Chapter 11 Elle #2
“Oh, please.” Meg snorts. “The founding families are not an oppressed class.”
“That’s true, but there are very few of us at Avernia.
I’ve been in Fury Hill my whole life, and I’m still trying to adjust to the expectations and scrutiny.
And I don’t have a curse attached to my last name, unless you count Lethe’s.
” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched? ”
“Not this again,” Percy groans. “I’ve told you, dude, if ghosts are real, they’re not interested in haunting humans.
They have more important things in the afterlife to attend to.
The only people terrorizing Fury Hill are the weirdo vigilantes who killed those girls last semester and left their sigil on every flat surface they could find. ”
“A sigil?” I probe.
Percy’s face flushes, and he runs his fingers through his platinum-blond locks, his light brown eyes creasing at the corners.
“Well, only first responders and the dean actually got to see the crime scenes, but a few fellow tech-theater majors were in the Curators last semester, and they swore on their lives that the group was being framed by Death’s Teeth.
Said they’d overheard stuff about three-headed beasts and names written in blood. ”
“Death’s Teeth has a habit of leaving their calling card whenever they commit some kind of crime,” Lexington adds, propping his legs up on the chair ahead of him and reclining slightly in his own.
“I guess they want to make sure we don’t forget they exist or something.
Usually, the crimes are boring shit like vandalism or public indecency, but the names of the accused are never released, and no records are ever taken down. ”
“Pythia reports it though,” Meg notes. “That’s the only reason we know about Celeste and Frances from last semester. Others have gone missing before, and no one mentions them again.”
“I bet Pythia’s someone in the administration,” Percy says. “Not Bauer, I don’t think he’s smart enough, but someone else. Someone with firsthand knowledge and protections.”
Ahead, Sabrina cackles. “A faculty member? You think they have time to chase gossip and make a fuss online about it?”
“Sabrina’s the Visio Aternae treasurer,” Lexington says to me as if she’s not even here. “She thinks she knows things because she’s constantly up Professor Dupont’s ass.”
Her eyes narrow at him. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t need to explain myself to you cretins.”
“Anyway,” Percy continues, tossing Sabrina a lingering glance when she turns to the front before he drapes himself over Lexington’s lap, stretching his arms on the backs of their seats.
Lexington threads his fingers through Percy’s short hair, and I briefly wonder what the extent of their relationship is.
“So the main ghosts on campus are the possibly at-large murderers and probably the students who killed themselves on the thirteenth floor of the Obeliskos centuries ago. We think there are some in the dorms too. Erebus and Rad Hall to be exact.”
“Oh, and whatever’s hidden beneath the Apollodorus,” Meg adds. “Some people say you can get to the caves through the basement.”
“Don’t forget the forest,” Lexington adds.
My palms grow sweaty.
“Too many people go missing or die on campus every year for there to be no ghosts,” Lexington says. “Eventually, that sort of bloodshed becomes a part of the setting, right? Isn’t that what the whole Anderson curse is about?”
The three of them fall silent, and when they look at me, there’s an added weight of unease pressing down on the center of my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
It feels a lot like drowning, and that image brings with it the memories of my last time in the Primordial Forest and the eyes that have graced my nightmares ever since.
Still, I force a smile. “Look, I’m just here to get my degree. I’m not interested in ghosts or curses.”
Several rows ahead, Sutton appears from behind the stage curtain, instructing the students to take their seats as more file in.
He doesn’t glance in my direction at all. Not even a voyeuristic peep.
I don’t know why that bums me out so much.
As the exit doors are pulled shut, Sutton pulls an apricot from his pants pocket and takes a bite. He focuses his attention on a rolling chalkboard, cleaning the debris from a previous physics class with a rag.
His shoulder blades are sharp as he scrubs the board, ruffling the material of his forest-green button-down. I shift in my seat and retrieve a pencil from my bag, nibbling on the eraser to stop myself from imagining what his bare muscles would look like, especially glistening with a sheen of sweat.
My eyes track the movement of his jaw when he rolls the orange fruit, the accompanying slurp as he devours it making my stomach twist.
After a moment, he finishes, tossing the pit into a nearby trash bin.
“Shakespeare’s earliest published work,” he calls out to the class, notating the playwright’s name on the board. “Who knows it?”
A few students titter, and then a hand goes up near him. “‘The Rape of Lucrece.’”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms and slumping down in my seat.
Sutton scribbles the title beneath Shakespeare’s name. “And his first printed play was—”
“Um.” I shove my hand into the air, sitting straighter when he continues. He doesn’t call on me, so I clear my throat and speak over him. “‘Venus and Adonis’ is technically even earlier than Lucrece, though admittedly not by much.”
Sutton—Professor Dupont—eyes me, his face devoid of expression. “That was no longer the question, Miss…”
He waits for me to fill in the blank as if he doesn’t know my name. Dozens of gazes turn toward me, their stares amplifying the spotlight my body so often craves.
Normally not in such a contentious way, but I’m flexible.
I will not be humiliated again.
Defiance sizzles against the surface of my skin. “That may not have been the question, but I think it’s odd you’d allow an incorrect answer to embed in your students’ minds, Professor.”
“Perhaps letting misinformation marinate is a way to help them differentiate between fact and fiction later.”
“Sure, but how many of us are going to be thinking about Shakespeare later?”
“Well, this is an acting class,” he notes. “I’d hope you think about him a little. Especially since we’ll likely do him at some point.”
“Okay, but who’s going to be thinking about you later?” I continue, unable to stop myself. Someone snickers, and I clear my throat, amending my statement. “Your class, I mean.”
“I’d imagine the students who did their due diligence in order to earn a spot on my roster, versus the girl who apparently thinks her last name gives her a pass to do and say as she pleases.”
Whispers erupt across the auditorium, and a furious blush fans my face. His remains expressionless, but I can tell by the vein pulsing in his forehead that I’m getting under his skin.
I smother a grin. He makes it too easy. “So you do remember my name then?”
Silence falls over us like a blanket of snow.
Sutton stares at me for a severe stretch of time, his intense perusal almost enough to make me squirm in my chair. But I keep my feet on the floor and my eyes on his, refusing to give in.
He can despise me all he wants. Controlling my emotions, though, is out of the question.
Never again.
“And scene,” Sutton suddenly announces, pulling two fingers together in a downward motion before his face.
The students blink, looking at one another, as he finally rips his gaze from mine.
“Your first lesson on stage acting—the ability to switch in and out of character at the snap of the director’s fingers will be paramount to your success as a live actor.
Distractions abound, and as Ms. Anderson has demonstrated, sometimes nuisances can grow quite cumbersome.
It’s important you remain in character, no matter what, until cut is called. ”
Annoyance bubbles in my veins. I grip the armrests of my chair, grinding my teeth together while he uses the outburst as a segue into his lesson.
“Here I thought you weren’t prepared,” Meg whispers, turning to a fresh page in her notebook. “But you’re literally part of his teaching plan.”
My shoulders slump, but I give her a grin anyway.
At least he didn’t kick me out this time.