Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
IRIS
The next day, I sat on the grassy bank at the edge of the cliff, staring out to sea. It was a misty day, so the horizon had vanished entirely. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs floated up to me in the wind.
I had followed the flash of white to no avail. I searched the library for a long time, and upon returning to my desk, I found that the newspaper clippings and everything about Isobella Way had vanished.
Someone, or something… had taken them.
I needed to accept exactly what I had seen last night.
I think part of me already had, but didn’t want to give voice to it.
That white figure… It was Isobella Way.
Not her exactly, but the memory of her. It had been a flash at first, but as I focused, and really looked – looked for the first time since age eleven in that bathroom – there was no denying it. I saw her disappear behind the bookcase. I saw her hair, her limbs… her face.
It was as if my saying her name conjured her, somehow.
Had she been the one to take the newspaper clippings?
How is that possible? After it became clear Isobella was gone, I hastily stashed my books back into my bag and left.
By the time I reached my room, I could barely remember the walk at all.
I collapsed onto my bed without even bothering to change.
Sleep did not come easily. I pulled the duvet high over my head and spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming of white flashes, dead girls… and grey, stormy eyes.
By morning, it didn’t feel like I’d slept at all.
The following three days passed in a blur of classes, studying, and spending my evenings with Adora – sometimes accompanied by Rory.
My studies were going well, but the one I found most intriguing was Moral Philosophy.
I tried to tell myself it was entirely down to the syllabus, but I was lying.
Classes had ended for the day, and I’d returned to my dorm. It was empty, but I could tell Adora had been there because half the contents of her wardrobe was out and she had drawn silly faces on post-it notes and stuck them all over our mirror.
The sun was starting its descent, so I left to hand in the extra assignments Professor Locke had given me. The temperature had dropped dramatically, so I shoved my hands into the pockets of my cardigan and hurried to get inside, the rain just beginning.
I knocked on the door to his classroom and waited.
‘Come in,’ he called from the other side.
I pushed the door and it creaked open. Stepping inside, I found him sitting alone at his desk. He stood when he saw me.
‘Miss Blackthorne,’ he said, his tone sounding surprised. His white-blond hair was perfectly styled again, except for a few loose strands where he had clearly been running his hands through it just moments before. His crisp, ironed shirt was black today, and his jacket lay discarded on the desk.
‘Hi,’ I said quietly. ‘I'm here to return the assignments you gave me.’
‘Oh…’ He paused, his forehead creasing. ‘Yes, of course.’ He indicated the seat opposite him. ‘Please, have a seat.’
I walked across the platform and sat down. Searching through my satchel, I took out the completed papers and slid them across the desk towards his outstretched hand.
‘I hope they're okay,’ I said nervously.
‘I'll mark them now, then we can go over anything we need to cover.’
I nodded as he began to read. I looked down at my hands in my lap and twiddled my fingers together.
‘You seem nervous,’ he said, catching me off guard.
‘I— uh… I'm not nervous,’ I lied. ‘I just want the professors here to know I meant it when I said I’d put the work in.’
He nodded. ‘Well, let's see then.’
It was quiet for a time as he scanned the pages, nothing but the ticking of the clock on the desk. My leg jiggled under the table and I watched him as he read. The way a muscle would tick in his jaw and his brow would furrow when he concentrated.
After a while, he spoke.
‘Well, Miss Blackthorne.’ I waited for his verdict, palms sweaty. ‘This is good work.’
I exhaled and my shoulders relaxed. ‘Oh. Thank you, sir.’
‘It's well polished, well thought out, and you've executed your points perfectly.’
‘That's a relief,’ I sighed.
‘You should be proud.’ A small smile graced his features, and I was shocked at the difference it made to his face. He was beautiful before, but now?
Breathtaking.
I forgot to speak for a moment.
‘Miss Blackthorne?’ he prompted. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, sorry… I'm fine.’
He smiled again, and I wondered how many people had seen it before.
‘So, we should talk about next steps,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’ll need quite as long to catch up as initially thought, so…’ He looked at me as I did, and his train of thought seemed to disappear. We stood in silence for a moment. I wasn’t sure what to say next, and it seemed neither did he.
There was a knock at the door and, a second later, the door swung open. A pretty brunette woman popped her head in. Her eyes scanned the room before falling on us. A smile bloomed on her face, and she stepped inside.
‘There you are! You weren’t in the teachers’ lounge, so I thought I’d come and find you,’ she said to Professor Locke, pushing her long curtain of silky hair over one shoulder and smiling gently.
She wore a checked pinafore over a fancy blouse, with stiletto shoes the colour of blood that I would never be able to walk in.
Locke said nothing, and she eventually looked at me. ‘Ah, who’s this?’ she said pleasantly.
‘I’m—’ I began, but Professor Locke cut me off.
‘New student. Miss Blackthorne,’ he said sharply, very different from the tone he had been using with me. His facial features had dropped. No sign of the smile I had just witnessed… as though it had never even existed, replaced by cold indifference.
‘Oh!’ the lady exclaimed. ‘Miss Blackthorne…’ She pronounced each syllable of my name slowly, as if trying to remember where she’d heard it. ‘Ah, yes! New transfer scholarship student, right? I believe you’re in my mathematics class?’
I searched my memory, trying to remember my timetable. Mathematics was the only class I hadn’t had yet.
‘Yes, it’s Professor Graves, isn’t it?’ I said politely, trying to make a good first impression. ‘I think our first class is tomorrow morning?’
‘It is indeed!’ she said happily. ‘We look forward to having you in our class.’ She was quite chipper for a university professor, I thought.
‘How are you settling in so far?’ she asked, placing a hand on my arm in a comforting gesture.
She seemed genuinely curious. But before I could answer, I was interrupted again.
‘She’s fine,’ Professor Locke cut in, and, taken aback, I turned towards him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He had turned his body away entirely and was focusing on Professor Graves. ‘It’s quite late, and I do have papers to mark.’
I expected Professor Graves to look offended, having been so outright dismissed by him, but instead she kept her smile plastered to her face and turned to me expectantly.
It took me a few beats of confusion before I realised.
‘Oh,’ I whispered. Locke was actually talking to me. My cheeks heated. ‘Of course.’ I looked between the two of them, the uncomfortable silence stretching taut. ‘I’ll just be off then…’ I breathed.
‘See you tomorrow!’ Professor Graves called after me, completely ignoring the strange tension in the room.
Professor Locke said nothing. He just stood there, motionless as a statue.
I hurried out of the classroom and closed the door behind me.
That was… weird.
As I meandered back to the dorm, I couldn’t help but remember Adora’s comments on my first night.
“I’ve heard he’s mad.”
Maybe she wasn’t so far off.
The next morning, I awoke to an empty dorm room. Smiling, I found that Adora had left me breakfast and a full cup of steaming coffee on my bedside table, with a note that read:
Have a majestic day. – A
I smiled at the paper. Adora was always full of the most bubbly language. She could not just say “have a good day”. It couldn’t be anything less than magnificent, or joyous. The most fabulously, vibrant day.
Her friendship made me feel warm inside. She was the kindest girl I’d perhaps ever known.
Before, I was worried that I didn't know how to be a friend. I just hoped I was as good a friend to her as she was to me.
After I showered, I threw on a dark red mini skirt, woollen stockings, and a loose black cardigan. Then, after opening the window to let some air in, I decided to add a scarf.
Realising I was running quite late, I quickly ate the bagel that Dora had left out for me, washed it down with the coffee, and ran out of the door.
Mathematics class went well. There were definitely some things I needed to catch up on, hence the extra assignments, but overall it was okay. And I like Professor Graves. She’s generous, fair, and even sometimes funny. It certainly makes subjects more enjoyable when the professors are nice.
I thought perhaps she might be Professor Locke’s girlfriend. It was the only thing I could think of to explain his shift in personality yesterday. Maybe I had caught them mid-fight? Or maybe he simply disliked me for giving him more work to do with all my extra assignments…
That evening, after dinner, I was sitting on a small stone bench in the courtyard near the clocktower, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine before it slipped over the cliff and plunged the school into darkness.
I was reading a romance novel that Dora had left out for me, and it had drawn me in so completely that I didn’t realise how dark it had become until the clocktower chimed and I shivered in the cold.
I stood, packing the book away in my bag, and set off.
The moon was just emerging over the cliffs as I breathed in the chilly night air, its silver beams spilling over the grounds and coating the school in an iridescent sheen.
A light rain had begun, and the clouds seemed to turn a dark grey, threatening a storm. I was just passing by the base of the clocktower when I heard my name called, and my head whipped towards the voice.
A figure stepped out of the shadows – he was tall, broad-shouldered, easily six feet.
He had tanned skin and slicked-back dark hair, with a few strands hanging loose.
I could see in the moonlight that he wore a knitted V-neck vest over a white shirt, and fitted black trousers.
His whole appearance and demeanour suggested wealth.
‘It’s Iris, isn’t it?’ he said, approaching me. His walk was slow and casual, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was handsome, maybe a little older than me.
Behind him, a small group lingered against the stone wall, watching with rapt attention.
‘Yes,’ I said, eyeing him. ‘That’s me. And you are…?’
‘Theo,’ he said, extending his arm out to me and smiling. ‘Theodore Archibald Whitlock,’ he smirked. ‘The Third.’
Um, how was I supposed to answer that?
‘Oh, uh…’ I fidgeted with the sleeve of my cardigan. ‘Iris Blackthorne?’ I asked, as though it were a question. Then, hating myself, I added, ‘How can I help you?’ and took his outstretched hand, shaking it.
Theodore Archibald Whitlock the Third smiled again, this time showing a row of pearly white teeth.
‘You’re in my Philosophy class,’ he said, not answering the question and not releasing my hand.
I’d definitely not noticed him before. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ I bluffed, smiling back at him.
Still not letting go of my hand, he bought it up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. My insides squirmed at the contact, and I attempted a step back, but he just followed my lead by stepping forwards.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ I said. ‘Officially, of course. But I do need to run… I’m meeting my roommate.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, finally releasing my hand from his clammy grasp and puffing his chest out. ‘You shall come and hang out with us,’ he added grandly, indicating his loitering friends behind him.
I did not like the way his eyes appraised my body, from my feet and back up. I also didn't like the way his friends were snickering and looking straight at me.
‘I’m sorry, I need to—’
‘Nonsense,’ he purred.
‘No, not nonsense,’ I said. ‘I’ll be going now, thank you.’
I was not prepared for him to grab my arm.
‘Ow,’ I said.
‘Come on now, new girl,’ his voice had a coaxing edge to it. It was mockingly soft, as though he thought this was all a game. ‘You don’t really want to let me down, do you? Especially not in front of all my friends.’ He paused, then gave a wide smile. ‘Be a good girl and come join us.’
I lifted my gaze properly this time, forcing myself to really look at him. His expression was wild, pupils blown wide. I realised the whites of his eyes had a pink tint to them.
Probably high as a fucking kite, then. Great.
Irritation mixed with fear bubbled inside me, and I breathed through my nose.
Entitled rich kids thinking they can get away with whatever they want…
Which they probably could, a small, bitter voice said in the back of my mind. Theo was probably the kind of person who thought “no” was negotiable.
His fingers tightened around my arm, digging in hard enough that I knew bruises would bloom. Panic rose fast, sharp and choking.
‘You’re hurting me,’ I whispered, willing my voice to remain steady. ‘Let me go… now.’
That made him laugh… actually laugh, as if I were entertainment, as though my discomfort were simply a bug he would be happy to squash beneath his expensive, polished boot.
Then… he shoved me.