Page 75 of Divine Oaths

“So you finally admit that Jojo is part of this.”

I swallowed, the vision I’d seen moments before fresh in my mind.

I was done with Jojo. Or, that’s what I was trying to convince myself of. But if I told Kasem everything I’d seen, he’d never trust Jojo again. I realized then that Kasem and Jojo were the same, in a way: liars, but only to themselves. Kasem didn’t want Jojo to be behind the stabbing any more than Jojo wanted to see his brother hurt.

“I should be able to have a good sense of which members will be participating in the rush activities,” Kasem said when I didn’t answer his question. At my confused look, he added, “I’m an adviser for our chapter.”

“For someone who claims they don’t care about Westfield, you sure go above and beyond to be a part of it. Even if the Board didn’t require you to be in the accelerated graduate program, I bet you would have done it anyway.”

Jojo had done the same. He hadn’t inherited Westfield, yet he’d been entrenched in the school, despite everything.

“Oh, you know us Saint Jameses,” Kasem said. “We like to keep it in the family. Our degrees, our inheritances. Our lovely obsessions.” His gaze lingered, and for a moment, I caught it trailing to my lips before he looked away. “Our enemies too,” he finished.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The evil that men do

THE GENERAL JOHN THOMAS WINHALL Library was its own building, separate from most of the interconnected ones at Westfield. To get there, we ventured out into the murky autumn air and walked the ten-minute trek from the main campus.

Kasem was silent for most of the journey, retreating into the faraway reaches of his thoughts. A first for him in the time since we’d met.

I knew it was my fault. At least, in part. Honey had been teasing at Theta House when she’d suggested I play the two brothers against each other. And yet, I’d done just that for a few seconds of petty validation.

There was the other part of me too, the part that was buzzing from kissing Kasem.

I’d never done something like that before. It’d been reckless, thoughtless, and cruel to use Kasem just to spite Jojo. But he’d leaned in. He’d pulled me closer and deepened the kiss instead of pulling away. But with his mood swings, I couldn’t tell if his reaction was because of the kiss itself or his rivalry with his brother. If he’d kissed me back because of instinct or reflexes or, perhaps even because he might have wanted to kiss me too. Now I’d never know. And that tore at me.

I found myself searching for answers in the silence between us, and noticing things about Kasem as if I was reading tea leaves in the minute details of him. Like, how he seemed to be perpetually restless, his hands always finding something to fidget with, whether he was cracking his knuckles or tracing the lines of his palms with his fingers. And he was wearing the Westfield blazer he’d been stabbed in. Faint speckles of blood dotted the lining and front of it. Even his outfit was reminiscent of what he’d worn that day I’d seen him in the maze, from his fitted cotton T-shirt to his designer slacks and shoes.

“You don’t feel bad juju wearing that?” I asked as we ascended the steps of the library’s double doors.

“It’s just a thing here. A Westfield blazer is your house status symbol. Even faculty wear theirs. Besides,” he added, “it’s the only one I have.”

“You’re rich. Get a new one at the campus bookstore or something. Or, let me guess, is it another family heirloom?”

“I wouldn’t put another dime in Westfield’s pocket if I could help it,” he said.

The gravel walkway to the library curved through campus. We turned the corner through a thicket of trees, weaving past groups of students with their arms full of books. Kasem placed his hand on my waist, shifting me closer when the group nearly barreled into us. When he let go, disappointment nipped at me.

“If you hate Westfield so much, why do you care about the curse and inheriting it?” I asked. “Why don’t you just let Alaster get the school and study somewhere else?”

“Alaster and his family are descendants of an uncle of ours. They’re not the direct inheritors of Westfield. They never have been. They’ve just been stewards of the estate until my side of the family can take full ownership.”

“But your side never has been able to take that ownership because of the curse.”

“Correct.”

“Isn’t that evidence of familial greed and not some supernatural entity? This curse just so happens to kill your line, they continuously benefit from your family dying and never inheriting Westfield, and you don’t think they’re involved at all?”

“I never said they’re completely blameless or that I fully trust them. But the curse is real—you saw that with your own eyes. With Nathan.”

I sighed deeply. He still didn’t see Alaster as the threat that I did, but at least he hadn’t written him off as a suspect entirely.

At the library entrance, there loomed a statue of a Civil War soldier waving a baton in victory.

His chest was riddled with medals, and his eyes were carved out of a cool brimstone finish.

“Union or Confederate?” I asked.