did nothing in the time since before coming here, which I find interesting.
It’s not typical for an actor to just abandon their love for the stage out of nowhere, especially when it seems as though things are poised to take off.
I suppose she could’ve been preparing to enroll at our university, but the question of why still remains.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I find myself tucking her file in my desk drawer and stacking the others.
Bellamy’s sits on the very top, though I’m not sure why I grabbed it from the archive building. Staring at it now with Jean-Louis droning on in my ear makes me tense, discomfort weaving through my muscles.
“Sutton.” Jean-Louis’s tone is weary, and he lets out a cough, his irritation evident. “Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
I can practically hear his teeth grind. “Your insubordination is going to get you into some deep shit. Ask that twin of yours how it worked out for her.”
Leaning back in my office chair, I prop my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling.
A part of me wants to snap at him for bringing her up at all, but I don’t.
In some ways, he’s right—Bellamy’s dissent from council and founder business made her a target, and I didn’t realize it in time to save her.
If I push back too much now, it endangers Beckett. There’s no telling what our father would do at this point.
A dying man has very little to lose.
“A decision about what?” I ask finally, even though I’m fully aware of what he’s referencing.
It’s the same fucking thing he’s asked every year since Bellamy’s death: a request to fully step into the role Death’s Teeth forced me into.
“There’s not much time now that classes have begun,” Jean-Louis says. “You should have your affairs in order. Otherwise, who knows what you might become susceptible to. Or whom. The council won’t wait around forever.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
He’s quiet for a couple of beats. “The longer you refuse to fulfill your role as Incarnate, the more tainted your sister’s soul grows. Death’s Teeth cannot survive without a rightful leader and Maiden.”
I roll my eyes, then dig my thumb and index finger into them, rubbing hard. “You and that goddamn organization. Do you realize how archaic and strange it is to have something that easily dismantled, all because I don’t want to be some slave to death?”
“You would not be a slave,” he replies, pausing at the end to let out a string of thick coughs. When he returns, his voice is slightly weaker than before. “Incarnate is the embodiment of power. The harbinger of order and balance at Avernia—and by extension, Fury Hill. Death would bow to you.”
“Strictly speaking, maybe. They’d have their prop, but it wouldn’t bring Bellamy back.”
“Death doesn’t erase a person from this earth,” he says. “Dying is an honor. It’s the natural course of life. We are here right now because of those who passed before us.”
I frown. “It almost sounds like you’re trying to convince me what happened to Bellamy was a good thing.”
“Maybe it was. Who gets to decide that?” He pauses. “Well, you would, I suppose, if you’d finish the Incarnate initiation. All you need is a warm body—”
“I’m not interested in binding myself to another person,” I snap, my chest tightening. “In any way.”
“Fucking Christ, it’s just sex. It means nothing.”
“It’s not just sex, it’s—” I cut off, choking on the broken shard of a memory as it lodges in my throat.
Commitment. A precedent of understanding and ruling.
Death’s Teeth forces their chosen leader to join with their chosen Maiden and watches as they come together beneath a blood moon. It’s a vow of faith and servitude to death and life, chaos and the eventual order. A lewd creed in the name of our ancestors and their gods.
Life, sex, and death: the three principles that the organization believes are necessary to maintain a balance.
The Incarnate ceremony had been interrupted when I was an undergrad, and instead of becoming their leader in totality, the higher-ranking members of Death’s Teeth used my body for their own pleasure, inducting me as an Elder.
The thought of voluntarily participating now makes me fucking sick.
“Ignore it all you want, Sutton. If you choose not to pick a side, it will be picked for you.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we put it all to rest? You almost got Beckett fucking killed with this shit.”
“Beckett almost got himself killed,” Jean-Louis replies, falling into another coughing fit. This one lasts longer than the previous and sounds like it brings phlegm up with it. “It is not my fault the boy has issues with follow-through.”
“Well, you would know.”
“If that’s supposed to be some sort of slight against me as a parent, I won’t hear it. I’ve done nothing but look out for your best interests your entire life. Death’s Teeth is your destiny, Sutton. Whether you want it to be or not.”
Glancing at my hand, I pull my sleeve up a bit. The scarring is faint these days, but I can see it as well as the day I got it.
I hang up, not interested in entertaining more of his delusions. A part of me wishes the illness he’s suffering from would hurry up and take him out, because maybe then I’d be able to move on.
Maybe death would relinquish its claim if I wasn’t Jean-Louis’s son.
Later, I make my way through Avernia’s campus as the clock tower in front of the Obeliskos chimes midnight. I cut to my right, heading toward the staff housing, which is an old conglomerate of apartments wedged past the dorms and the Lyceum.
An email comes through my phone as I let myself inside my unit on the second floor.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Late assignment
To whom it may concern,
Attached you will find my essay on the differences between stage and screen acting. Unfortunately, the suggested printers were occupied, so I hope you’ll accept this digital copy. I would not want my first impression to be that of someone who can’t handle adult responsibility.
Thank you,
T
I squint at my phone, wondering why the hell she signed it that way, when it hits me.
T as in Temptress.
That cheeky little brat.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: Late assignment
Noelle,
Apologies, but it seems I was not clear enough in class the other day. Late assignments will not be accepted.
This is a policy I apply to every student. Better luck next time.
Best,
Professor Dupont
I enter the apartment while I await a reply, opening up The Delphic Pages app.
Several posts from Pythia sit at the very top—mostly welcoming the new semester and recapping events from the fall, though leaving out all the violence and bloodshed despite leaking a lot of information about each incident in the first place.
But only one post catches my eye: a snapshot of a beautiful girl as she stalks across campus, headed for the observatory with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Her long hair whips behind her in waves, dozens of shadows watching in the background.
If you don’t look closely, they resemble a plethora of trees, but the observatory doesn’t border the forest. Squinting, the shadows begin to take on human forms: people passing along between classes, stopping to chat with friends, all existing in the orbit of Elle Anderson without paying her any mind.
Except one shadow.
It stands on the back steps of the Lyceum’s annex, a briefcase in hand, staring directly at her. Stuck in place, watching, as if his feet are glued to the very spot.
Beneath the photo, just one single line of text: Spotted—trouble on campus?
Nausea churns in my stomach. Are they talking about her just being here, or—
“You’re home late.”
Beckett’s voice slices through my thoughts and causes me to jump, dropping my phone. He scratches beneath his chin, looking up from where he’s lounging on the sofa, reading Persuasion in black sweats.
I keep forgetting he’s staying here.
Bending down, I scoop up my phone and slide it into my jacket pocket, setting my briefcase and keys on the small hutch in the foyer. “Any chance you actually managed to make it to a class today, or are you just reading Persuasion for leisure?”
“Jane Austen is a literary genius. Of course I’m reading her for leisure.” Beckett glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Why, are you tracking me or something?”
“What?” I kick off my shoes, scrubbing a hand over my face. “No. I’m just wondering where you’re at in the journey of recovery.”
“You make me sound like an addict.”
“Addiction isn’t merely relegated to drugs, Beck. You can crave all sorts of things.”
A pair of hazel eyes flash through my mind for the briefest moment, but I blink them away. I’m not addicted to her.
I can’t be. I’ve only had one hit, and one hit does not a habit make.
Still, the buzzing sensation beneath my fingers hints at a different story.
Walking into the living room, I try not to cringe at how many of Beckett’s things are strewn about; discarded clothes are tossed onto the brown leather furniture, empty glasses crowd the oval coffee table that used to be ring-free, and in the kitchen, I see his textbooks and pencils everywhere.
Despite the fact that he’s missed most of his classes so far this week, and we’re only a few days into the semester.
He watches me over his book. “So what, you think I’m addicted to Father’s cruelty?”
I sit down in the armchair across from him. “Perhaps cruelty in general. What else could have possessed you to take part in that shit show last year?”
His face screws up, and he slams the book shut, tossing it onto the coffee table. “I don’t need another lecture. I know I fucked up.”
“‘Fucked up’ the gravity of—”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he snaps, pushing into a sitting position. He throws his legs off the cushion, shoving his feet onto the floor.
“Well, neither do I, but Mother is worried about you.”
A choked laugh sputters from his lips, and he stands up. “She should be more worried about her golden boy. You’re the one in danger.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re not as discreet as you think you are.”
I sit there for a while longer after he heads down the hall toward the guest bedroom, wondering if that’s some sort of prediction.
Or if it’s a warning.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: Late assignment
To whom it may concern,
No luck needed. I’ll recover.
-T
PS: You shouldn’t be up so late. Burning the midnight oil is bad for your skin.
In spite of everything, the email makes me smile. She shouldn’t be flirting so openly, but I can’t find it in me to care that much.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Late assignment
Your advice is duly noted, though a bit hypocritical. If you need anything else, please ask a classmate, as I will be turning in.
Best,
Professor Dupont
My thumb hovers over the Send button.
I shouldn’t push it. Shouldn’t indulge the woman more than I already have.
Noise from the other side of the apartment draws me away from the screen, and my thumb slips, hitting the sideways triangle just for Beckett to not even come back out of his room.
Well, that’s that.
Groaning, I run a hand through my hair and remind myself that he suffered a traumatic event—orchestrated it but also suffered—and isn’t handling the fallout well.
Bellamy was easier to deal with. She volunteered her feelings, and I didn’t have to guess at things until she caved. Beckett’s a different beast entirely. Like me, he bottles his problems and tosses them into the ocean, praying they don’t return.
I have no idea how to tell him it doesn’t work. The glass splinters and slices before it leaves your hands, and the scars are as unremovable as they are unremarkable.
No one else will notice, but you’ll feel them forever.
Maybe I should start dragging him to Visio Aternae meetings. He wouldn’t get school credit for them, but it might do him some good to give back to the community he was raised to only take from.
When the light beneath his door goes out, I make my way to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat. As I’m chewing a forkful of refectory lasagna, my vision starts to break, growing into sharp, jagged lines even when I try to blink them away.
I grit my teeth, recognizing my earlier nausea as a symptom of an oncoming migraine—something I’d probably have noticed more if I hadn’t been absorbed in thoughts about Elle Anderson.
Christ, she’s bad news.
After popping an anti-inflammatory and triptan pill, I brace my hands on the counter and close my eyes, counting the time it takes for my vision to return to normal.
The minutes tick by slowly. I drop to my elbows, waiting—it doesn’t always work, especially if I’ve taken the pill too late.
Sometimes, the medication alleviates the tingling and numbness in my hands as well, though I never know if that’s just a psychological effect or the actual drug itself.
When I can see straight again, I quietly make my way to the foyer, cracking open the hutch and sliding my shoes on. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure Beckett isn’t coming out of his room before slipping my cloak and mask from within and leaving.