Chapter 14 Sutton
SUTTON
A knock on my office door sends a wave of annoyance across my skin, and I quickly swipe out of The Delphic Pages on my phone, though the post I was staring at continues to flash in my mind.
WANNABE ACTRESS ON CAMPUS, KNOWN FOR SLEEPING WITH FILM EXECS FOR PARTS. IS THE NEW GIRL FUCKING THE DEAN?
They don’t name her explicitly, which I imagine is simply to keep curse speculation at a minimum, but it’s obvious to me who they’re talking about.
The knock comes again, and I push thoughts of Elle from my mind. None of what she did before she came here matters really, even if any of it is true.
I glance down at the back of my hand as another knock comes, smoothing my fingers over the scar.
Everyone does what they need to in order to survive.
My chest burns until I clear my throat, shoving my hand beneath the desk and looking at the door.
“It’s open,” I call.
Quincy Anderson peeks through the crack she creates, her brown eyes darting around the room before she enters. “This a bad time?”
Shaking my head, I gesture toward the space in front of me. “Not at all. Come in.”
She leaves the door open as she crosses the threshold, as if uncomfortable with the idea of being trapped in here with me alone.
Good sense, I suppose. We don’t know each other really, aside from being here together during undergrad—she was a year or two ahead of me, but I was explicitly forbidden to speak to her.
Mother and Jean-Louise would keel over if they knew what I’ve done with her sister. What I’d like to keep doing but can’t. Won’t. Especially not now that I’m supposed to be investigating her to keep Death’s Teeth off her scent.
Elle would’ve shut the door though. I know that much.
Quincy’s gaze flickers to the stack of papers spread across my desk. “If I’m interrupting something, I can come back.”
“Oh no, I was just needling at an old screenplay. I’ve been trying to complete one since freshman year of high school but keep rewriting the first act instead. It’ll probably just be buried with me.”
“I had no idea you wrote plays.”
“Indeed. I, much like Walt Whitman, contain multitudes. But that’s a story for another time. What can I do for you?” I fold my hands on the desk. “If you’re here to ask me to sub for a class, I’m afraid I’m not terribly up to speed on my Roman mythology.”
“Roman and Greek,” she corrects, taking a seat in one of the two plastic chairs across from me. “And trust me, I don’t need a theater kid philosophizing about the Byzantine Empire.”
I smirk, leaning back in my chair. “Afraid I’d do a better job?”
“No.” She doesn’t elaborate, and I smother a laugh at her candor. That must be an Anderson trait. “How’s my sister doing?”
“Ah…we’re not terribly far into the semester,” I say. “It’s a bit difficult to talk about progress when there’s little to have been made.”
“But she’s showing up? Doing her assignments? Participating?”
“Oh, she’s showing up,” I mutter. “Earlier than my other students most days. Though I do have to ask why that’s your concern? Her application and references for enrollment were sparkling.”
Quincy adjusts her glasses. “You looked at her file?”
The air in my lungs solidifies, panic pumping through my veins.
Fuck, did I just say that out loud?
No way can I admit to her sister that Elle’s file is the only one I haven’t returned to the student archives yet. It’s currently tucked under the pillow in my bedroom, where I spend each night poring over the details, obsessively trying to commit them to memory.
Because despite my best efforts, I’m hanging by a thread here, trying to maintain distance.
She’s the first thing I think about in the morning and the last before I go to bed. My soul feels like it’s cracking in half every time I push her away, as if I’m splitting it down its seam and severing my own humanity.
It shouldn’t be like this, the connection I feel to her, but it is. There’s no escaping it. All I can do is pretend it doesn’t exist at all. That’s how I’ll keep her safe.
So I hold on to the file in the hope that its contents will placate me. Thus far, I have not been successful.
“She applied to be in Visio Aternae, so I might have taken a quick glance,” I answer, swallowing over the sudden dryness of my tongue. “Standard procedure for new initiates, as I’m sure you know.”
“Wait, she applied to be in Visio Aternae?” Her brows furrow. “She didn’t ask to be enrolled in Daughters of Persephone.”
“Maybe campus beautification isn’t her thing.”
“That’s not the only thing we—” She stops herself, snapping her mouth shut.
Her group is notoriously more secretive than Death’s Teeth. The public at least knows the gist of what happens at our meetings—the sex stuff anyway. But nobody talks about Daughters of Persephone outside of their revitalization efforts.
If I believed in the curses and conspiracies, I’d be concerned. Around here, secrets are just a currency. Everyone’s got them.
Shifting in her seat, Quincy toys with the rings adorning her fingers, seeming to work through something silently in her head. “I don’t mean to make my sister sound like a troubled student. I just didn’t think she’d want to get involved in anything here.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Well, she never really cared much about school. She was good at it, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t a passion of hers. Learning by doing was her preference over sitting through lectures and doing classroom scut work.”
“Seems like joining a campus-run organization would be right up her alley then.”
“Sure, but then there was the whole…” Quincy trails off, glancing at me from the corner of her eye, as if refraining from revealing sensitive information. “Maybe you’re right. I just…worry, you know? I mean, you get it, right? You’re an older sibling.”
There’s a slight pause as we consider this truth. Neither of us mentions the connection between our younger siblings, which is good since I’m supposed to be pretending the cave incident never happened.
She continues. “My parents are amazing, but I’ve never been able to stop from feeling like I needed to watch over my brother and sister. Especially Noelle, who’s always been sort of reckless and—”
“And what?”
The two of us startle at the addition of a third voice, and my gaze flickers in the direction it came from. Elle stands in the open doorway, a dripping umbrella tucked beneath one arm. Her hair is damp and a little frizzy, as if she’d been caught in the rain before she could shield herself from it.
She arches her brows, glancing between Quincy and me. Waiting for an answer.
“Ms. Anderson,” I greet, keeping my words as even as possible. I’m not sure why, but as the two sisters stare at each other, I can’t help feeling like I’m watching the moments before a predatorial attack. “What can I do for you?”
Elle’s icy gaze slides toward me, and I ignore the ache in my chest. Even when I’m teasing her in class, there’s never been a lack of warmth when she looked at me, yet it feels as if she could slice me to pieces with the daggers she shoots my way now.
“You can explain why you’re talking about me behind my back,” she says.
I guess I walked into that one.
Quincy turns around in her chair. “Noelle, it’s not what it sounded like.”
“Okay.” Elle shifts her weight from side to side, shrugging. “Then explain. Or continue. I’d love to hear what you think of me after eight years of us barely speaking. Reckless and what else, Q?”
This feels like something I shouldn’t be witnessing. “Ladies, perhaps this discussion to be had in private—”
The chair legs scrape against the floor, letting out an uncomfortable squealing noise as Quincy pushes to her feet. “I’ve got a meeting I should be getting to. If you’ll excuse me, Professor.”
She doesn’t even acknowledge her sister as she books it from my office, so quickly that the soft scent of her perfume still lingers after she’s long gone. I sit forward, rubbing my eyes.
“Well? Are you fucking her?”
I pause, palms blocking my vision. “Excuse me?”
“My sister. Is that why you can barely look me in the eye during class, because you feel bad about it?” The door is open behind Elle still, yet she continues hurling these ridiculous accusations.
“I get it, I guess. She’s smart, calm, and convenient.
Why go for the unstable mess when you can have the perfectly wrapped package? ”
Slowly, I let my hands fall to the desk. I don’t look right at her, not yet, because I’m afraid that if I do, only a string of swear words will come out.
There’s not a world where I’d pick Quincy over her sister.
I can’t even fully pick my career or sanity over her. Otherwise, I’d have escorted her from the room by now.
Instead, I’m stuck listening to her jealousy, letting it scald long-dormant pieces inside me that I never wanted anyone to see, much less touch.
“She’s in love with someone else though,” Elle continues, as if any of it even matters.
“Not that she tells me directly. I have to hear about that stuff from our mother or one of our aunts, because when she came to Avernia, she stopped talking to me. Well, really talking. We’d have a call once a week or so, but she never said anything of substance.
Never asked me how things were. We talked about the weather, her classes, or our family.
Anything to avoid the elephant in the room that destroyed our relationship, which was—”
“Elle.”
“—when she told me that I wasn’t good enough to make it out west. Said I was naive for moving there instead of going to school. Do you know how much it sucks to have the one person you look up to the most not believe in you? It’s so—”
“Elle.”
“—dehumanizing.” She sniffles, and I glance over as she wipes her nose with the back of a hand, shaking her head.
Her eyes are trained on the ground, and she looks more demure than I’ve seen her.
This doesn’t feel like the same girl I met at the gas station or the one who challenges me in class every day.
This Elle is different. Vulnerable in a way that makes me nauseous—because my fingers buzz with the need to console. To provide comfort.
I ache to reach out and pull her into my embrace. To keep her warm and safe.
But I can’t.
She clears her throat. “Anyway, I’m just saying. If that’s the kind of person you want to get in bed with, then you should at least know all the details.”
I grit my teeth when she turns toward the door, balling my hands into fists. “Maybe she had a reason.”
Elle pauses in the doorway, lifting one hand to the frame as if to balance herself. “What?”
“For saying those cruel things…for pushing you away.” My heart thuds a slow, unsteady rhythm in my chest, my throat, my wrist. I feel it everywhere when I look at her. “Maybe she was trying to protect you in her own way.”
“I’m not a child who needs to be constantly watched over,” she snaps.
“No,” I agree. “But sometimes it’s not about what you need.”
“Why are you defending her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stop.” She whirls around, stomping over to my desk, fire blazing in those hazel irises.
She slams a palm down on the wood surface, baring her teeth, and it takes every single ounce of strength I can muster not to draw her into my lap and plant a sloppy kiss to her mouth.
“If you really care about your students and their well-being, you should stop talking about my sister.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I say softly.
“You don’t have to speak to me like that.” Her eyes shine, glassy with unshed emotion. “Like I’m some rabid animal you’re afraid of.”
“It’s not a fear of being bitten,” I tell her. My fear is that I’ll ask her to do it again.
Her face grows bright red, as if she’s just comprehending this entire situation.
She drops the umbrella, crossing her arms over her chest, those perky tits hidden beneath an impossibly tight sweater.
It’s plastered to her skin like it was painted on, and I can see the faintest outline of her nipples, though I bite my tongue to keep from ogling.
Sitting up straight, I try to school my features. With decades of acting and directing experience, it should be a lot easier to do, but something about this woman just throws me off entirely.
“Was there…something you wished to see me about?”
She nods. “I’d like to join Visio Aternae.”
I bark out a laugh. How long had she been listening to my conversation?
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said. Conflict of interest.”
“How so?” she demands. “It’s been weeks since you were inside me.”
My eyes swing to the doorway, my ears straining to hear footsteps or heavy breathing in the hall. “An anecdote I would like to keep private, by the way, and only after noting that I had no idea you were an Avernia student at the time.”
“I bet it doesn’t stop you from getting off to the memory,” she says. When I don’t immediately respond, she huffs a laugh, shaking her head and glancing around the room.
The smile falls from her face as she scans the bookshelves, pausing briefly on one area before slowly dragging her focus back to me. Whatever emotion burned there just seconds ago is gone, replaced by some sort of mask—slid into place as if she’s done it a billion times before.
An actress playing a role.
I can’t help wondering just how many different forms of this woman I’ll get to see before the semester’s end.
Without another word, she turns on her heels and stalks out of the room, so quickly that she forgets to grab her umbrella. I pick it up, balancing it on my knees, and spin toward the shelves, scanning the spines of my books to see what spooked her so badly.
My heart sinks to my stomach as I note the gold-embossed envelope I’d forgotten to file in the locked cabinet where I keep all Death’s Teeth–related items.
Still, I’m not sure she’d necessarily know what it means just by looking at it. Though it’s difficult to be at Avernia for longer than a few hours and not learn about the school’s lore somehow. She didn’t seem to be aware of much when we spoke on her first day.
Maybe she didn’t see it anyway. Maybe she freaked out over how many volumes of completed Shakespeare works I own.
Regardless, I imagine I’ll need to keep an eye on that, if only to make sure it doesn’t progress.
Elle Anderson is a curious woman, and that’s never been a good quality to have at this school.