Chapter 19 Sutton
SUTTON
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Class location
To whom it may concern,
I’ve seen other professors take classes outside, to the Primordial Forest’s edge or that decrepit-looking amphitheater past the Lyceum. Why don’t we ever go anywhere except our stuffy auditorium?
A curious mind,
Elle Anderson
My thumb twitches as I sit in the empty auditorium she’s referencing, most of the Visio Aternae students having filtered out already after our discussion of the semester’s big fundraiser concluded.
I quickly swipe out of the email thread without replying, aware that she’s only sending a message because I canceled our first class of the week, and she likely thinks it had something to do with her.
In truth, it was a migraine from hell, causing me to consider just bashing my own skull in to rid myself of the nauseating pain. But then I thought of Beckett finding my corpse and the trauma that would cause and decided to hole up in my darkened bedroom until the medicine kicked in.
Still, it’s not like I owe my students an explanation. I rarely ask them to elaborate when they miss my classes, so long as they inform me as soon as possible.
I tap my index finger against my knee, wondering what Elle did instead.
Did she sleep in or get breakfast with her roommate?
Perhaps she met up with Lexington and the other friends she’s made, going over the weekend’s homework assignment or speculating about the upcoming auditions for the class’s final play.
We’re over a month into the semester now, which means we’ve fallen into the groove of things, and Death’s Teeth has been eerily quiet, relegating themselves to their Apollodorus and cave parties only.
The hyperfocus on sex is alarming, considering the volume of violence that occurred on campus last semester, and the increased number of gatherings sets me on edge as well.
It’s as if they’re growing desperate, trying to get my attention by acting out. Like they mean to force my hand, the way Jean-Louis said they would.
And no one’s asked about the new student.
Exhaling, I work my jaw as thoughts of Elle creep back in, pushing the potential danger aside.
The idea of her hanging around Lexington fills me with an uncontainable malice, and I briefly wonder if there’s a way I could permanently break them apart.
Maybe I should tell his mother I’m concerned about his grades and have her set him straight.
But that would be interfering, and Elle would see right through it. Not to mention it would likely tip off Lexington, who’s one of the top students in the theater program. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take my frustrations out on him.
It’s not exactly fair of me to take them out on Elle either, yet I can’t seem to help it.
Every time she comes on to me, I’m struck by a million different fears: of losing my job, of involving her in the dangerous underbelly of this school, and of the way her mere stare provokes something deep within me.
I don’t know what it is, but my skin almost seems to buzz to life each time it grazes hers, and the desire is entirely unnerving.
I’m not used to wanting. Especially things I cannot have.
And even if what she said that day in the forest was true, even if I could have her, what in the world would I do with her?
A woman like that deserves more than the emotionally distant shell of a man. She deserves to be spoiled, loved, and taken care of.
Though the idea of someone else—
“Um, Professor Dupont?”
Shaking myself from the shameful thoughts, I glance up as Sabrina clears her throat in the row ahead of me. She clutches a clipboard to her chest, then tucks a strand of blond hair behind a pale-pink ear.
“Yes, Sabrina?” I answer, hurriedly locking my phone in case another email comes through. She’s the kind of person to report that to the dean instantly, no matter how much she might wish for my approval.
“Were you waiting on someone? I can leave you alone if so.”
Running my knuckles over my lips, I stare at the stage; a few students linger, mingling among themselves, one of them the ghostly looking kid from our class. Percy, I think.
He slides his gaze over to Sabrina periodically, glancing at her every couple of minutes, as if he thinks she might disappear should he look away.
I know the feeling.
Resting my hands in my lap, I shake my head. “I was just lost in thought.”
“Oh. Well, I wanted to see if you had any idea what play we were putting on for 330’s final yet? I know the auditions are our midterms, basically, so maybe you haven’t really considered it, but…”
“Are you hoping I’ll tell you so you can get a leg up on the competition?”
She purses her lips. “Is there anything wrong with wanting an advantage? The way your brother used to tell it, you had no problem fighting your way to the front for a lead when you were a student.”
“I’m not sure you should be getting lore on me from Beckett,” I tell her. “I may have been tenacious, but I wasn’t unfair. I never cheated.”
“Technically, this isn’t cheating. You never said we couldn’t ask about the play.”
“Exigo a me non ut optimus par sim sed ut malis melior.”
Sabrina frowns, blushing. “I’m afraid I haven’t brushed up enough on my Latin to know what that means.”
“We must not equate ourselves with the best but do better than the bad.” I push to my feet, grabbing my briefcase. “Loosely translated, of course. It may be a foreign concept, Ms. Taylor, but I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Just be better than the bad? That’s, like, the bare minimum expectation.”
“Then it should be easy for you.”
The sentiment is true, though certainly not one I live by as often as I’d like. In the classroom, I aim for whatever means necessary to help my students learn—which sometimes involves recognizing limitations and adapting accordingly.
Or pointing out when someone is trying to take advantage of a loophole.
One cannot make it in theater if they’re incapable of change. The outside world even requires constant evolution to survive.
It’s not always nice and pleasant, but neither of those descriptors is in my job position.
Flattery and cheating do us no favors.
A thought I remind myself of later that evening when I go to leave the apartment, strolling through campus as music from a quarry party drifts up over the forest, invading the quiet nighttime.
At the bottom of the stairs, Jean-Louis leans against one of the Roman columns holding up the balcony on the second floor, a long coat buttoned up all the way to his chin.
Brown leather gloves cover skeletal hands, and the slight curve in his neck makes him appear inches shorter than his actual height.
He’s the older, sicklier version of Beckett. I often wonder if the similarities are why my brother craves his approval so desperately.
My stomach twists, begging me not to approach. I know why he’s here.
A Death’s Teeth alumnus never misses the spring instauratio—a prestigious, highly secretive festival inspired by the Haloa of ancient Greece, where the start of a new semester brings rebirth and opportunities for depravity.
Basically, murder and sex. Their bread and butter. Sacrifices for death and the motions of life. Given the inactivity of the organization thus far, I’m not surprised Jean-Louis is making his attendance specifically known to me.
He probably believes he can sway me with his foul presence.
“Headed somewhere?” Jean-Louis asks as I turn, starting in the opposite direction, any hope of him not seeing me dashed.
“Anywhere away from you is a start.”
“Still punishing me for things I had no control over, I see.”
Pausing, I catalog the way his hollow cheeks practically hang off the bone, and the yellow glow of the streetlights makes his skin seem sallow and sunken.
That he finds himself innocent of Bellamy’s death nauseates me. If I were a violent man, I’d take my guilt out on him. End my and Beckett’s suffering once and for all.
You don’t have to be the one holding the gun to pull its trigger.
“Mother says you’re sick,” I reply, slipping my free hand into my coat pocket. The other grips my briefcase tight. “How interesting you felt well enough to make an appearance tonight.”
“Well, someone has to attend the meetings you and your mother refuse to. This place would fall apart without me.” He brushes some lint off the collar of his coat. “I have good days and bad days. Today was the former.”
“Very convenient of your illness to let up on the eve of an instauratio.”
He lifts his head, running a hand over his thick black hair. The blues of his eyes are too dark to see from where I stand, but I feel his disdain regardless.
Always have. It wasn’t something that needed to be spoken. When it came to Bellamy and I, he never shied away from the loathing.
When you’re introduced to that young, you develop one of two ways: indifference or the need to prove the person wrong.
Bellamy’s ambivalence was a shield. She only cared about what made her feel good. I thought I needed to make up for that.
“I suppose I am favored by my ancestors,” he replies, his voice thin and devoid of emotion. “Am I wrong to assume you’re headed for the celebration?”
Snorting, I glance at the forest. The glow of the Curator party reflects in the night sky, obscuring some of the stars. They have no idea what lurks out there this evening.
The darkness that will ripple through Avernia tonight and remain through the spring.
“If I don’t attend, they’ll assume I’ve forfeited my title,” I say.
He nods. “They want you as Incarnate, but it’s been years, Sutton. You’ve been in limbo this entire time. Your sister is probably rolling in her grave over how fickle you’ve grown.”
My hands curl into fists as a sharp pain pierces my skull. He doesn’t deserve to speak of her.
“How long do you think it will take them to shift to someone else? We need a leader. We need Incarnate to maintain the balance of power and order on campus and in Fury Hill. They will move on from you and find another. I’ve seen them do it before.”
Beckett. Though they’re leery of him because of his past unpredictability, they’d take him if only to keep leadership in the Dupont name.
Incarnate is their designated leader. The chosen one whom they believe is sent by Death itself to rule over their organization. Incarnate chooses the targets, the ceremonies, the messages scrawled on bathroom doors, and the narrative of the gossip whispered throughout campus.
I have no idea how they make that decision, but I know they’ve been waiting for me to officially accept so they could fill the Maiden position as well, since they don’t want Incarnate to rule alone.
The Maiden is Incarnate’s partner in darkness. It can technically be any gender but traditionally is a founding family daughter.
If they choose the sacrifice tonight, the three rings of their sacred cycle—Incarnate, Maiden, and Sacrifice, satisfying their rule of three—would be ready if they went with Beckett.
And I would have ruined my brother alongside my sister.
“Leave Beckett out of this,” I snap. “They don’t touch him.”
Jean-Louis’s mouth twitches. “I never suggested they should. But we both know it’s a likely alternative.”
My limbs grow heavy. Unmanageable.
I’m thrust back in time, bound and helpless while my body is used for the gratification of my captors. Nausea rolls through my stomach as the memories, mere flashes of that night between labored breathing and moans of pleasure, assault me from all angles.
But none worse than what came after. The way my vision blanked and my lungs felt like they were being incinerated from the inside out.
The feeling of drowning. Panic, fear, and desperation colluding in my chest and then utter silence. Waking in a clearing and realizing Bellamy was gone.
The immediate devastation that I hadn’t protected her and would never get to apologize for it.
That guilt lingers to this day.
Jean-Louis juts his chin toward the moon, round and luminescent as it hangs in the cloudy sky. “Better hurry now. This isn’t a ceremony you want to miss.”