73. Bastian #3
“I am so sorry, Professor Rooke. I know how close you were to Evelyn.”
We both know it’s a lie.
I struggle to keep the mirth out of my voice, because I know how poorly that will be received.
“I’m not sure why you called. Is there paperwork for me to sign?”
She makes a choked sound. “No, uh, I mean, yes. If you could let me know when it would be convenient for you to come through so we can make the necessary arrangements—”
“Thought that was all part of her package. Food, diapers, her decaying corpse?”
I know I’ve gone too far, but I can’t help it.
I’m finally feeling something.
And it’s motherfucking rage.
Aware that a few of the students streaming past me on their way to their next class are side-eyeing me, I stalk down the hall and slip into the alcove on the first floor landing next to the stairs.
The exact spot where I touched Haven for the first time, brushing that spot of ink from her lip.
Eden House’s representative is rambling now.
“—it states she wishes to be cremated, but we can schedule a wake either before or after—”
“I won’t be attending, so it’s really no business of mine,” I tell her coldly. “As to her body? Burn her, throw her in a wood chipper, turn her into a pinata, I couldn’t care less.”
I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket as Parker comes into view. She’s headed for the stairs, a small frown on her face.
“Parker.”
She glances left, right.
“Parker!”
When she turns and sees me in the alcove, she hesitates, her lips working like she’s biting the inside. “Professor?” she says, standing at least three feet away from me.
“That was a smart observation back there.” I keep my eyes fixed on hers.
Not intent, just focused.
Her gaze darts away a second before returning, locking on. “Not everyone who takes your class is an idiot.”
“You think only idiots take my class?” I keep my tone light, but spots of pink appear on her throat and cheeks.
She doesn’t defend herself, or take the bait, and I don’t know whether to be impressed or irritated. “I think most of the kids in this place are only here because it’s expected of them,” she says.
“It’s not expected of you?”
“It is. But I’m also here to learn.”
“And take drugs.”
Those pink spots turn crimson as she throws a harried look over her shoulder, as if to check if there’s anyone in earshot. When she turns back, I’m surprised at the anger in her eyes. Did I look like that a few minutes ago?
“Loosen up. If I report you, I’d have to report everyone, then I wouldn’t have anyone left to teach.”
I should let her leave. Instead, I glance out the alcove’s window, frowning.
The Witch is dead.
I should be relieved, but I’m just fucking pissed.
A career that’s circling the drain. A deputy who smiles like he knows where the bodies are buried. And the two people who understood the darkness inside me—gone.
After everything I gave them.
Everything I taught them.
Everything I made them feel.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
There are so many things I should be doing with my time this weekend. Planning a new class, getting my car detailed, hiring someone to fix my fucking doors—the glass one, and the wood one where Haven’s bullet is still lodged.
But I feel too malicious and empty to care.
I could try filling the hole with liquor. With coke. With sex.
From experience, I know there’s only one cure for this particular void.
I need to break something pretty again, and soon.
Need to hold it down as it struggles, my ears ringing with its desperate moans and pleas.
Need to watch it bleed.
Could have been us, Haven.
Could have been us, Kai.
Now I guess it’ll have to be Parker.
Parker shifts uncomfortably when my gaze lands on her again. Clearly wanting to leave but too polite to just walk away.
Such a good slut.
“I’m holding a small, invitation-only study group this weekend.”
“How many people are going to be there?”
“Only those I find worthy of my time.”
When she says nothing, just watching me warily, I add an annoyed, “Five, maybe six.”
“At school?”
“On a Sunday?” I scoff. “At a coffee shop, most likely.”
When she still says nothing, I exhale loudly and head for the stairs, our shoulders brushing when she doesn’t get out of the way in time. The halls are empty now, only a handful of stragglers on the first floor dashing for their classes.
“Have your secretary call me to confirm after you’ve checked your schedule,” I mutter.
I don’t even get halfway down the stairs.
“Professor!”
I pretend I don’t hear her.
Even when she appears at my side, I keep staring ahead. It takes a tug on my sleeve before I turn to her. But when our gazes lock, I give her all my attention, like the world ceased to exist. And when I see her flinch, reeling from the intensity of it, I know she’s mine.
“I can squeeze you in for an hour. Two at the most,” she says, trying to sound glib, but her voice is too unsteady to pull it off.
“Two hours won’t be enough for what I have planned. Then again, most students don’t have the stamina.”
Her eyes go wide.
“For longer study groups,” I add, smiling ruefully. “Mind out of the gutter, Parker.”