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“Stop being delicate with me!” I shout. “Help me understand. What did you risk your—our—lives for?”
The thrumming of my heart is only matched by the steadiness of her gaze. I expect Marcella to be snide and sharp, but instead she nods. “Alright, lamb.”
“Wait. That’s it?” I’m breathing hard, head a riot of sound. It cannot possibly be this easy.
“What’s it? You asked me for honesty, and now you’ll get it.” Her fingertips seek my cheek, like she can’t bear not to touch me, her eyes grave. The strange glee fades from her. “You’re right. They were your friends first. And, too, you are certainly no kitten.”
I lean into her touch, ignoring the rank smell of decayed blood sifting over my skin. “Please don’t go rogue again. Promise me.”
“I— Alright.”
“Is that all I’m getting, truly?” Her fingertips tighten against my skin almost imperceptibly as she nods. “I’ll take it, then.”
Marcella hums. “Now, in the spirit of transparency: listen. Don’t you think it’s odd that the powers that be aren’t making any sounds of concern for Laurel or Therese? They want people to forget them. Here.” Marcella drops her hand from my cheek, leaving behind a burning echo of skin against skin. She hands me her phone, which has been logged into the Preston email system. Classics department emails from Quiggley to the others in Classics, some discussing the upcoming end-of-year party, some discussing homework.
I can’t tell what’s salient right now. “Okay?”
Marcella taps an email in the next tab. “Read this.”
RE: VISITING SEMESTER
JOHN,
APPRECIATE YOU SETTING THIS UP FOR ME. CONCERNED ABOUT THE SAFETY OF OUR ECOSYSTEM. ANY EVIDENCE RE. THOSE KIDS?
RE:RE: VISITING SEMESTER
NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. OWN INTERNAL INVESTIGATION ONGOING BUT FEEL WE HAVE IT IN HAND. I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS ARE WARDED AGAINST INTERLOPERS. MILLER WILL HELP WITH YOUR ARRIVAL. WE HAVE LEFT CLOTHES BY THE ENTRY. SEE U SOON.
J
I look up from the email, blinking. Clothes by the entry? Warded against interlopers? My life is taking the shape of a science fiction novel. And what kids do they mean?
“What does any of this prove? Dean Shea could be lying. What we really need is access to his email if we want to confirm anything.”
Marcella cuts me a glance. “Yes, yes, you’re right. But it’s a start, isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand what another dead vættr will do except—”
“Lacie, they think someone is hell-bent on breaking into their boys’ club. And now they’ve closed ranks, because there’s a man who’s dead, too—Arjun, the break in the pattern of simpering women devoured for their inadequacy—they have no idea which trail to follow. They don’t know if it’s one of their denizens or if there’s a new player. Not yet. I’ve taken pains this time—”
“Wait. What do you mean ‘this time’?” I interrupt, holding up a hand.
The bluster goes out of her. A shadow passes over her features. “Nothing.”
I narrow my eyes, but my anger is just for show. Just beneath my skin, nerves flare to life, sharp and shuddering. A lightning-strike wash of panic clenches my heart. “Don’t you fucking lie to me. Not after you just told me that you’ll let me in. Not when you have a dead professor on the floor of your apartment, his guts spilled everywhere.”
Marcella looks as serious as I’ve ever seen her, her brow furrowed, her eyes dark. She passes her fingertips over her forehead, whisking through her hair with a flourish. “Arjun was … an accident.”
“An accident?” I rage, sweat beading on my back. “An accident? How do you—how do you eat someone by accident?”
“I—” She closes her eyes lightly and I swear—I swear—something flutters behind the thin skin of her eyelids. “It— I was hungry. And I’d already … already used some of his energy before. He was besotted with me. I felt—I felt endangered.”
I snarl, “Endangered? Please. Are you just saying that to make me feel bad?”
