The end of winter breakarrived like a river cracking through ice. Overnight, the paths around campus were flooded with grinning strangers in peacoats and knit hats, arm in arm with friends. The coffee shop Ellsbeth had gotten used to walking into now had a line reaching the door.
For the College of the Arcane Arts graduate cohort, the spring semester was purposefully light so that they would have time to finalize their thesis proposals before presenting them to the board for approval. Ellsbeth was enrolled in a research seminar led by Paul Gallway, and an optional advanced runic studies class taught by Professor Langdon. Professor Rawlins taught no graduate classes during the secondsemester, but in theory Ellsbeth would continue meeting with him to finalize her thesis plans. The truth was, her thesis proposal had been more or less complete since October, so if Rawlins was pulling away, there would be almost no academic reasons to serve as excuses to see him.
With nothing pressing academically, she could focus all of her attention on investigating Banestooth, something that had the added benefit of distracting her from Rawlins.
After Langdon’s class, Ellsbeth caught up with Curt Ladove in the hallway. “Hey!” she said. He turned and looked at her, eyebrows raised. This might have been the first time she had ever initiated a conversation with him. His hair, blond, was thick with a product so stiff she could see comb lines tracing through it. Ellsbeth had watched him during the seminar, drumming his fingers against the tiny desk attached to their chairs instead of taking notes, a gold Banestooth ring clinking against the desk’s wooden surface.
“Do you want to grab coffee?” Ellsbeth asked. When Curt’s face melted into an insufferably smug smile, she quickly added: “I have a few questions about Banestooth Club. I know you were a member when you were an undergrad here.”
“Iama member. It’s one of those for-life things.”
“Sure.”
“And yeah,” Curt said. “I don’t see why not. I’m not meeting with Gallway about my thesis until three.”
Curt walked fast. Ellsbeth followed close as he led the two of them across campus to an espresso bar that Ellsbeth expressly avoided because they charged eight dollars for a latte that tasted like stomach acid, and their only pastries were expired-looking gluten-free muffins sitting behind smudged glass. Curt ordered a double shot. Ellsbeth ordered a single and paid for both of them.
“Congrats on winning the Taylor Prize, by the way,” she said as they sat down.
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, that. The money is nice but getting the prize itself feels like luck of the draw. You know how those things are.”
“I doubt that,” Ellsbeth said. “Your energy amplification stuff is supposed to be amazing.”
Curt brushed her off with his hand and took another sip of espresso. “So,” he said, “why the interest in Banestooth?”
“Well, my apartment is also on Governor, down the street,” Ellsbeth said. Curt’s eyes drifted behind her, and she scrambled to find a halfway-convincing lie. “And I was thinking of trying to write an article about the benefits of community when it comes to the mental health of young adults. Is there any chance I could…tour the place? Talk to some current or former members?”
Curt took a slurping sip of his espresso. “Oh that’s going to be a no-go unfortunately.”
“I really do just want to talk. It can be off the record, or—”
“Sorry, Ellie.” No one called her Ellie. Ever. “The whole point of Banestooth is that it’s a secret society. No guests, no visitors,definitelyno interviews.”
“Novisitors? I see people having parties there all the time.”
“Only in the foyer. First floor. Rest of the house is strictly forbidden for non-members. Including bedrooms, which, trust me, causes some distress among the new Initiates. Every class hasonedude who thinks he can get away with it. Takes a girl upstairs after a party, and then gets kicked out.”
“Thegirlgets kicked out?” Ellsbeth asked.
“No, the guy. Of Banestooth.”
“That’s how strict you are?”
“Oh yeah. Part of the whole cloak-and-dagger thing. It’s how we maintain an air of secrecy and discipline. There’s, like, a classic story they tell incoming freshmen about a new Initiate trying to impress a girl by bringing her down to the basement. They say he got them down three stairs before he was caught and kicked out and his former peers made his life so miserable that he dropped out of Newlyn altogether and transferred to a state school.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you like being a part of it when you were an undergrad?” Ellsbeth asked.
Curt smiled and waggled his finger. “Oh, are you trying to interview me now? Yes, I liked it. Met some of my best friends. Great social connections. All that classic junk.”
“But you’re not telling me anything else.”
“To be honest, there’s not much else to tell. It’s probably prettyclose to whatever you’re imagining. But no. I’m not.” He ran his hand through his hair with absentminded confidence. “So this mental-health thing you’re doing…it’s because of your sister, right?”
“Oh,” Ellsbeth said, a little taken aback by his abruptness. “Yeah. Sort of.”
