CHAPTER 15
“D amn it, c’mon!” I swiped my card through the reader, only to be greeted by the sixth red beeping light in a row.
“C’mon!” Twisting slightly to the left showed that the line of seven other students had already doubled in the last two minutes, all of them wearing irritated and impatient expressions.
Humiliation gnawed at me as I swiped the card a seventh time.
Another red beep.
“Here.” An arm reached around me from the other direction, and I turned to see a tall blond guy with bright blue eyes offer a half-smile, as he swiped his card and punched number two on the pad below the card swiper.
A green light followed.
“Thanks,” I said, stuffing my card away, the pressure in my throat settling again.
“Underclassman?”
“Sophomore.”
“Only juniors and seniors are allowed to dine at Darrigan Hall.” The two of us strolled at an easy pace toward the front of the dining hall. “Freshmen and sophomores are restricted to Cavick. Unless we invite a guest.”
Another blast of embarrassment warmed my cheeks. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. It was close to my next class, and I thought I could grab a quick lunch and go.”
“I’m Spencer.” A well-groomed hand prodded my arm as he held it out to me, and I gave it a weak shake. The guy reminded me of Paul Walker, with his boyish charm and the way his eyes naturally held a smile.
“Lilia.”
“Any chance you want to have lunch with me?”
The way my chest instantly tightened when he asked that, one would’ve thought I was allergic to lunch dates. “Oh … um. I was just … I was going to eat in the–”
“Spence!” Kendall, the tour guide from Langmore’s office, sashayed up to him, both of them looking like Ken and Barbie, standing side by side.
When her eyes fell on me, smile falling away, I wondered if she thought I was wearing the same outfit as yesterday.
I’d chosen another sundress–one with blue flowers—but it was the same jacket and boots. “I see you’ve invited a guest.”
Clearing my throat, I hiked a thumb over my shoulder, which actually had me pointing at the bathrooms behind me. “I’m going to eat in the courtyard.”
Primped brows winged up as she offered a fake smile. “How very boho of you.”
“Mind if I join you?” Spencer tipped his head toward me, and a knot tightened in my stomach. Nothing against the guy–he seemed decent enough. I refused to invite distractions, though. My goal was to remain focused on studies and nothing more.
Besides, what the hell would we even talk about?
“Um …”
“It’s okay if you’d rather not. No pressure.” He shot me a wink, and when I offered a silent nod in response, he strode off with Kendall toward the long table of chafing dishes.
I opted for the cold bag lunches at the opposite side of the room, and it was only when I headed toward the exit, with no cashier in sight, that I realized he’d swiped his card and essentially paid for my lunch.
Ugh. Did you have to be such an asshole?
As I passed one of the tables, I snagged a glimpse of the guy with copper eyes again, the one I’d bumped into the day before, sitting alone and staring down at a book.
When those eyes found mine and he caught me staring, I snapped my attention away, and consequently rammed my thigh into the corner of one of the tables.
With a quiet grunt, I brushed off what would undoubtedly become a bruise in the next twenty-four hours.
Once out of the building, I took a deep breath, and on spying an empty bench beneath an impressive red oak, I hustled across the lawn toward it.
After settling, I tucked into a chicken salad croissant with grape halves and celery, Cape Cod potato chips, and organic apple juice.
Even cold lunch at Dracadia was more impressive than anything I’d have scrounged back home—and mine had been only one of about ten different cold bag options.
Lichen-covered statues, chipped and aged with time, stood about the courtyard in front of me–angels, and children with motherly figures who cradled them.
I glanced back at the ominous gargoyles perched outside of the engineering building to my rear.
How creepily they’d been angled, as if watching the innocent statues play.
Across the yard from me, black birds pecked about.
The infamous ravens, I guessed. I’d read in the history of the school that because there were so many that had flocked to the island, it was long believed to have been cursed.
They made for pretty peaceful lunchmates, though.
After eating, I headed toward Emeric Hall for my first class of the day.
Like every other building on campus, the gorgeous interior had been well-preserved.
Thick hardwood gleamed, as I made my way to a set of wooden doors ahead.
I opened one of them into a dimly-lit auditorium, where a handful of students had already claimed seats and sat scrolling on their phones.
Every one of them had the sleek, black, to-go coffee cups with the purple and gold dragon logo of the local coffee shop, Dragon’s Lair.
A pretty popular gathering place, as I understood.
They had a few pop up stands in some of the academic buildings, too.
Unfortunately, eight bucks for a latte was out of budget for me.
Finding a seat at the opposite side of the room, I sat in the very corner of the second row. Although I’d have ordinarily opted for a rear seat, with this being an advanced class I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Hoping to blend in, I pulled out my phone and spotted a text from Jayda:
How’s anglican life?
Snorting a laugh, I texted back:
Surprisingly uneventful so far. I met a Paul Walker clone.
Met? As in talked to?
He spared me the humiliation of my card being declined. Guess he paid for my lunch, too.
Tell me you didn’t eat alone, Lilia.
I ate alone.
Jesus on a pogo stick, the hell is wrong with you, woman?
I’m not here for men. I’m here for knowledge. I can’t screw this up, you know that.
“Is this seat taken?”
A shock of surprise jerked my muscles, and I looked up to see Spencer standing over me, his brows winged up. Black to-go cup in hand, just like everyone else.
A quick glance around showed a number of open seats he could’ve chosen.
“Sure. I mean, no. It’s not taken.”
“Cool.” It was when he slumped into his chair that I noticed how uncomfortably close we were situated. Enough that if I hadn’t turned my knees the other way, one would’ve surely touched his. “Thought you said you were a sophomore.”
“I am. I was placed in this class.” I pulled my laptop from my bag–an off-brand loaner from the tech department, and a far less fancy machine compared to the MacBook that every other student had out on their desks.
From the side of the chair, I tugged the small desktop to unfold it, frowning when it refused to flip up.
“Ah. You’re a smarty pants, then.” Spencer pressed a button I hadn’t noticed, and the desk lifted with ease. Smiling, he tugged out his own laptop from his bag–a Mac, of course.
While I appreciated his playful nature, I felt like every response fumbled inside my mouth. Though undoubtedly attractive, the guy wasn’t my type, so it didn’t make sense that I’d have been so tongue tied. “I do okay, I guess.”
“You missed out on a riveting conversation at lunch. Country clubs and fall fashion and everything I don’t give a shit about.
” He chuckled, and I smiled, wondering if he’d said that for my benefit.
Perhaps he’d hoped to make me feel more at ease around him, but unfortunately, his comments only left me feeling more like an outcast.
Just as I was on the verge of unzipping my skin and crawling away, a figure strode into the room.
My heart stalled in my chest.
In his black, button-down shirt, black slacks, and black, finger-raked hair, he looked like an ominous shadow moving through the lecture hall with the kind of lethal grace that had undoubtedly obliterated a few hearts.
His outfit matched the infamous black, to-go cup clutched in his hand.
A tingle at the back of my neck had me scratching there, and when he headed toward the desk and lectern at the front of the hall, instead of one of the audience chairs, I wondered if he might’ve been one of the assistants Dean Langmore had mentioned.
Bright copper eyes scanned the room, and when they fell on me, my heart slammed into motion again.
The girl in the row in front of me lifted her camera, not-so-subtly snapping a picture of him. I stared down to see her posting a caption with a weary face emoji over it:
Why does Doctor Death have to be so fuckable, tho?
Doctor Death.
I nearly choked on my own spit right then.
Bramwell.
Dracadia’s brilliant expert pathologist.
Given his reputation, and the respect he’d gleaned from Professor Wilkins back in Covington, I’d expected him to be sixty years old. The guy couldn’t have been much past thirty.
He certainly dressed the part of death with all that black.
A few more students filed in, as Professor Bramwell stood at his lectern and cracked open a book.
Look away , my head told me, but he was one of those men that effortlessly commanded attention.
The kind who went about his business looking utterly fuckable , as the crude brunette in front of me had pointed out.
It irritated me how much of a distraction he posed in a class that was apparently one of the more difficult on my schedule.
Once all of the students seemed to be present, Professor Bramwell snapped his book shut on a thunderous crack, and a unison of gasps echoed through the room.
“Let’s get started. I’m Professor Bramwell, and this is my teaching assistant, Ross.
” He pointed toward the front row, where a slightly younger guy sat wearing glasses beneath a mop of ungroomed hair that told me he must’ve been a grad student.
“The class is Neuroparasitology, and will pick up from the parasitology prereq you should’ve taken last year. ”