Chapter 9 #2
We pulled out our phones, and I was typing his contact information in when that familiar old feeling crept up my spine again. I was being watched.
I looked up, scanning the quad, and found Julian a second later.
He was standing about thirty feet away, near the steps of the Hecate building. The same athletic guy from earlier was with him, along with another student I didn't recognize, but Julian wasn't paying attention to either of them.
He was staring directly at me… and he looked furious.
His jaw was tight, his eyes visibly stormy even from this distance. There was something predatory in his stillness, like a wolf watching prey that had wandered too close to another pack.
Kane said something else to me, but I barely heard him. All my attention was fixed on Julian, on the way his gaze flicked from me to Kane and back again, something dangerous still flickering in his expression. It wasn’t just anger. It was something more primal than that. A warning. A claim.
Was he actually... jealous?
No. That was ridiculous. He didn't even know me.
The guy next to him said something, and he snapped his attention back to him. But not before I saw his right hand curl into a fist at his side.
“Violet?”
I jerked my gaze back to Kane. “Sorry, what?”
“I said I'll text you on Wednesday to confirm we’re still on. That cool?”
“Yeah, that's perfect."
“Awesome." He grinned and gave me a small wave. “See you then!”
He jogged off toward the science buildings, and I was left standing there, my phone still in my hand, hyperaware of Julian's presence.
I knew I should walk away. Should do literally anything but acknowledge him. But I couldn't help it. I turned, just slightly, and our eyes met across the quad.
He held my gaze for a long, charged moment. Then he deliberately looked away, turning his full attention back to his companions like I didn't exist.
I turned and walked away quickly, my heart pounding, my thoughts a chaotic mess.
What was wrong with me? Why did I even care if Julian was jealous? Why did some twisted part of me like that he'd looked at me like that; like he wanted to cross the quad and drag me away from Kane?
This was dangerous. Not just physically dangerous, but emotionally dangerous too.
I took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts aside, trying to concentrate on my next steps. My meeting with Professor Piermont was happening soon in Demeter Hall, and that was far more important than whatever stupid, irrational feelings I was having about Julian Valcourt.
Demeter Hall was one of the older buildings on campus, all dark wood paneling with the smell of old books. Piermont's office was on the third floor, tucked at the end of a narrow corridor lined with dusty portraits of former faculty members.
I knocked on the door marked 304.
“Come in,” he called out.
His office was exactly what I'd expected. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes, papers stacked on every available surface, and a single narrow window letting in weak afternoon light.
Professor Piermont sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
He was older than I'd imagined, with silver hair and the kind of face that suggested he'd spent his life buried in research.
“Miss Calloway?” he asked, not standing.
“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me, Professor.”
He gestured to the chair across from him, and I sat, suddenly aware of how small I felt in this room full of ancient knowledge and academic authority.
“Dean Weiss said you wanted to discuss one of my articles,” he said, his tone polite but distant.
“Actually…” I pulled a ring from my bag; the one from Cal's pocket with the minotaur symbol. “I wanted to ask you about this. I've emailed you several times over the past few months, but—"
He cut me off. “I didn't respond to those emails for a reason,” he said. His voice was flat, final. “I know nothing about that subject, so it would be a waste of my time and yours.”
I blinked. “But you're an expert in ancient symbolism. If anyone would know—”
He cut me off again. "I said I don’t know.” He removed his glasses and set them on the desk with deliberate care. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Frustration flared in my chest. “What about the Dionysus Club? What do you know about them?”
The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop. Piermont's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or caution.
“I only know what everyone else knows,” he said. “The basics about their recruitment, and their annual hunting game. A few rumors here and there. That’s all.”
“But you've been teaching here for thirty years. You must have heard more than that.”
“Miss Calloway.” He stood, and I realized I was being dismissed. “I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. But as I said, I don't have any special knowledge about that... organization.”
I stood too, anger and disappointment warring in my chest. This had been a total waste of time. Dean Weiss had probably told him to shut me down.
I was halfway to the door when Piermont spoke again.
“Oh, Miss Calloway. You mentioned in one of your emails that you're very interested in architecture. Especially historical architecture.”
I turned back, confused. I’d never said anything like that in my emails. I was about to say so, but then I saw Piermont’s face. The way his eyes held mine with deliberate intensity. The way his gray brows had risen. The slight tilt of his head toward the window.
He was trying to tell me something without actually telling me anything.
If the Dionysus Club ever questioned him about his meeting with me, if they made him talk, he could truthfully say he'd never told me anything about them. Plausible deniability strikes yet again.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s right,” I said slowly. “I love architecture. Especially historical buildings. They’re just so beautiful.”
Relief flickered across his features, so brief I almost missed it.
“You should go and look at the Special Collections section of the library when you have a spare moment. Fourth floor, east wing.” He sat back down, reaching for a stack of papers.
“Lots of documents and records there. The kind of thing someone interested in historical buildings would find most illuminating.”
“Thank you, Professor. I’ll check it out.”
He didn't look up. “Good luck with your studies, Miss Calloway.”
I left, my mind racing. Special Collections. Fourth floor, east wing.
Whatever Piermont couldn't say out loud, whatever he was too afraid to tell me directly, he'd just pointed me toward. And I was going to find out exactly what it was.