A moment later she was on her feet, lurching toward the alley that ran behind the Hutch. She saw herself look back once, eyes wide, face streaked with blood, mouth open
in horror, the corners pulled down like the corners of a sail pulled taut. I was seeing the Bridegroom fight the gluma. Or was I? It was the face of a madwoman. She was back on that bathroom floor, shorts around her ankles, screaming and alone.
“Alex, everything you say may be true. But there is no proof of what attacked you, let
alone who might be responsible. If I show this to the alumni … It’s essential that they see
you as stable, reliable, particularly given … well, given how precarious things are now.”
Given that Darlington had disappeared. Given that it had happened when she was
supposed to be watching his back.
“Isn’t this why we’re here?” asked Alex, a last try, an appeal on behalf of something bigger than herself, something Sandow might value more. “To protect girls like Tara? To
make sure the societies don’t just … do whatever they want?”
“Absolutely. But do you really believe you’re equipped to investigate a homicide by yourself? There’s a reason I told you to stand down. I’m trying to keep things as normal as
they can be in a world where monsters live. The police are investigating the Hutchins murder. The girl’s boyfriend has been arrested and is awaiting trial. Do you honestly think
that if Turner found a connection to one of the societies, he wouldn’t pursue it?”
“No,” admitted Alex. “I know he would.” Whatever she thought of him, Turner was a
bloodhound with a conscience that never took the day off.
“If he does, we will absolutely be there to lend him support, and I promise to pass along everything you’ve learned. But right now I need you to focus on getting well and staying safe. Dawes and I will both put our minds to what might have triggered the gluma
attack and if there may be other disruptions caused by your ability. Your presence here on
campus is an unknown factor, a disruptor. The behavior of those Grays during the prognostication, Darlington’s disappearance, a violent death near campus, now a gluma
—”
“Wait,” said Alex. “You think my being here had something to do with Tara getting killed?”
“Of course not,” said the dean. “But I don’t want to give the Lethe board reasons to start drawing those kinds of conclusions. And I cannot afford to let you play amateur detective in a matter this serious. Our funding is up for review this year. We exist by the
university’s good graces and we keep our lights on through the continued support of the
other societies. We need their good will.” He released a long breath. “Alex, I don’t mean
to sound cold. The Hutchins murder is gruesome and tragic and I am absolutely going to monitor this situation, but we have to tread cautiously. The end of last semester … What
happened at Rosenfeld changed everything. Pamela, do you want to see Lethe’s funding pulled?”
“No,” Dawes whispered. If she spoke Sandow’s language, Sandow was also fluent in
Dawes. Lethe was her hiding place, her bunker. There was no way she was going to risk
losing it.
But Alex was only half paying attention to the dean’s speech. She was staring at the old
map of New Haven that hung above the mantel. It showed the original nine-square plan for the New Haven colony. She remembered what Darlington had said that first day as they crossed the green: The town was meant to be a new Eden, founded between two rivers
like the Tigris and the Euphrates.
Alex looked at the shape of the colony—a wedge of land bracketed by West River and
the Farmington Canal, two slender channels of water rushing to meet each other at the harbor. She finally understood why the crime scene had looked so familiar. The
intersection where Tara Hutchins’s body had been found looked just like the map: That slab of empty land in front of Baker Hall was like the colony in miniature. The streets that
framed that plot of land were the rivers, flowing with traffic, joining at Tower Parkway.