Chapter 4 Sutton
SUTTON
“Heard a fire broke out on campus and wanted to check on you,” Beckett says over the phone.
I ignore the burst of giggling that comes from a table across Lethe’s main room, ducking my head as another migraine threatens the edges of my skull. It’s been a couple of hours since I left the Death’s Teeth party, but the filth still clings to my skin.
Normally, I’d have taken my meds by now, but after the incident at the dean’s house, I decided not to stay on school property in case board members showed.
“I’m fine,” I tell Beckett. “It had nothing to do with me.”
“Ah, right.” His exhale makes me cringe. “You know, Sutty, your life is pretty boring. You could stand to live a little.”
“And setting fires at my place of employment is the way to do that?”
“If that’s what you’re into.”
“I think one homicidal sociopath is enough in this family. Don’t you?”
The silence that ensues is deafening. I drag a hand over my face, considering the wine Angelica—Lethe’s owner—slid in front of me half an hour ago. For once, I’m tempted to down its contents.
Eight years. That’s how long it’s been since I had a drop of the stuff. Eight years I’ve spent lamenting my sister’s death and questioning whether things would be different had I not drank at that party.
Not that I can remember much. Just the general sense of violation and the stripping of free will. Broken memories that don’t leave, even if your brain shields the details.
The body remembers.
“I’m not homicidal,” Beckett says.
“Tell that to the three bodies they dragged out of Tenarus Cave a few weeks ago.”
“Three of five. Besides, it’s not like I was the fucking mastermind. The Curators had their personal vendetta against the Andersons, the whole town believes in that curse, and Dad’s always saying—”
“Father’s business is his own. I’ve tried telling you that for years. Doing his bidding only gets you into trouble.”
“Yeah, well. Someone has to carry on the Dupont legacy. You’re certainly not interested.”
With good reason, but Beckett’s at a point in his life still where he thinks the Fury Hill founding families are gods. Even with the bullshit they’ve dragged him through, he believes their word is law and their superstitions are truth.
It’s an easier pill to swallow when you’ve only touched the surface of depravity. When you believe their legacy is just wealth and prestige instead of sin.
Death’s Teeth would eat him alive, so I use my membership to keep him off their radar. As long as they’re trying to recruit me for leadership, they’ll ignore his existence.
“Enough,” I tell him. “There’s no point in trying to justify yourself to me. You can take it up with the board when you contest your expulsion.”
He groans. “Can’t you wave a wand and make the charges disappear?”
“How would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Tell them I’ve been good. That I’ve been giving back by volunteering for your student group and behaving under the watchful eye of my big bro?”
“No.”
“What?” he huffs. “Why not? Visio Aternae is the only organization open to all Avernia enrollees, so how hard could it be to fudge the membership forms and put me down for a canned-food drive or something?”
“That you find the philanthropic efforts of my students to be so frivolous they can be forged is enough of a reason,” I reply. “But I’m also not going to lie for you.”
“A good brother would.”
“Perhaps I’d be willing to do more had you not made a complete mockery of my production last semester.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you talking about that stupid play again? I told you, I was only in your class—”
“To terrorize the students who actually wanted to be there,” I finish, gritting my teeth.
“But you realize many of my students end up as Visio Aternae members or vice versa, right? Who in turn help with the productions my classes put on as their finals. Your antics caused delays in set design and performances. Some students barely scraped by.”
He quiets for a couple of seconds. “It was Hamlet, Sutty. How much assistance did the class need?”
“Whether Hamlet or Susan Glaspell’s Trifles, a play deserves the same amount of effort and respect by the people putting it on.
Actions have consequences, and I’m not sure you fully understand what sort of position you’ve put me in here.
I want to help you, but I have an obligation to look after my classes. ”
“Don’t you have an obligation to look after your little brother? Or was Bellamy the only sibling you actually cared about?”
Fire sears my throat. “I’ll put out some feelers. See if I can get a read on the board members and how they’re leaning in terms of keeping you expelled or not.”
His sigh makes the line crackle, and I move the phone away briefly.
Angelica sweeps past again, asking if I’d like a refill on my wine. I nod, even though I have no intention of drinking this one either, and watch as she swaps the glasses.
As soon as her hand disappears, another takes its place—this one pale and smooth where Angelica’s is warm brown and calloused from years of tending bar.
The pale hand holds a blue tinfoil square and the lighter I lent to a stranger mere hours ago.
My chin lifts, and I don’t hear my brother’s reply—something about Trifles being Bellamy’s favorite play and if I brought it up to guilt-trip him. Like he didn’t just pull the same shit.
Two hazel eyes blink at me, their hue a glassy mix of brown tourmaline and citrine, volatile and curious in their perusal. They’re framed by elegant brows and long, midnight lashes that strike her porcelain skin as she slowly blinks.
I stare for several beats longer than necessary, the flecks of gold and rust in her irises mesmerizing, like shattered crystal.
That gas station lighting did not do her justice.
Luscious umber hair spills down slender shoulders and purposeful cleavage, peeking through the deep neckline of the short navy dress she has on beneath a long, heavy overcoat.
The dress clings to her like the scales of a tempting viper, emphasizing the delicate curves of her figure. Her legs seem to stretch without end, tapering down to a pair of designer heels, the aurous straps of which wind up her ankles.
As I look at her, the only thoughts spinning in my mind are…well, of her. She’s a drop of watercolor paint on an otherwise lackluster canvas. The fine disruption of a lifetime.
The earlier events at the Apollodorus aren’t just a distant memory; they’re ancient history, and she’s the victor who made them so.
In truth, she exudes a level of sophistication that doesn’t fit in with Fury Hill at all. She’d blended well enough when we first met at the Stop N Go, but this is a different woman entirely.
A star. Très magnifique.
My mind flashes to earlier in the evening.
Someone who recently committed a crime wouldn’t be standing just down the road from the scene of it, interacting with locals.
Not in such a showstopping outfit. From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of blond hair and pale skin when Angelica’s husband, Zane, does a double take on his way to the back offices.
If she’d been the one to set the dean’s house on fire, surely she’d be in hiding now.
The stranger’s lips, heart-shaped and gently moistened, part as she waits for my reply, but I’m suddenly at a loss for words. She stares at me, and my insides liquefy.
I hang up on my brother without telling him goodbye.
“Well, well. Looks like you found me after all.”
The woman smirks, leaving the lighter and condom on the counter in front of me. “Sometimes fate works in a girl’s favor.”
“Fate?”
“Maybe.” Her smirk widens, and she shrugs. “But it’s not like there were many places you could’ve been. In a town as small as this, I’m surprised we aren’t constantly running into one another.”
“Spoken like a tourist. There are hiding places in Fury Hill you could probably only dream about.”
She shifts, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Is that an invitation?”
“An invitation?”
“Are you suggesting we visit these hiding places together?”
I glance at the lighter and foil packet, then again at her. “What, you think you deserve a reward for bringing this back?”
“Don’t I?” She flutters her lashes, and my chest tightens.
“Not for doing something you were supposed to, no. Perhaps if you surprised me, I’d be willing to consider it.
Given your schedule for the evening is clear, that is.
” With one finger, I slide the foil packet back to her and turn my attention to my wineglass, taking the stem.
“I’d hate to get in the way of any—what did you call it? ”
“Casual sex.”
“Ah, yes. That.”
“You say it like it’s something I invented,” she says. “Hookup culture is older than me, you know.”
Turning my head, I meet her stare. “I wouldn’t, actually. I prefer to get to know my partners before engaging in lasciviousness.”
There haven’t been real partners in years, but I don’t mention that. Just at Death’s Teeth parties, and even then, it’s not like my equipment exactly works. Nor do I reciprocate, though they wish I would.
Being touched at all makes me want to crawl out of my skin, but especially when I’m wearing one of those fucking masks.
“Ooh, a Boy Scout.” She cocks her head to the side. “How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” When I don’t respond immediately, her eyebrows knit together. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“I’ve no reason not to.”
“Can I guess your age?”
“Something tells me you’d do it even if I tried to stop you.”
“A quick learner.” She grins. “I like that.”
My throat constricts, heat blazing at its base. “Still not interested in casual sex.”
“Yet you keep bringing it up. I never even said that’s what my meeting was for.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid if I let you steer the conversation, you’ll go back to talking about the forms of contraception.”
“Why, does it make you uncomfortable?” Pink stains her cheeks. “You didn’t try to stop me before.”