Chapter 26 Deirdre
Deirdre
“There is no deed I would more glory in, than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory.” Edgar Allan Poe
The frost on our dorm window catches the last light of Friday afternoon.
The radiator hisses against the frost-laced windowpanes as Claire dangles half off her unmade bed, bare legs kicking in the air. She holds a skirt in each hand, measuring them against the ceiling light.
“Okay, black or red?” Claire inquires out loud. “One says, ‘I’ll remember your order’, the other says, ‘I wish my bartender boyfriend would bend me over the bar’.”
The crimson fabric catches the light as she twirls it in the air.
“Then the obvious choice is red. I need to see Gabe’s eyes pop out of his head.” Doing a little shimmy dance, I pull my black skirt over my hips. I wrestle with my own zipper as it catches midway, sucking in my stomach until it glides upward.
“Okay, but if they don’t, you’re buying my drinks after our shift.”
“Any way for you to get a free drink, huh?”
“Mmhmm, and then Gabe can take care of his tipsy girlfriend.”
“Yes, he will just love that after a long shift,” I chide as I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth and apply my makeup.
The mention of Gabe makes my cheeks warm.
Not for me—but for Claire. After my attack, Kieran wasn’t the only one haunted by nightmares.
For weeks, Gabe’s eyes had that thousand-yard stare, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying something invisible.
Gabe almost lost a little sister. Sometimes, I’d catch him staring at me during work shifts as if my being there was an illusion.
Lately, though, at work or during their text exchanges, I can gradually see the tension lifting and the happiness returning to their faces.
“Ready?” I ask, slipping into my ankle boots and slinging my small crossbody bag over my shoulder.
“Born ready.” Claire grabs her coat, looping her arm through mine as we step into the hall.
Cornelia Heights feels like it’s slowly waking back up after break, and the energy around campus is buzzing into the night. The first Friday night after classes, students have traded their tense shoulders and textbooks for laughter and frat parties.
Claire tucks her chin into her scarf. “God, it feels good to be out of the hospital-nurse routine, no offense, and back at work with you. A whole week of classes, and now we get to serve cocktails to men who will absolutely not appreciate our sarcasm.”
I grin, my breath clouding in the air. “At least we get paid for dealing with the drunks.”
“And,” she says, eyes sparkling, “Double Trouble is back. I give us ten minutes before Vincent regrets letting this happen.”
I laugh, shaking my head as we cut across the courtyard to the student parking lot.
“Ten minutes?” I tease. “You’re giving us too much credit. I think we can do better than that.”
Laughter rings in the air as we slide into Claire’s car and drive toward Salvation.
The bass thumps low through the floor, pulsing up my legs as I weave between tables, balancing my tray of drinks.
Friday nights at Salvation are chaos in motion—flashing lights, clinking glasses, laughter that borders on wildness.
Gabe is behind the bar, an easy grin plastered across his face as he slings cocktails for his regulars.
Vincent watches from the floor, his observant gaze sweeping over everything, clocking every detail like the club breathes only because he wills it to.
And then there’s Kieran.
Sitting at the bar like he’s just another customer.
Jacket draped over the stool, whiskey glass in his hand, the dim light catching the sharp lines of his face.
No one else here would guess he owns part of this place.
But to me, it’s written all over him, the stillness in his shoulders, the way Gabe checks on him more often than anyone else, the subtle respect Vincent gives him even when he pretends not to.
Part of me wishes he weren’t a professor at the university, and just another customer I happened to fall in love with. It would make our situation so much easier.
Claire appears at my side, slipping her tray onto the counter. “I swear, if one more guy tries to slip me his phone number on a cocktail napkin, I’m going to lose it.”
I snort, stealing one of her fries from the plate someone tipped her with. “Oh, come on, you live for the attention.”
“Speaking of attention,” she nods in her head in Kieran’s direction, “Professor Broody has his sights locked on you.”
Our gazes lock, and the butterflies awaken as usual when he stares at me. My legs have a mind of their own, and I feel myself walking over to him, with Claire in tow.
As we approach him, he turns the barstool in my direction so that I can settle between his legs. Claire leans against the bar behind me.
“What are you two plotting?”
Claire smirks, unbothered. “Nothing you’d disapprove of, Professor.”
His gaze focuses on me, and I know he already sees through me. “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Ravencroft. Let’s try again.”
I sigh, “Have you heard of the masquerade charity gala for the Fine Arts department?”
For a beat, he says nothing. Then he murmurs, “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” I echo, my pulse spiking.
His lips twitch, but his tone is dry. “That you bring this up tonight. Ironic, really.” He sets his glass down, the clink loud in the noisy bar.
“During that meeting, I had the pleasure of a heated discussion with President Sheridan. Apparently, I’ve been ‘volunteered’ to help host this gala. Entertain donors. Smile politely. Make myself useful. Apparently, I’m his safest bet to stay in the pockets of wealthy alumni.”
His jaw ticks. “In other words, Sheridan wants to keep me close. To watch me.”
Claire leans on the bar, eyebrows arching. “So you’ll be there anyway.”
His eyes cut to mine, again, but with a mischievous gleam to them. “Exactly.”
I can feel the tension thicken between us, not the kind the crowd around us could ever sense, maybe Claire if she were paying closer attention. My fingers tighten on my tray.
“Claire had the idea that since you would be there, I could attend. We would be disguised under masks, and we could leave together. Two weeks is plenty of time to get to Avalon and back without anyone noticing our absence, with it being spring break.”
“We will need to be careful that night. Sheridan won’t give me too much slack on the leash he has me on. Not after I threatened him.”
“You did what?” Shocked, I gasp. “Kieran, was that the smartest idea?”
“Probably not. But it’ll keep him and his suspicions quiet.”
“What did you threaten him with?”
“It’s better if you didn’t know.”
Whatever he threatened him with, I will trust he knows best. Because he is right about one thing, Sheridan’s suspicion is tightening around us like a noose.
“The plan is really perfect,” I murmur quietly, still wondering what threat he used and the overwhelming sense that it would make me hate Sheridan even more.
Kieran pulls me closer to him, so that I am standing between his legs. “Perfect, or dangerous?”
“It could be both, Professor,” I whisper in his ear.
Kieran exhales through his nose, a sound caught between amusement and frustration. “You’re playing with fire, Miss Ravencroft.”
“Hmm…where have I heard that before?”
Claire interrupts us as she clears her throat. “Okay you two, if you don’t stop undressing each other with your eyes, I am going to lock you in room seven myself. So, the plan is set. Kieran plays the professional host, we attend as students, and at midnight, you whisk Cinderella away.”
Vincent walks around the bar, joining our group, “Who’s whisking Cinderella away?”
“Kieran and D are going after Trevor during spring break!” she blurts out.
Looking around to see who’s around, I scoff, “Geez, Claire, any louder?”
Without hesitation, Vincent turns to Kieran. “Send me the dates, I’ll buy the plane tickets on my card. That way, it’s not traced back to you.”
Claire pipes up, “Well that plan went easier than I thought.”
“Now the hardest part will be waiting until March seventh.” My shoulders fall.
“February will fly by. You’ll be busy with Professor Broody here, and we will be drowning in Tipton’s misery.”
Vincent cuts in, “Speaking of busy, you two do realize it’s rush hour? Get to work,” he orders, feigning a strict tone.
Claire looks at me and then at the clock on the wall. “At least we lasted longer than ten minutes before he started barking orders.” She dramatically rolls her eyes.
“Come on, Claire, before big bad Vincent fires us,” I tease as we grab our cocktail trays and waltz over to greet tables of customers.
The weight lifts from my shoulders. The plan is in motion. All that remains is the countdown to my reckoning.