Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance

Just breathe. Just. Breathe.

I sat at the back of the campus bus, hoping to avoid any and all attention. Spencer had offered to pick me up at my dorm, but that felt a little too date-like. In retrospect, given the number of eyeballs glued to me right then, I regretted the decision.

My leg shook incessantly beneath the puffy tulle as the bus jostled about, and I prayed one of my boobs wouldn’t pop loose, because wouldn’t that have been the icing on the shit-cake?

The bus slowed to a stop at Carmady Hall. One more stop, and I’d finally break free of the ogling from the other students returning to their dorms after the evening classes. They weren’t even discrete about it, for crying out loud, and I had to keep my attention toward the window just to prevent any confrontational remarks flying out of my mouth.

The bus jolted into motion again, my breasts jiggling and testing the integrity of every stitch in the bodice. Kudos to Missy for whatever magical thread she’d used to keep it all together.

The next stop was Jaxstone Hall, but because the campus bus didn’t travel as far as Wattscrick Hall, where the gala was to be held, I’d have to cut through Canterbury Gardens. It was a ten minute walk, past the old mausoleum.

A little creepy.

Of course, I wasn’t entirely stupid. I had pepper spray tucked inside the ribbon at my waist, the one Jayda had given me just before I left for Dracadia.

When the bus finally stopped again, I damned near leapt to my feet. Mercifully, Missy had let me get away with black, embellished flats, when I told her how accident prone I was in heels. Not entirely enthused, but she’d conceded without much more than a quiet grumble.

“Can I get your number?” one of the passengers asked, as I breezed past. Probably a freshman.

I didn’t bother to turn and look at him as I hustled off the bus before the anxiety rattling through me could shake me off balance and send me tumbling to my face. Once on solid ground, I closed my eyes and took a breath, but at the sound of the door closing, I spun around and knocked on the glass.

Face scrunched with obvious irritation, the bus driver opened the door again.

“When is the last pickup?” I asked, fidgeting with the tulle of the my skirt.

“You’re looking at it.”

“Wait. You don’t come through here again?”

“Nope. You need a ride back? You’ll have to call a DracUber.”

“DracUber?” Of all the cheesy names … “Is it … like Uber?”

“Something like that.” She slammed the door shut on a waft of air that ruffled my hair, and took off down the street.

I hadn’t brought any cash with me to call for a ride. Shit.

Temperatures had dipped slightly, but the humiliation of the bus ride kept me nice and toasty as I stepped onto the path of the gardens. My dress rustled over the concrete, and I was grateful Missy couldn’t see me right then, or she’d have probably thrown a fit about the hem getting sawed. Overhead, the moon shone high, thank goodness, or it would’ve been a pitch-black trek around what had once served as a burial site.

Walking alone in the dark was nothing new for me, I’d done it so many times back at home, it didn’t even feel abnormal, or unusual. While I’d definitely run into my share of weirdos, I’d never actually been harmed.

However, I’d never worn a gorgeous ballgown with my breasts half sticking out of it before.

What few stray hairs hung from the loose French twist I’d clipped up stood on end, my muscles poised and ready to draw the pepper spray if necessary.

The gardens were peaceful, though.

Serene.

It felt a little like walking through a pristine, old English courtyard in a dream, with all the perfectly trimmed hedges, vibrant mums and colorful late summer blooms. I couldn’t wait to see the university in the thick of autumn. How beautiful it could look with all of the fiery oranges and reds.

The sound of crunching leaves sent me skidding to a halt, and I spun around, eyes scanning the surrounding shrubs and trees. I watched for any sign of movement, but found nothing. Not wanting to stick around, I kept on through the garden, ears piqued for any other sound.

Light up ahead caught my eye, and I could make out what looked like a glass-enclosed solarium. My heart caught in my throat, and I stopped. From where I stood, I sighted a crowd of people in their fancy dresses and tuxedos, the crisp white tablecloths below the soft glow of candles. The place oozed wealth.

Oh, God. What am I doing?

It was too fancy. Way too fancy for me.

I turned to leave, but paused when my gaze snagged on someone standing just outside of the solarium. Cigarette in hand, he stared up at the stars, but the sight of him in a perfectly-tailored black coat and slacks made my heart catch in my throat.

Bramwell.

Mascara’d eyes clenched, I sucked in three deep breaths, and swayed when a wave of dizziness swept over me. Shaking it off, I kept my eyes glued to Professor Bramwell’s back, and I stepped out of the garden onto the Solarium’s patio, only a few feet from where he stood. As if sensing my presence, he kicked his head to the side, not yet having turned to look at me, and panic wound in my stomach as I took in his perfect profile and that model-worthy jawline.

Hide, my brain urged. Don’t let him see you like this.

The moment he turned around, though, it was too late. Our eyes locked. A chill wound down my spine as I took in the expression on his face. Not an exchange between student and professor, but like two strangers. Intentional and intense. I wanted to crawl inside myself and become invisible, for the way his gaze devoured me.

His broad shoulders tapered to a fit waist, and he stood with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. I’d never seen him look so casual, yet imposing at the same time. The man filled his suit with a sharp, lethal grace and an air of authority.

An utterly thigh-clenching sight.

The world around me turned silent, a dark galaxy spinning with a gravitational force that drew me closer. Every nerve kindled to life under his stare, and my skin prickled.

“Lilia?” The voice from behind hit me like a cold bucket of water, and I turned to find Spencer, also decked out in a tuxedo. His eyes scanned me up and down, wide with fascination. “Jesus. You look … wow.”

A glance over my shoulder showed Professor Bramwell turning back toward the stars, undoubtedly disinterested in our meeting.

“Did you walk here?” Spencer asked, looking past me toward the garden.

Snapping out of my daze, I shook my head. “No. Campus bus.”

“You took the campus bus?” His brows winged up, and he shook his head. “Okay, it’s settled. I’m driving you home.”

“You have a car? I thought students weren’t permitted to have cars on the island.”

Wearing a smug grin, he shrugged. “Most aren’t. My family actually lives on the island, though. If you have residence here, or you’re staff, you can get a pass.”

“Must be nice.” Not that I had a car—or could afford one, for that matter.

“C’mon. You gotta be freezing.” He offered a bent arm, into which I reluctantly slipped mine.

“Just to clarify–we’re friends.”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Who hurt you?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve never met someone so adamant about avoiding a date.”

“You’re not calling this a date, are you?” Frowning, I pulled my arm back, and he gripped it, holding it in his.

“Relax. We are two friends attending a charity gala.”

“Good.” Having established that, the tension in my muscles eased a bit. “What’s the charity for, anyway?”

“A pissing match for the wealthy, mostly. Pardon my French.”

“I prefer your French. It makes me feel less … posh.”

“The gala ultimately funds Professor Bramwell’s research, under the guise of conservation breeding.” Another glance over my shoulder showed Professor Bramwell was no longer there, as Spencer led me through one of the glass doors. “If I recall from the invitation, it’s to help maintain genetic diversity for the moths that are indigenous to the island. Guess it was a requirement for using the Sominyx moths in research.”

The air warmed to a very toasty temperature, as we stepped inside the solarium.

“Ah. So replace the moths in the environment that are killed in the lab.”

“Precisely,” Spencer said, leading me farther into the elegantly decorated room.

Black candelabras flickered about the space, giving a soft luminescence. A sea of elaborate gowns and tuxedos had my stomach in knots, despite fitting in for the style of dress–in that respect, Missy did well. Aside from a few younger faces–Kendall being one of them, as she sent me a death stare from where she stood beside one of the rugby guys that I recognized from the other day in the dining hall–the crowd seemed to be mostly older folks, which I supposed made sense at a charity event.

The stiff elegance was somewhat softened by the piano music that filled the pause between all the many conversations going on around me.

At the center of the room stood a glass enclosure that reached up to the high arched glass ceiling. Like an enormous version of the glass domes from our midnight lab, and inside, hundreds of the black Sominyx moths fluttered about.

“I’ll grab us a drink,” Spencer said, but his words hardly registered, as I released his arm and made my way over to the moths, fascinated by them. Their black wings indicated no sign of infection, as I’d learned in midnight lab. One moth had perched itself against the glass, and when I pressed a finger there, its wings flitted. More moths flocked to my side of the glass, as if drawn there. I glanced down to see the light reflecting off the little starflowers on my dress.

“Drawn to light.” At the sound of the deep voice, I turned to see Professor Bramwell staring through the glass only a couple feet away from me. The sight of him stirred my pulse, just as before.

“There are so many of them. Where did they come from?”

“Purchased from a breeder here on Dracadia. The university’s penance for using them to study Noctisoma. Dracadia is the only place these moths call home, so their numbers could deplete, if we’re not careful.”

“They’re the organism’s natural host, though, aren’t they?”

“Yes. But not every moth is doomed to be infected. Only the curious ones.” With a glass of champagne in hand, he stepped closer, toward me, yet careful to keep distance between us, it seemed, as he came to a stop at some invisible line. “Do you see the latch on the ceiling up there?”

Peering upward showed a glass door, of sorts, at the roof of the solarium, a gap between the panes where it didn’t fuse as tightly as the others. “Yes.”

“They’ll open at the end of dinner and release the moths into the wild.”

“I’m sure the bats are looking forward to it.”

His lips curved upward, and the dark chuckle that followed had my stomach as much aflutter as the moths. “Fortunately, the uninfected ones are a bit savvier at survival. Although, that would be a much more merciful end, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it would. I couldn’t imagine being an insect. Pursued by so many dangerous things.” I dared a glance, and found him looking at my lips, where I’d reapplied the lipstick before leaving my dorm.

“You need to pay closer attention, Miss Vespertine.” He twisted around, as if scanning the room, which compelled me to do the same.

Spencer, staring at me from across the room, wore a curious expression.

“I see you and Spencer are hitting it off.” Professor Bramwell kicked back his drink and, as one of the uniformed women passed with a tray of champagne flutes, signaled for another. I couldn’t help but notice the flirtatious smile on her face, as he took the drink without even bothering so much as a glance at her.

She turned toward me, her brows winged up over striking gray eyes. ‘Voulez-vous boire un verre, mademoiselle?’

While I recognized the sultry words as French, one of the native languages spoken by locals on the island, I had no idea what she’d asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t entirely understand. Are you asking if I’d like a drink?”

A smile slanted her lips and when she nodded, I answered with a polite, “No, thank you.”

Her smile lingered another moment, before she slid her attention back toward Professor Bramwell whose eyes were on me then. “Si vous comprenez, retrouvez-moi dans le placard dans dix minutes.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he dragged his attention from me to the server. “Je comprends. Et je décline votre offre.” The smooth cadence of his voice held an alluring fluency that left me both intrigued and wanting more. Whatever he said to her, though, seemed to knock her composure off kilter, as the server rolled her shoulders back, offered a clipped nod, and sauntered off.

I stared after her, puzzling their interaction.

“You never responded to my inquiry,” Professor Bramwell said, interrupting my thoughts and sipped his new glass of champagne.

My mind wound back to his last comment about hitting it off with Spencer. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends,” he echoed, as his eyes cruised south, down the length of my gown and back.

I’d been ogled by men since I’d first sprouted breasts, but Bramwell’s gaze held something different. Something I wanted to study and unravel, without all the other people in the room. An unspoken command, and the unsettling tension that had my bones vibrating.

An intricate maze I wanted to get lost inside.

Warmth rushed beneath my skin, undoubtedly leaving me flushed.

It was strange seeing him that way–without a book in his hand, or antsy to stride off somewhere. It almost seemed as if he didn’t know what to do with himself in the setting.

Not unlike me.

“To be honest, I feel a little out of place here.” I glanced around, catching the stares of a few guests–men and women. “It feels like everyone knows I’m dirt poor.”

“You think they’re staring at you because you’re poor?” He buried a smirk in his drink and tipped back a long swill that emptied the glass. His jaw flexed with the clenching of his teeth as he swallowed. “The wealthy possess an insatiable appetite for the rare and priceless. They stare because you’re the only thing worth staring at.”

The air turned heady, tickling my chest with each intoxicating inhale. Cheeks flushed, I turned away and caught sight of Spencer waving me over to where he stood among a few men, including his father.

I didn’t want to go to Spencer, though. I wanted to stay there, with my professor, fighting to catch my breath. Beside me, the moths fluttered about, their movements mirroring the sensation in my stomach every time the man opened his mouth.

“Go, Miss Vespertine,” Professor Bramwell whispered, his proximity setting my nerves aflame. “You’re far too young to live a life without mistakes.” On those parting words, he strode off with an air of arrogance that made my knees weak.

My head urged me to follow him. I wanted to.

Instead, I made my way over to Spencer, who handed off a dark, purple-colored drink.

Studying it, I frowned at the deep color, through which I couldn’t see the bottom of the glass. “What is this?” I gave it a sniff, noting nothing more than a sweet berry scent.

“Just punch,” he said and took a sip. “If you think the good provost would let me get away with spiking it, think again.”

Mouth dry after the encounter with Professor Bramwell, I took a sip, and the sweet flavor hit my tongue with an unexpected delight. “It’s really good.” I took another sip, trying to place the taste of it. “What’s it made out of?”

“No idea. But I guarantee a shot of rum would’ve made it even better.”

“I’ve never tried rum.”

“Oh, we have to remedy that. Not tonight, obviously.” With a slight nudge to my arm, he urged me back toward the group of men with whom he was standing a moment ago. “I want to introduce you to my father.”

The thought of coming face to face with a man who had participated in the research study that may, or may not, have resulted in my mother’s death felt a bit heavy for the evening. While I’d have loved to have needled his brain for some answers, the dress had me feeling off-guard. “I don’t know.”

“It’s fine. He’s had a few drinks. It’s probably the best time to meet him.”

Perhaps if he got drunk enough, he’d forget ever seeing me there. With reluctance, I followed after Spencer, stealing another sip of my drink.

“Father, I would like to introduce you to someone. This is my friend, Lilia.”

A flicker of consternation flashed over the provost’s face, before he smiled and reached out a hand toward me. “Lilia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Spencer tells me you’re a pre-med major, as well.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly decided on med school yet. I’m wavering a bit.”

“I, um … I’m sorry for my strange behavior that day in the dining hall. I didn’t mean to be rude. You simply took me by surprise.”

“How so?”

“You remind me of someone I knew.”

“Oh? Who?” I played, knowing damn well who. While the question tickled the tip of my tongue, begging me to ask him what he knew about the deaths of those six women, I bit it back.

Waving his hand in dismissal, he chuckled. “I see so many faces pass through this university, it’s hard to pinpoint where, or who, exactly. Strange how our brains work that way, isn’t it?”

“Very strange. You seem familiar to me, as well,” I lied.

Another one of the servers, a young, bright-eyed blonde, stepped toward us and placed a hand on the provost’s arm in a way that struck me as a bit intimate. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and I caught his gentle squeeze of her hand.

He nodded and released her. “Dinner is to be served soon. Lilia, will you join us at our table?”

“Sure.” Even if I’d have preferred to sit with the moths.

The provost led our small group toward a round table that sat eight, and everyone settled into a chair, Spencer beside me.

An older man I didn’t recognize offered a wink, as he slid into the seat to my left, instantly kicking up my discomfort. An equally-aged woman, dressed in embellished jewels, claimed the seat on the other side of him.

Across from us, the provost took his seat, stealing the occasional glance toward me and only breaking the maddening habit when a man passed behind him, patting him on the shoulder.

“May I ask how old you are, young lady?” The man beside me leaned toward me just enough that my defenses reared up again.

I cleared my throat and took another sip of my drink, before setting it down on the table. “Twenty.”

“Such a wonderful age. I remember being twenty years old. Attending this very university. Rugby captain.”

“Wow. That’s great.”

“Charles Dandridge,” he said, holding out a pudgy hand toward me.

“Lilia,” I answered, returning his handshake.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lilia.” His gaze dipped low, and there was no doubt in my mind where it had landed. “I was quite the ladies’ man back then.”

“I’m sure.” I cleared my throat again and turned away from him. In doing so, I caught sight of Professor Gilchrist making her way toward our table.

Don’t sit here. Please don’t sit here. Please don’t sit here.

To my utter dismay, she took the seat beside the provost, and the smile on her face faded the moment her gaze landed on me.

With a sheepish, tight-lipped smile, I gave a small wisp of a wave.

Of course, she didn’t wave back.

A forced smile creased her eyes as she slid into the chair. In as subtle a move as I could muster, I turned toward Spencer. “I didn’t know Gilchrist would be here,” I whispered. My mind flashed back to the day in the alley when I’d seen the two of them together.

“Yeah, she kind of arranged the gala. She’s the one who negotiated all of these moths. Stupid really, they’re just going to go back into circulation, and we’ll be plucking their carcasses out of cages in no time.”

“That’s horrible. Speaking of horrible, the guy next to me is kind of creepy,” I whispered in an even lower tone.

“Ahh, he’s harmless. Stinking rich, but harmless. An old friend of my dad’s.”

Beyond Spencer, a figure strode toward the table, and my heart caught in my throat for the second time that evening, when Professor Bramwell eased into the seat two down from Spencer. When his eyes found me again, a rush of warmth shot through my veins.

The chair between him and Spencer remained empty, and it was only then I took notice that everyone at the table had a companion. Except him.

My eyes darted toward the provost, who quickly looked away from me. I leaned into Spencer again. “Are your dad … I mean … is your mom–”

“She’s home. Sick. Which just means she took too many sleeping pills again.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah. Happens a lot.”

“I wasn’t sure if Gilchrist was …” Hesitating to say, I shook my head. “Never mind.”

In a subtle gesture, he covered his mouth with his hand and leaned in closer. “They actually can’t stand each other. Kinda makes this really awkward.”

At a flash of her cupping Spencer’s crotch, I nodded. “I can imagine.”

In the quiet that followed, I stared down at the elaborate table setting–three forks on the left, two knives and a spoon on the right, a smaller fork and spoon above my plate, and some odd-looking pronged utensil I’d never seen before.

Our waiter brought out a variety of appetizers that had my eyes popping–tuna tartare, halibut ceviche, seared octopus, salmon latke. I had no freaking clue what any of them were, but sampled one of the salmon latkes only because they were bite-sized.

Next course consisted of a shellfish bisque, and as I reached for my silverware, I caught Professor Bramwell staring at me.

I tried not to notice the seat beside him, still absent of a date.

“Doctor Bramwell,” the man to my left grumbled around his food. “While in Vegas last month, I visited a restaurant where you can order caterpillar fungus soup for a mere seven hundred dollars a bowl. Supposed to have amazing healing properties. A natural cancer treatment. And an aphrodisiac.” He elbowed me under the table, and I frowned. “What are your thoughts?” For a man who supposedly had an obscene amount of money, he certainly lacked table etiquette in the way he slurped his soup.

I turned my attention toward Professor Bramwell, who stared back at the man with undisguised disinterest. It made me wonder if they knew each other outside of the gala, because I could almost feel the hostile chemistry between them.

“Ophiocordyceps sinensis. A cousin of the cordyceps species that turns ants into zombies. Harmless to humans, but if you’re foolish enough to pay seven hundred dollars for what you think is the next panacea, then I’d wonder if it did, indeed, infect your brain.”

Biting my lip failed to contain the quiet chuckle in my throat.

Undoubtedly rattled, the man beside me bristled and hmphed and sat back in his chair. “Isn’t that the basis of your research, Professor?”

“My research focuses on a single toxin and its effect on autoimmune response. No, I do not believe it is the cure-all that has the power to improve your sex life. I suspect not even Viagra has that much ambition.”

Eyes wide, I snapped my gaze to the plate in front of me. They had to have known each other. Professor Bramwell certainly had a coarse edge to his social skills, but I’d never heard him outwardly insult someone.

Mrs. Dandridge coughed into her napkin, and I couldn’t tell if she ended her fit on a snicker or a choke.

Provost Lippincott let out a nervous chuckle. “Devryck has a … quite a sense of humor.” An air of discomfort clung to his words, but the tension remained thick.

I stole another glance at Professor Bramwell, who downed another glass of champagne, those copper eyes landing on me, the moment he set the glass on the table.

A strange pull tugged at my chest. I couldn’t explain it. Even as abrasive as he was, I found him utterly captivating. Magnetic.

When the main lobster course arrived, I kept light conversation with Spencer about the food and interesting spots on Dracadia where I’d yet to venture. Still, I couldn’t help stealing more glances at Professor Bramwell, every one of them met by his unabashed stare. My dress scratched at my skin where it felt too tight, caging me in, as my skin flushed and my stomach fluttered.

The blonde server from before made a second appearance and, with a gentle touch of his shoulder, whispered something in Lippincott’s ear. When she glanced back at me, I realized I’d been staring a bit too intently, and clearing my throat, I snapped my gaze toward my hands in my lap, catching Dandridge gripping his crotch under the table beside me, in a crass adjustment.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Provost Lippincott said, sliding his chair back and depositing his napkin on the table. The moment he strode out of the dining room after the server, the cramping tension in my stomach loosened a bit, reminding me how uneasy I felt around him.

The reprieve was short lived, though, as only a few minutes later, the provost returned to his seat, and my anxiety cranked a notch tighter than before.

Dessert arrived. Mine was a tiny square of a cheesecake with some kind of berry topping, each person at the table served something different.

“They know how to skimp out, don’t they?” Spencer snorted and popped what looked like a cheesecake filled strawberry into his mouth.

Toying with my dessert fork, I willed myself not to look at Bramwell again. It was ridiculous and perhaps even inappropriate.

But part of me didn’t care.

Professor Bramwell had taken notice of me, and as much as I’d originally loathed the idea of going to the gala, I was glad that I had.

I took a bite of the delicious berry cheesecake, the flavor reminding of the drink I’d had earlier. As I licked the sauce from my lips, I caught Professor Bramwell turning away. My attention swung toward Gilchrist, who glared at me from across the table, her lips snarled in disapproval.

“Where are you from?” Mr. Dandridge asked, and I inwardly cringed at the question.

Perhaps telling him the truth would inspire him to leave me alone, though. “Covington,” I said as unflinching as I could muster, and forced myself not to fidget too much when his face pinched to a frown.

“Covington? That horrible city in Massachusetts?”

“Yeah.”

“Good God. How did you, um …. How did you end up here, at Dracadia?”

“Decent test scores and grades.”

“Everyone at Dracadia has decent test scores and grades.” He leaned into me, close enough that I could feel his hot breath against my cheek. “Or was it extracurricular activities that gave you an edge over your fellow classmates, hmmm?” Beneath the tablecloth, his hand landed on my thigh. “I have a number of connections here, as well.”

My muscles lurched with the urge to slap him, my cheeks so red with anger and humiliation, I could hardly spit out a word. It had to be written all over my face.

A cold paralysis settled in my bones, though. Do something! my head urged me, but my body felt stiff and heavy with shock. As his hand moved higher, I finally reached under the table and gripped his wrist, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

He took hold of my hand and drew it to his thigh, and my muscles trembled to pull myself from his grasp. The entire silent struggle seemingly oblivious to the others, who went about eating their dessert without a single word. Not even Spencer seemed to be privy, as he smiled at me, before popping another strawberry into his mouth.

“I wonder what your wife would think, if she knew you were groping the young girl beside you, Charles?” Everyone at the table gasped in unison, as Professor Bramwell casually took a sip of a new glass of champagne. “Or do the two of you partake in extramarital activities, which gives you a pass, hmmm?” Professor Bramwell’s tone carried an edge of mocking that echoed Mr. Dandridge’s from moments ago, and I didn’t know what was more shocking–what he’d said or that he’d heard Dandridge’s words to begin with.

The grip of my thigh quickly fell away, and while I was relieved, my face burned with the shame of not having stood up for myself.

“Devryck!” Provost Lippincott shot to his feet and threw his napkin onto the table. “Is it your intent to insult my guests at a very important gala which happens to fund your research?”

“Is it your intent to ignore the fact that another of your guests is clearly uncomfortable? Or is it only the wealthy donors whose comfort matters most, Edward?”

“Enough of this. Please,” the provost said.

“Yes. I’ve had quite enough.” Bramwell turned his attention to Spencer. “Be a gentleman and switch seats with her.” His gaze flicked my way, and hardened into something almost murderous when it shifted beyond me. “And if you value your anatomy, I’d strongly advise you keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Dandridge.” With that, Professor Bramwell tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed to his feet.

My heart sank to my stomach watching him stride toward the exit.

“Is that a threat? Did he just threaten me, Edward?” Dandridge shifted in his seat, knocking me in the arm.

“No … he …. No, it wasn’t a threat.” Provost Lippincott let out that nervous chuckle again.

“He absolutely did! I heard it. Everyone at the table heard it.”

“Can it, Charles,” his wife finally said beside him. “You are an embarrassment.”

I’d heard it, though. Professor Bramwell had threatened him. For me. In all of my twenty years, no one had ever stood up for me. No one had ever intervened on my behalf.

Compelled to go after him, I stood up from my chair, and the moment I did, a surge of dizziness had me wavering backward.

“Lilia?” Spencer grabbed my arm, steadying me. “Are you okay?”

“No. I feel. Strange.”

“Do you need some fresh air?”

Mouth pinched tight to avoid throwing up, I nodded.

Lowering my gaze to avoid all the prying eyes, I allowed Spencer to lead me out of the Solarium and back onto the patio.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Stop. You made my father uncomfortable. I’m thrilled.” Spencer snorted.

Another wave hit me, and I swayed on my feet. “Whoa. I’m really …. Are you sure there wasn’t alcohol in that drink?”

“I’m pretty sure there wasn’t. Of course, my tolerance has grown a bit in the last few years. Do you need some water?”

Running a hand over my forehead, I nodded.

“Stay right here. I’ll be back in a sec.”

A blur had settled into the edges of my view. Looking around showed Professor Bramwell nowhere in sight.

Another bout of vertigo hit, and I stumbled to the side, catching my hand on one of the heavy iron chairs sitting out on the patio.

The sound of rustling off in the garden snapped my attention that way.

I scanned over what I could see through the shrubs, but found nothing there. The blur in my vision intensified, and as the view shifted, I stumbled again.

“Whoa!” Spencer said, swiping up my arm before I could tumble to my ass. He handed me the glass of water, and in spite of not really wanting to drink anything, with my stomach gurgling the way it did, I took a couple sips. “Better?”

“Not really.”

“Let’s walk and see if the air and muscle movement helps.”

Hooking his arm in mine, he led me onto the garden path, and I kept an eye out for Bramwell, or whatever had made that noise. The path wobbled, but the movement did help a small bit.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve switched seats with you back there. Did Dandridge really touch you?”

The question had me grimacing at the memory of him gripping my thigh under the table. “Yes. He really was creepy.”

“Forgive me. I can honestly say he’s never groped me under the table, so I didn’t know how creepy he could be.”

“I just want to forget it all.”

“Everything?”

A look of hurt in his eyes sent another round of nausea to my stomach. I turned away, and caught sight of a figure standing in front of the mausoleum off in the distance. Long, black cape. The plague mask. My imagination? Or was it real? A sharp breath shot out of me, and I jerked back into Spencer. A quick look back at him, and I stepped to the side, clearing my throat.

“What is it?” he asked.

“By the mausoleum.” I pointed in that direction and had to shake my head to dislodge the double-vision corrupting my view. When the scene settled back into a single blurry form, there was nothing there. “I saw … there was … someone in a mask.”

“A mask?”

“I keep seeing him.” Confusion clouded my head. “Someone following me in a mask. Like … the kind the doctors wore during the plague.”

“Plague mask?” Brows pinched, he recoiled. “That’s weird. You saw him near the mausoleum?”

“Yes. He was just …” Another zap of dizziness. “Standing there a moment ago. Staring.”

He unhooked his arm from mine, and when he stepped in that direction, I reached out for his arm.

“What’re you doin’?” My voice carried a slight slur.

“Just stay here. I’m going to check it out.”

“No … you don’ … never just go check it out.” Tension pulsed inside my skull, and I winced, rubbing the heel of my palm over the ache.

Ignoring me, he stepped in that direction again, and I clutched his arm harder.

“Spencer … what if … it’s dangerous?”

“If someone is harassing you, it needs to stop. Stay put.”

“No. Thassa bad idea.”

He frowned, staring back at me, as if just now catching on that this thing with me was getting worse. “Fine. C’mon.”

We stepped off the path into the gardens, toward the mausoleum.

The figure appeared again, and I pointed, skidding to a halt. “There!”

Spencer yanked his hand free of my grip and strode that way. “Hey! Asshole! You got a fucking problem?”

“Spencer!” I wanted to follow, but damn it, I wasn’t even sure I could manage ten steps, let alone defend myself. Instead, I backed toward the path, watching Spencer through a fog, as he disappeared around the mausoleum.

Seconds passed.

The air turned colder.

A minute.

Two minutes.

“Spencer!” I whisper-yelled, feeling completely vulnerable. Alone. I awkwardly tugged the pepper spray from my waistband, teetering again with the movement. Why I didn’t think to give it to him, I didn’t know, but right then, I was glad I had it.

Get help. Go get help.

I turned back toward the path, but the world continued to spin, the dizziness thick as I careened and staggered around shrubs. The surroundings had somehow shifted. I’d lost my sense of direction, and worse, my view was waning.

Blackness crawled into my periphery, creating a narrow field of view, as I scrambled for the familiar path.

One slow blink.

I opened my eyes to the dark sky above me, the stars twinkling high and bright. Had I fallen? I couldn’t remember.

Slow blink.

When I opened my eyes again, a terrifying figure stood over me. The plague mask. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. The figure tipped its head, studying me.

Take the mask off!

I willed myself to reach up, but my arm felt like lead weights.

“Le’mee ‘lone.”

The figure snapped its attention away, as if it heard something.

Slow blink.

My body jostled as something slid beneath my back. “Hel’me.” Nothing more than a weak mewling that mirrored the softness in my bones. I opened my eyes to see the world moving too fast, the sight twisting my stomach.

I closed my eyes again.

Warmth engulfed me. Wonderful, relaxing warmth, and the scent of leather and cologne. I roused to find a gloved hand on a gearshift. The monotonous purr of an engine. Lifting my head to see who’d taken me captive, I was greeted by a light far too bright through the window behind them. I groaned and screwed my eyes shut, seeing only jagged flashes behind my eyelids.

Perhaps I was dying.

Perhaps I would die by the end of the night.

Death felt like a warm blanket.