Chapter 7 Elle
ELLE
I look at Quincy as I pull my knees to my chest to try and make the confines of her office seem larger. My stomach aches a bit, though it’s hard to tell if those are my nerves or period cramps.
Asher’s the one with claustrophobia, but the longer I sit within Quincy’s small forest—potted ferns, flowering plants, and even a tiny tree line nearly every flat surface that isn’t occupied by occult, botany, and classic leather-bound books—the more I begin to understand his fear.
“What do you need help with?” she asks from behind her desk without looking up.
“What do you mean?”
“I assume there’s a reason you’re hiding out here instead of prepping for classes tomorrow.”
“Is there a lot I should be doing?” I frown, tapping a finger to my bottom lip. “It’s been a while since I was in school, but I don’t remember needing to do that much beforehand.”
“College is a totally different playing field than high school,” she says, sighing. “Tell me you’ve at least gotten your textbooks.”
“Textbooks?” I parrot back, grinning when a muscle twitches in her jaw. “I’m kidding, Q, Jesus. Lighten up. I did get a list of materials I needed, you know. Like everyone else.”
“You’re not like everyone else here,” she points out. “Our last name alone puts you at a disadvantage.”
A disconcerting chill scrapes my bones at the reminder.
In truth, I’m hiding out because I didn’t know where else to go. As people meet up with friends from previous semesters, it’s hard to not feel like the odd one out since I’m joining midway through the year and as an older student.
Not that there’s an expiration on the age at which someone can attend college, but still. Most of the students are fresh out of high school. There’s no denying that or the fact that there’s a difference between me and them in general.
Avernia’s primary demographic is residents of Fury Hill and surrounding cities. I spent the last seven years in LA, and while breaking into a community there was tough, once you did it, you had friends for as long as you wanted them.
Here, I’m not sure trusting anyone outside my family is a good idea.
I’ve seen the sorts of trouble caused in the forest’s shadows, and I know everyone thinks we’re villains coming to ruin their school.
It’s safer to stay here, where the only judgment that can be passed is Quincy’s. I learned to tune hers out long ago anyway.
My sister exhales, closing the ledger in her lap and pushing a stack of spiral-bound notebooks to the corner of her desk along with a few hardback books.
She arranges them neatly, setting the ledger on top—the plain black cover of which has A Short History of Fury Hill, New Hampshire: Primary written in bold text across it.
“Did setting fire to the dean’s house lower our stock value?” I ask eventually, when she doesn’t offer more commentary. It’s scary how long she can go without speaking, just like our father.
She adjusts the rings on her fingers. The one on her thumb has a small obsidian bat in the middle, while the others are mostly solid gold bands or have abstract gemstone patterns.
“It’s not about value, it’s about paranoia. In general, people here will act like you’re some kind of god to your face and plot your demise behind your back.”
“So… How am I supposed to make friends if I don’t know who believes in the curse and who wants me dead?”
“You’re not.”
“Oh, well, good. No regrets over enrolling then. So glad you convinced Mom and Dad this was a safe place to be.”
“I’m not trying to scare you,” she says, getting up and walking to the bookshelves framing the one window in the room, which overlooks the garden her student organization is working on.
“I just want to make sure you’re adequately prepared.
Avernia isn’t Hollywood. There are real, active threats to heed. ”
“Should I be wearing armor to class? You don’t think anyone would try to Julius Caesar me, do you?”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you see Uncle Kieran before you came here? That’s his humor to a T.”
“He might have stopped by the Asphodel with Aunt Juliet and Eden a few times.” I tilt my head, smirking. “Why, jealous I got to see her?”
“Hardly.”
“It’s okay to miss your first lo—”
“Noelle,” she says between gritted teeth. “That’s none of your business.”
“Well, sure, but man is a curious species, right?”
“Curiosity kills. Something you’d do well to remember.”
“You say that like you think I’m gonna do something stupid.”
“I’m just saying. You’re a student first and foremost, but you’re also my sister. Your actions will directly impact me.”
Glancing down at my chipped nail polish, I nod. “Okay. I get it. I promise not to tarnish your reputation more than it probably already is.”
“Hilarious,” she drolls. “Speaking of reputations… Are you ready to talk about why you left Hollywood yet?”
My stomach drops.
No. No, I’m not ready. I doubt I ever will be.
“I had my reasons.” Lifting my chin, I shoot her an annoyed look. “What’s with the third degree? You sound an awful lot like Mom right now.”
Offense mars her features, and she points a fountain pen at me. “Take that back.”
“There are worse comparisons, you know.”
“Yes, but no one wants to be just like their mother.” She frowns. “Although you look more and more like her every day.”
My nerves twist into millions of little knots. Sure, I might look like her, but the difference between us is that Mom has talent—she writes bestsellers under a pseudonym—and Dad. Meanwhile, my accolades and love life are currently nonexistent.
Not for lack of trying. But not everything is meant to work out, I guess.
“So if the California dream is dead, what’s your plan here?” Quincy asks.
“Don’t know yet. Playing it by ear.”
She grunts, unamused. “Asher’s only attending because of Lucy, you know. He’ll be gone in the spring when she graduates.”
“I’m aware. I might not visit often, but I do keep tabs on our family. I even came up to help Lucy with an audition last year.”
Quincy’s eyebrows raise. “I didn’t know about that.”
“Well, you weren’t around.” I pause, refraining from adding as usual. No reason to let her know just how deeply her absence affects me.
Leaning forward, I peer at the spines of the other books on her desk. The Mythos of Fury Hill, Hauntings and Ghost Sightings in the White Mountains, and The Rule of Three: What Hidden Catacombs Can Tell the Modern World.
“Aren’t you a classics professor?” I ask, reaching for the one on top.
“Does that mean I can only read the classics?” She snatches the book from my hand, glowering, as she sets a small journal on top of the stack. “You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”
“Maybe I want to read too.”
My eyes fall to the journal. The cover is white and stained with what looks like smudged fingerprints, though the coloring is off. Dark brown or maybe red, and there are dozens of symbols—poppies, torches, and something else I can’t make out—scrawled around a single word etched in permanent marker.
Dīrēctoribus.
It reminds me of the school’s mantra, mortui vivos docent, which makes me think of the lake and the bodies that apparently go in but don’t come out.
I think of the night eight years ago when everything changed here, then quickly shove the thoughts away.
After a moment, Quincy reaches into a drawer, producing a composition notebook with a series of dates scribbled on the front. Silent, she stares at it for several beats and then seems to decide against handing it over, placing it on the stack along with the Dīrēctoribus.
My interest piques, but I school my expression, unwilling to let her know I find her evasiveness intriguing.
“Look,” she continues, removing her glasses to rub between her eyes, “just do me a favor and keep the trouble to a minimum, all right? That means don’t go into the Primordial Forest for any reason.
Missing persons reports are up by, like, a thousand percent this year, and we don’t need another incident like the last time you were here. ”
Nausea pokes at the base of my throat. I’ve never forgotten those eyes. Instead of pointing that out, I straighten my spine and nod. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay out.”
“I mean it, Noelle.” She looks at me. “Mom and Dad got a glimpse into how bad shit is here, but it’s hard to really tell unless you’re in it.
Given what happened with Asher last semester, it’s unlikely you’d be the target of such violence again so soon, but not an impossibility.
Avernia sweeps everything under the rug.
Don’t expect any problems to get solved.
They’ll take your statement and then pretend you don’t exist.”
Unease filters through my veins. That seems like something we should be alerting our parents to, yet the rule here is that what’s really happening doesn’t get back to them.
“So then… Why do you stick around?” I ask. “If this place is so dangerous and awful, why come back? Why let Asher and me enroll and keep all the secrets from our parents?”
The floor lamp next to us flickers beneath its dark shade. Quincy’s fingers curl inward. The temperature in the room seems to drop, a breeze bursting suddenly from the vent in the ceiling.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Noelle?”
My eyebrows arch. “Uh…I don’t not believe in them, I guess.”
“Scientifically speaking, there’s no real evidence supporting their existence. But not everything can be explained by science. Some things transcend deduction. Phenomena that occur but can’t be defined.”
“That sounds confusing.”
She shakes her head. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s just easier not to believe. If it can’t be explained, people just write it off entirely. Like maybe…they’re not looking for the right stuff. Or in the right places.”
“Are you trying to tell me Avernia is actually haunted?”
I’ve heard the rumors about supernatural sightings over the years, but I didn’t think my sister would subscribe to them. She’s always been so methodical and poised that it’s hard to imagine her believing in things she can’t see or explain.
“I’m saying it doesn’t take belief to be true.” She stares at the wood of the desk between us. “And what haunts doesn’t go away just because you do.”
Her phone buzzes, and she draws it from her bag, looking at the screen for a long moment. I wonder whose name flashes there.
When she lifts her gaze to mine as if expecting privacy, I push to my feet, then leave her alone in the office. The dimly lit halls in the admin building seem unnaturally narrow as I make my way to the stairs.
Pipes groan behind the alabaster walls, sending an eerie wave vibrating along the rafters. The steps feel endless beneath my descent, like they could go on forever just to keep me here.
I don’t think I believe in ghosts, but if there was ever a home to them? This would be it.
A shiver ripples across my skin, and I grip my biceps, glancing over my shoulder as a door slams shut. The sound echoes through the stairwell, blanketing me in stillness.
Coming here was probably a mistake. Even if I didn’t have the knowledge that we’re being monitored, it’s as if the walls themselves have eyes that follow me everywhere I go.
By the time I reach the exit, I feel like they’re pressing in and strangling my lungs. Bracing my hands on the metal push bar, I shove out the front door, gasping for breath.
I double over, clutching my knees as something akin to panic pulses in my body, lighting me on fire. Hand to my chest, I struggle to regulate my breathing, and a shadow moves across the quad.
A tall figure makes its way out of the Lyceum, the massive castle-like building near the school’s gated entrance. He walks with his shoulders squared and a briefcase held tight in one hand. His steps are purposeful, the courtyard statues bordering his path like a parade of marble.
Curiosity keeps me afloat; there’s something familiar about the man, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. His dark hair blows gently in the breeze, and his eyes are completely indiscernible from my vantage point.
Distantly, a clock chimes, reverberating off the trees and bushes flanking the stone paths. I swallow, standing still, waiting to see if the figure turns my way.
When I blink again, he vanishes.
Like he wasn’t ever there in the first place.