And Tara Hutchins had been found in the middle of it all, as if her punctured body lay at
the heart of a new Eden. Her body hadn’t just been dumped there. It had been placed there
deliberately.
“Honestly, Alex,” Sandow was saying, “what possible motive could any of these
people have for hurting a girl like that?”
She didn’t really know. She just knew that they had.
Then someone had found out Alex visited the morgue. Whoever it was thought Alex
knew Tara’s secrets—at least some of them—and that she had enough magic at her
disposal to learn more. They’d decided to do something about it. Maybe they’d been trying to kill her, or maybe discrediting her was enough.
And the Bridegroom? Why had he chosen to help her? Was he part of this somehow?
“Alex, I want you to thrive here,” said Sandow. “I want us to get through this difficult
year and I want all of our attention focused on the new-moon rite and bringing Darlington
home. Let’s get through this and then take stock.”
Alex wanted that too. She needed Yale. She needed her place here. But the dean was
wrong. Tara’s death hadn’t been the easy ugly thing that Sandow wanted it to be. Someone
from the societies was involved, and whoever it was wanted to silence her.
I’m in danger, she wanted to say. Someone hurt me and I don’t think they’re finished.
Help me. But what good had that ever done? Somehow Alex had thought this place was
different, with all of its rules and rituals and Dean Sandow watching over them. We are the shepherds. But they were children at play. Alex looked at Sandow sipping his tea, one leg crossed over the other, light glinting off his shiny loafer as his knee bounced, and she
understood that at some level he truly did not care what harm came to her. He might even be hoping for it. If Alex got hurt, if she vanished, she would take with her all the blame for what had happened to Darlington, and her short, disastrous tenure at Yale would be written
off as an unfortunate mistake in judgment, an ambitious experiment gone wrong. He’d get
his golden boy back at the new moon and make everything right. He wanted to be comfortable. And wasn’t Alex the same? Dreaming of a peaceful summer and mint in her
tea while Tara Hutchins lay cold in a drawer?
Rest easy. She’d been ready to do just that. But someone had tried to hurt her.
Alex felt something dark inside her uncoil. “You’re a flat beast,” Hellie had once said
to her. “Got a little viper lurking in there, ready to strike. A rattler probably.” She’d said it with a grin, but she’d been right. All this winter weather and polite conversation had put
the serpent to sleep, its heartbeat slowing as it grew lazy and still, like any cold-blooded
thing.
“I want us to get through this too,” said Alex, and she smiled for him, a cowed smile,
an eager smile. His relief gusted through the room like a warm front, the kind that New
Englanders welcome and that Angelenos know means wildfires.
“Good, Alex. Then we will.” He rose and put on his coat, his striped scarf. “I’ll submit
your report to the alumni, and I’ll see you and Dawes Wednesday night at Black Elm.” He
gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Just a few more days and everything will be back to normal.”
Not for Tara Hutchins, you ass. She smiled again. “See you Wednesday.”
“Pamela, I’ll send you an email on refreshments. Nothing fancy. We’re expecting two
representatives from Aurelian along with Michelle.” He gave Alex a wink. “You’re going
to love Michelle Alameddine. She was Darlington’s Virgil. An absolute genius.”
“Can’t wait,” said Alex, returning the dean’s wave as he saw himself out. When the door shut, she said, “Dawes, how tough is it to talk to the dead?”
“Not difficult at all if you’re in Book and Snake.”
“They’re last on my list. I try not to ask for help from people who might want to kill
me.”
“Limits your options,” Dawes muttered to the floor.
“Aw, Dawes, I like you bitchy.” Dawes shifted uncomfortably and tugged at her murky