Chapter 3
ELLE
“Does everyone feel better now that they’ve torched the dean’s house?”
Aurora swings her golden blond ponytail from side to side as she stabs the lone olive swimming in her martini glass. No one else at the booth says anything, and she exhales, shaking her head.
My brother leans his forehead on his girlfriend Lucy’s shoulder, practically smothering her in the corner. Quincy sits on the other side of him, wiping the lenses of her cat-eye glasses with a cloth from her cross-body purse.
Both their midnight-colored locks have gotten longer since I saw them last, with Asher’s falling into his eyes and Quincy’s bangs sweeping into her brows.
It’s a little disturbing how much they resemble our father, stoic expressions and all. Considering they just made me an accomplice to arson at the school where I just enrolled, you’d think they could stand to look a little guilty.
“No one feels better at all?” Aurora repeats.
“I don’t feel worse,” Lucy says.
“You also had nothing to do with it,” I point out.
“So…what now? Vengeance didn’t work, so are you just destined to be traumatized by the shit that happened last semester for the rest of your lives?
” Aurora groans, bouncing in the seat next to me.
A cousin by proximity, not blood, but as much a part of our family as anyone else considering how close all our parents are.
“Shut up, Ror,” Asher grumbles, closing his eyes. “Some of us are trying to sleep here.”
“We’re in a public bar,” she snaps at him. “Maybe you should go home and be a dud there.”
He threads his fingers through one of the crimson streaks in Lucy’s raven locks. “If I leave, I’m taking my girlfriend with me.”
Aurora frowns, then returns her attention to Lucy. “Come on, Luce. This is the spring semester of our senior year. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Lucy’s blue eyes dance as she tosses her cousin—by blood, since their dads are brothers—a look. Her fingers tap a constant rhythm on the table, always in motion. “You’ve been using that line since we were freshmen.”
“And for almost four years, I’ve suffered through your endless rejections.” Aurora leans against me, throwing a hand against her forehead. “Nelly, drink with me. Please.”
I make a face. “Not sure you’re helping your case with that atrocious nickname.”
“No one invited me to set anything on fire,” she says, pouting. “Haven’t I earned the right to regression here?”
“Jesus, all right, fine.” I slide from the booth and grab Quincy’s arm, dragging her out with me. “A round of Kamikazes coming up.”
We make our way to the bar at the other side of the room, which is not nearly as packed as I’d expect a college dive to be right before the start of the semester. Maybe it’s the bitter cold outside, though, keeping students away tonight.
Lethe’s is practically a ghost town, so I put in our order and lean my elbows against the counter, aware of my sister’s sharp stare boring holes into the back of my head.
“You okay?” she mutters eventually, the sound barely audible over the tawdry country tune playing through the loud speakers. “I know you weren’t exactly on board with what went down tonight.”
“Setting fire to the dean’s house before I’ve officially started school didn’t seem like a great idea is all.”
Two hours ago, we watched the dean’s house go up in flames while he was trapped on the second floor.
We didn’t stay to see if he got out. Instead, I changed into a slinky dress and coat, then came here with them.
Quincy folds her forearms on the counter beside me. “If we waited any longer, we risked him not getting the message.”
The message being that my siblings are aware of the role he played in the deaths of several students last semester. Not to mention Lucy and our cousin Foxe’s near-death experiences at the same time.
Lucy and Foxe were kidnapped and dragged to the caves with their friend, who was killed in front of them. Foxe was tortured, and the only reason Lucy got out with some minor injuries was because one of the kidnappers had a last-minute change of heart.
Those events were stoked by a conspiracy steeped in traditions, founding families, and a supposed curse alleging that the Anderson bloodline will eventually cause the downfall of the university and, by extension, Fury Hill itself.
But the bloodshed and agony only shook the community for a few days before the dean and the school’s board of trustees had swept everything under the rug again.
Somehow my siblings convinced our parents they’d be okay at Avernia for one more semester, even though it’s clear the town does not want us here. They put our family on a pedestal and fear us at the same time, a dichotomy I’m now being forced to endure alongside them.
“School will be a good change of scenery for you,” my mother had said.
I’d only floated the idea to get her off my back when I was living at home again. It was a way to get my parents to believe I wasn’t completely caving to my depressive state, though it was obvious the drastic shift in my life was taking its toll.
Still, considering what happened the last time I visited, I was surprised either of my parents were on board.
They trust Quincy, though, and feel we’re stronger as a unified front. The power of three or whatever.
I wonder if they realize that’s the exact principle that makes us a target.
Casting a sideways glance at my sister, I watch as she adjusts the gold rings stacked along her fingers.
“Arson just feels like a pretty robust statement,” I tell her.
“If you’re worried about being found out, don’t be.”
“Because we covered our tracks?”
Asher appears at my other side, signaling for a water. There’s an indentation in his nostril from where his nose ring was pressed against it. “Because the dean isn’t going to say anything. He’s a spineless fucking jellyfish.”
“How does that translate to him not reporting a crime?”
“He answers to the school’s board of trustees, and they don’t want to hear about unrest. They work so hard to make this seem like a luxurious, serene place.
After that fucking shit show in the caves, they’re going out of their way to avoid any bad press.
Scares donors and shit. Avernia is only as powerful as its treasure trove of secrets. ”
“Dean Bauer even personally asked me to ramp up my campus beautification efforts,” Quincy adds.
“The Daughters of Persephone have a long history of clashing with him, so the request just proves how far Avernia is willing to go to maintain a facade of order. I’d bet they had funding threatened or worse. ”
I’m not sure what would be worse for a private university than losing its endowment funds, but I don’t question it. If it’s enough to involve the student organization that Quincy cofounded, which typically struggles for administrative support, then I guess it doesn’t really matter.
“Okay, but… It was still wild. You don’t think the dean will report it at all?”
“Would I have asked you to do this if I thought it would worsen the target on your back?” Quincy asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “You didn’t use to set buildings on fire. That’s always been Ash’s thing.”
He grins. “Felt good though, didn’t it?”
“If you’re a destructive psychopath, I guess.”
“You’re a theater major, right? Dramatic flair is your thing, so this should make perfect sense to you.”
I open my mouth to protest but shut it just as quickly. “Damn it. I do love the symbolism.”
His brown eyes crinkle up at the corners. As close to a smile as anyone besides Lucy ever gets. “Exactly. You understand.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” I say. “But if you guys really don’t think it’ll be a problem, then I guess I can stop obsessing.”
“Nelly!” Aurora slings her arms around my neck, shoving me into the lip of the bar as she hugs me tight. “A very nice gentleman gave me some tequila shots on my way back from the bathroom. Where are the Kamikazes?”
Asher’s face screws up as she slurs her words. “I don’t think you need any more liquor.”
“You’re not my dad,” she says, smushing her cheek into mine. “You’re barely my friend, Ash-tree, and you’re responsible for Foxe being the way he is now, so maybe mind your damn business.”
He blinks, and for a moment, I think I see a blip of emotion in his expression. His eyes stay clear and focused, but there’s the slightest twitch, a muscle thumping beneath his pale skin as if he’s bothered by her words.
Foxe is back in Aplana Island recovering from extensive injuries and surgery, but there’s no denying the change his experience in Fury Hill had on him.
Can’t blame him really. According to the bits and pieces I overheard when my dad and Uncle Alistair were talking, they’d violated his body over and over.
Violations like that don’t leave you. They haunt your body and soul forever.
Even when you’re not the one they did it directly to.
Asher steps back without reacting, and Lucy appears. She slips her arm around Aurora’s waist, prying her off me.
“That’s probably our cue to go home,” she says, propping the blond up.
“And why you don’t accept drinks from men you don’t know,” I say.
Aurora sighs, rolling her blue eyes. “I know him. I’ve seen him at school before. He’s sitting right there.”
She points in the general direction of the end of the bar, where a sole patron sits with his head down, chatting on his phone with a glass of red wine in front of him. It’s untouched, and he rubs at his temple with his free hand.
A hand I swear I’ve seen somewhere, but he keeps his face tilted, obscuring his identity.
“You coming?” Quincy asks as she slides off the barstool.
I shake my head. “You guys go on. I can make it back to campus on my own.”
She hesitates, gnawing on her bottom lip as the other three head to the entrance. We watch as Lucy stumbles beneath Aurora’s weight, and Asher lets out an irritated noise, bending to toss the blond over his shoulder.
As he does, Lucy leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. I can’t see his blush from here, but the way he lingers, staring at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters to him, tells me enough.
“If you want to talk about LA—” Quincy says.
“I don’t,” I answer sharply.
Not with anyone, but especially not with her.
“Noelle, honestly.”
Shaking my head, I give her a look. “It’s fine, Q. Don’t worry about it. Everything is in the past. Hollywood was never gonna work out for me, right? You always said so.”
Disappointment lines her brown irises behind her glasses, but she relents, apparently not actually interested in unearthing old wounds. “All right. Text me if you need someone to pick you up, and please don’t drink a lot.”
“Okay, Mom.”
She frowns. “I just don’t want to have to tell our parents you got murdered in a creepy bar weeks after they barely got their nephew back. Sue me.”
I remain silent as she walks out, and the bartender comes back, asking if I still want the shots.
Shaking my head, I decline. Drinking alone is only fun if you’re an alcoholic hermit lamenting the loss of your beloved wife or career.
Oof. I push that last thought away, spinning on the barstool.
My gaze catches on the only other patron currently in this part of the building, still chatting away on his phone.
The bartender—a beautiful woman with short curly dyed-blond hair and warm brown skin—stops in front of him, saying something I can’t hear.
He glances up, nodding at her, and she replaces the wine with a fresh glass.
The breath stalls in my throat as his chin lifts, revealing familiar bone structure and electric green eyes.
I slip my hand into my coat pocket, wrapping my fingers around cool metal and one of the condoms I accidentally managed to leave the Stop N Go with.
“Just consider it a loan,” he’d said.
Maybe repayment could benefit us both.