Chapter 41 Sutton
SUTTON
“Professor Dupont,” Iris Creighton whines, holding her paintbrush between two fingers. “How come you didn’t go to last night’s meeting?”
It takes a moment for my brain to compute which meeting she’s asking about—not the Death’s Teeth gatherings I’ve been skipping but Visio Aternae, of which she’s the secretary.
The former I’m avoiding under the guise of getting to know my Maiden, which they believe Sabrina to be. As long as I can keep them out of my business, I’m hoping I can protect Elle—at least through the end of the semester.
After that, once the Maiden ceremony has happened and a student has been sacrificed, there won’t be an opportunity for them to protest when I announce my real pick.
Visio Aternae I’m not avoiding at all—they just tend to fall by the wayside as the end of the semester nears. They’re pretty self-sufficient anyway, and most of them volunteer to help with the final play where they can check in with me as Iris is now.
“We picked a charity to sponsor this year,” Iris continues, leaning in to add some fine, thin lines to the backdrop she’s working on. “The Entertainment Community Fund. That’s one you like a lot, right?”
I nod. “They do good work.”
“See, I told Sabrina that when she suggested we do something with a wider appeal. Can you believe she thought a nonprofit focused on affordable housing would make a bigger impact?”
“Uh…” I cock an eyebrow. “What do you think the Entertainment Community Fund does?”
She blinks her big blue eyes at me. “Provides funding for theatrical productions, obviously.”
At my side, Quincy lets out a low whistle. “Maybe you should think about vetting your organization’s members next year.”
I shift, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Can’t. We’re the sole non-invite-only group, and Avernia needs accessibility to decency now more than ever.”
She says nothing, and I refocus on the task at hand—or try to at least.
Recruiting Visio Aternae members to repaint the sets from last semester’s production was an easy enough task since they’re so into reducing, reusing, and recycling.
But considering what happened last time we were here, I gave the cast the week off, with the explicit instructions to be off script at our next rehearsal.
“What?” I bark over my shoulder, glaring as Quincy crosses her arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.
Turning around, I frown. “Making sure these sets get painted correctly?”
Her eyes darken behind the lenses of her glasses. She takes a step toward me, bringing her nose toward my collarbone.
I shift back, holding my hands up as discomfort ripples through me. My fingers are numb today, the added stress of the play not good for the Raynaud’s or my migraines. “Whoa, hey, I’m not into you like that.”
“Oh, please.” She scoffs, straightening back up. “You smell like Noelle.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know a Noelle…”
She clenches her jaw. “Don’t play stupid, Dupont. You have a lot of nerve risking her reputation and status here.”
“As an Anderson, wasn’t that already a given?”
“So you think toying with her is okay because Fury Hill hates her? Jesus, I told you I wouldn’t help here if you were messing with her, and you’ve gone and—”
Snatching Quincy’s wrist, I drag her down the aisle, away from the turned heads and shushed students. “It’s highly inappropriate to air your sister’s business out in front of her classmates.”
“You don’t get to lecture me on what’s inapprop—”
“I like her,” I snap, giving her wrist a shake before dropping it.
“You like her.” She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me. “Or you like what she can do for you?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means Elle is a person who loves being loved, and she’s quick to do whatever it takes to feel a connection with someone.
That resilience I talked about? It’s a fucking shield.
She wears it whenever she breaks her own heart, and I recognize the signs.
She’s smiling more, humming to herself in the mornings before class, even initiating calls and texts with our parents.
It’s the calm before the storm—the storm where she gets hurt and shuts everyone out, and then no one knows the truth about what’s going on with her for eight fucking years. ”
“I’m not…” I swallow, shifting my gaze to the floor. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then end whatever it is you’ve got going on. Before it’s too late.”
She shoves past me, shoulder checking me as she heads for the doors. I turn, watching her go, and just as her hands find the push bar, I speak.
“No.”
Pausing, she shoots me a malicious glance. “No?”
“You heard me.”
Several beats of my heart pass erratically before she straightens her spine, shoving open the door. “Then I guess I’ll just have to report you both.”