Chapter 2
Julian
Valcourt Manor rose from the cliffs like a monolith; black stone, ivy-choked, and utterly unapologetic about the way it dwarfed everything around it. The carved doors loomed open as I stepped inside, the faint echo of my shoes carrying through the marble foyer.
A sweep of ocean air slipped in behind me, tugging at the edges of my coat before the doors shut with a low, final sound.
“Welcome home, Mr. Valcourt,” said Mrs. Baker, our housekeeper, appearing like she’d materialized from the walls. Her posture was ramrod straight, her gray hair tucked neatly into a bun. She’d worked here since before I was born, and still refused to retire.
“My brother said he wanted to talk to me. Any idea where he is?” I asked, shrugging off my coat.
“In your father’s study,” she replied, a faint smile creasing her face.
Of course he was. He’d always liked that room, and with our father down in DC again, he had the run of the place.
I started down the hallway, passing a row of tall windows that reflected me back at myself. My jaw was still tight from earlier, from that run-in on campus with Jeremiah. But it wasn’t his smarmy face that had been playing on a loop in my head since then.
It was hers.
Violet.
I loved the way she’d looked at me when she turned around earlier. Wide eyes, soft mouth, a faint flush creeping over her cheeks. I’d seen that exact expression before, from women who wanted to be devoured but didn’t understand exactly what they were asking for.
That wasn’t the only reason she was still on my mind, though. There was something else about her I couldn’t shake. Not just because she was beautiful, but because there was a flicker of recognition there.
Not from a past hook-up, or a fleeting face from a party. More like a shadow in my peripheral vision. Someone I’d seen without really seeing. Like she’d been in the background of a photograph focused on someone else.
It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I didn’t like unsolved things.
I pushed open the study door without knocking. Roman looked up from behind the desk, one eyebrow lifting in that way he had that was equal parts greeting and quiet reproach.
“Punctual as always,” he said dryly.
“I try,” I replied, stepping inside. A fire crackled low in the grate, its light flickering against the dark wood paneling, and the heavy velvet curtains to my right were drawn back to reveal the slate-black sweep of the ocean below.
Roman leaned back in the leather chair, his tie slightly loosened, a tumbler of Scotch in his hand.
I crossed to the sideboard and poured myself a drink from the decanter. “So,” I finally said, taking a seat opposite him. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Dad called me earlier,” he said, raising a brow. “The Council has an assignment for you.”
“Right.” I leaned forward, frowning slightly. “Why didn’t they call me to their chambers to tell me?”
“It’s not the usual assignment. No ‘wham-bam, goodbye forever, man’,” Roman replied, lips twitching.
His smirk was the exact same one he’d had since he was a kid, although in recent months, I’d rarely seen it.
“It’ll last the whole semester. Maybe even the whole year.
But you’ll still have other jobs too, if and when they arise.
So don’t worry. You aren’t being iced out.
You’ve actually been assigned this task because you’re the best Reaper in your cohort. They really trust your abilities.”
My frown deepened in spite of the high praise. “What exactly is this special assignment?”
“Nothing physical. Just surveillance.”
“We have people for that.”
“I know, but the target is a Blackthorne student, so the Council wants it to be another student who does it,” Roman said.
“That way it’s not so obvious, and we also have plausible deniability if the target ever tries to report it.
Can’t really do that if she starts blabbing about a guy in his forties following her around, can we? ”
“You said she. Who, exactly?”
He fell silent for a moment, jaw tightening. “Calista Hoffman’s sister has enrolled at Blackthorne. She was scheduled to arrive today.”
His face remained carefully blank when he said Calista's name. Too blank. Like he'd practiced it.
“I see,” I said, lifting a brow. “Freshman?”
“No. That’s actually the issue at hand. She’s a junior.
Completed her first two years as a business and econ major at Ravenswood University in California.
Stellar grades. Already received internship offers and TA opportunities from professors who’ve seen her potential and want to snap her up.
” Roman paused for a beat, eyes flickering with suspicion.
“So… why give all that up and make such a big move?”
I shrugged. “Blackthorne is a great school. Better than most.”
“But so is Ravenswood, where she’s already doing extremely well. So, again, why would she give that up?”
I nodded slowly. “I’m guessing the Council thinks she’s transferred here because she doesn’t believe Calista’s death was an accident or suicide.”
“Exactly,” Roman replied, punctuating the word with a sharp rap on the desk. “And let’s face it. No one really thinks it was an accident or suicide. But most people around here are smart enough to keep that to themselves. This new girl, though… she’s not from here. She doesn’t know our ways.”
“So she could be a bit of a wild card,” I said, nodding again.
“Yeah. She might try to investigate the Dionysus Club. And that’s the last fucking thing we need.”
“Right. So what exactly does the Council want me to do?” I asked, cocking my head.
“Just keep an eye on her,” he replied. “A very, very close eye. Make sure she doesn’t uncover anything too serious. You can use any resources you want or need.”
“Got it. What’s her name?”
Roman glanced down at a piece of paper in front of him. “Violet Jayne Calloway.”
My brows shot up. “Wait… what?”
“They’re half-sisters,” he said flatly, misinterpreting my surprise. “Same mother, different fathers. Hence the different surnames.”
“That’s not what I—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. Perhaps it was a different Violet. It wasn’t exactly a common name, but it wasn’t the rarest one, either. “Got a photo of her?”
“Of course. We have an entire file on her.” He patted a folder on the desk before sliding it over to me. “Take a look.”
I pulled the folder closer and flipped it open. A single photograph was clipped to the inside cover; an ID-style headshot taken against a pale blue background.
My stomach dropped as I took it in.
It was her.
Her hair was a little shorter in the picture, her smile smaller and more subdued. But it was definitely the same girl I’d encountered today, more than once.
Roman’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You recognize her?” he asked, eyes sharpening. He rarely missed anything.
I schooled my expression into something neutral before glancing up. “I think I saw her on campus earlier.”
“Makes sense if she arrived today,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
I looked down at the photo again, studying every detail. Her green eyes, the faint curve of her plump mouth, the freckle on her left temple.
The memory of her standing there in the fog today flickered through my mind once again. The way she’d looked at me, and the way my pulse had picked up when she did.
I fucking knew there was something familiar about her. A pull I couldn’t name. Now I knew what it was. She had the exact same eyes as her sister, despite every other physical detail being different.
I turned the page, scanning the rest of the file: academic records, family background, an obituary for her sister. Calista Hoffman. The official report said it was an accidental death, but we all knew better.
Roman took another sip of Scotch. “You’ll get a full briefing from the Council tomorrow, but really, all you need to do is watch her. You can even befriend her, if that’s what it takes. Just… keep her close. We can’t risk her digging into Calista’s connection to the Club.”
I gave him a slow nod in response, but my eyes stayed on her photo.
Keep her close.
Yeah. That wouldn’t be a problem.