Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LIES I TELL MYSELF: PROFESSOR CANE IS A GENEROUS SOUL, JUST MISUNDERSTOOD
“You’ll use this area while you’re here,” Professor Cane says, using everything in his arsenal to push the point. His eyes brim with distrust, and his tone suggests that I’ve been caught stealing candy from a dying kid.
I could deal with those things, but it’s the way he continually jabs his finger which has me worrying I’m about to snap. I literally position myself in a corner with my hands behind my back and my gaze locked on the floor to stop myself from snapping the offending appendage off.
I. Am. Safe. He. Is. Crazy. Repeats through my thoughts as he continues laying down his ground rules.
Though I can hear what he’s saying, the endless gold threads are weaving across my vision again, and his vibrant green aura is beautifully distracting.
I wish I knew the significance of both those things, but no one explains anything, which is something I’m getting used to fast, unfortunately.
The last time my whole world flipped upside down, it took a lot of therapy before I felt like I could trust myself and my judgment again.
I hate being pulled back to the time my parents died.
Those days were so dark; my grief locking me into a place I didn’t think I could escape.
A therapist taught me a very simple focus exercise and promised it would help.
It did, and it was something I used a lot, both back then and now.
But, like I confessed to the vampire, being at Thales has my recovery slipping.
Something’s happened since the professor started showing me around.
He was guarded before, but now he’s treating me like I’m both stupid and dangerous.
I can’t figure him out, and I’ve given up trying.
For my own peace, I turn my energy inward and continue with the mantra. I. Am. Safe. He. Is. Crazy.
He stops talking, and without looking up to check, I know he’s back to glaring at me. I jump in to fill the uncomfortable silence that descends like a thick fog, figuring it’s the fastest way to get him out of my space.
“I understand, Professor, I won’t bother you or anyone else while I’m here. Plus, I’ve got a heap of homework and assignments to get through, and Master Maddern said my meals would be delivered daily.”
His tension coils tighter at my words. Don’t ask me how or why I can feel his emotions, but I can.
I shove that mystery into the same box that holds the endless questions I have about gold threads, ravens that manifest from pages to real-life, colored auras, and strange tugs toward beings who are horrid, then I manage to slam the lid shut.
I belatedly realize he said something and is waiting for my response. “Pardon?”
“Other than when we are training, you keep to yourself and stay down here.”
“Heard.” I decide to go with the simple response chefs use, although he clearly takes offense to that too.
He spins more gracefully than a ballerina, and then stomps up the stairs. I give chase to stop him from going anywhere near my things. Imagine the injustice of the world if he had to help me carry my boxes, I’d never hear the end of it.
Bugby takes flight, his wingspan nearly touching both sides of the stairwell, but he’s elegant in his limitation, whereas I thunder up the treads like an elephant.
At the top of the stairs, I nearly crash into Rodderick and my boxes. Bugby is immune to the near collision, doing his pitter-patter dance moves again. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s as eager as I am for some peace and quiet.
“Rodderick, I’ll do it,” I insist, wiggling into the space between him and my boxes.
Not giving him the chance to argue or help, I lift the first box, putting it on the ground to one side before sliding the two big boxes off the trolley—aka my tea chests in hiding. Why I’m the only one who can see that phenomenon is another damn mystery to add to the growing pile.
I turn with the trolley in my hands, and Rodderick has no choice but to move out of the way or get run over. Bugby gives a caw, maybe letting me know he’s staying to watch my stuff.
Neither of us says a word as we walk through the open-layout kitchen and sitting room, though the crabby professor and his arrogant sidekick stop their hushed conversation and turn to watch as we go.
At the door, Rodderick leans in to give me a hug, talking quickly against my ear.
“I wouldn’t make excuses for grown men, but when you get a chance, read up on the effects of full moons on Alphas.
They’re currently forgetting all their manners and are extra full of themselves, but that doesn’t mean you have to let it affect you.
Don’t give anyone that power, Maya. Now, you know where I am if you need me. ”
He walks off without a second glance.
I realize, belatedly, why I like him so much.
Rodderick is a mash-up of my dad and Mr. Kenney.
The three of them share physical traits, along with a propensity for oddly timed inspirational speeches.
I can’t comment on what he says regarding my housemates, but his insights about me are spot on.
Individuals being rude for no good reason goes hand in hand with being at Thales.
Now I have a mountain of homework to get through and about a dozen mysteries to solve.
I stand outside after he disappears down the path, enjoying the sights and sounds as twilight paints the sky indigo, as I avoid what waits for me inside. It’s not due to fear; I’m simply at my limit and don’t want to rage tonight.
I indulge in one more big breath, blowing it out slowly while my inner voice repeats, “I am safe.” Deciding it’s now or never, I turn to go inside when there are a series of beeps.
A golf cart is coming in fast, and the students seated inside it are laughing and waving me over.
They bring with them malicious energy. I don’t catch what they’re saying, just the gist of it as they zoom past me.
Nor do I catch the package they lob. It happens so quickly; I don’t get the chance to move out of the way.
The paper bag splits on impact, covering me in food.
Their boisterous laughter fuels my humiliation.
They complete an abrupt U-turn and drive back past, one of them holding up their camera.
I’m rooted to the spot, staring down at the sticky mess at my feet, bracing for the sneer on the professor’s face when he sees what’s happened to his house.
It’s the only thing that pushes me into action.
Squatting, I open the paper bag my food was in and scoop up as much of the slop as I can. Just in time, because none other than the big bad wolf himself comes out. For a change, his eyes aren’t on me, they’re glaring at the now empty path.
“Students know not to come here. Who was that?”
I turn slightly, using the fading light to my advantage to hide the evidence of their visit. “A couple of the students doing food drop-off.”
I point to the package now tucked under my arm as I try to move past him. His hand snaps out and catches my wrist. It should hurt, but he’s so careful, it feels like a ring of daisies.
“What happened?”
All thought disappears when I lock onto the fact that Professor Cane smells like fertility. He smells like warm earth and dew-kissed spruce saplings in springtime. The scent is uniquely him; it’s primal, musky, all growly and shit, with hints of sunbaked rock and sweet, damp soil.
He snarls under his breath when I don’t answer, and the vibration shakes me to my senses. “What happened? You’re covered in food.”
I take a step back, turning slightly, and force his grip on my wrist to fall away.
His anger is palpable, and I’m not entirely sure where it’s directed. “Tell me who it was. I want names.”
“I don’t know them.”
“What?” he barks.
“It’s true. No one has taken the time to introduce themselves, or their friends. Including you, Professor. Now, as you so eloquently said, I don’t have time for this. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”
Perhaps being so direct is out of line, but when you’re basically tipsy on petrichor, and you’ve got wet rice stuck to your face, delivering a dose of truth to said professor doesn’t seem that big of a deal.
I have a plan in mind—get past him, avoid the vampire, grab everything I’ve left upstairs. Then I’ll shower and mentally unpack all that’s happened since I woke up. Oh, and cram in some studying.
Cane lets me leave, probably caught up in ruminating over our most recent exchange.
The capricious vampire is also absent when I race through their house.
My plan nearly derails when I realize all my stuff is missing.
I freak out because if Cane sees what’s actually in my disguised tea chests, I’m pretty sure he’ll lock me away somewhere until he gets the answer to why I have ancient tomes, weapons, and clothing.
Considering I don’t even know the reason I’ve got the things I do; I’ll be there for a very long time while he waits for an explanation.
It’s a mocking, gurgling croak that pulls me from having a final, and very epic, meltdown.
Bugby’s laughter is a sign all is okay, and I latch on to it enthusiastically.
I scamper down the stairs, being chased by my vivid imagination. I know there’s nothing behind me, except because my hearing is heightened by my stress, I hear something faintly after each step I take. Which suggests something is, in fact, behind me.
I stop and press myself against the wall before turning silently. As soon as I see the source of the noise, I’m both relieved and ashamed. Not that I should be, but that parts of my dinner now decorate every tread is an awful reminder of what happened.
I know there wasn’t a lot I could have done to avoid the situation, or my run-in with Cane afterward, but both things feed the nasally voice in my mind that whispers all my shortcomings. That damn voice only appeared after grief painted my future with bleakness.