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The line rings only for a short while before my father picks up. He rarely shows emotions, but he can’t hide the surprise in his gaze as he answers the video chat. He is in his office at home; the familiar shelves filled with books and framed pictures fill the background of the screen.
“Quinton, is everything okay?” Slight concern lingers in his tone, something else I’m not used to.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but I need something.”
My father leans closer to the camera. “What do you need? I’ll send it to you, whatever it is, you know that.”
“Ren let me listen to the tape you sent him. I want to listen to the rest.”
Within a split second, my father’s usual stoic mask slips into place, not giving a sliver of emotion away when he speaks next. “I can’t let you listen to those. There is a lot of stuff on there you do not need to know about. Information that will put you in danger simply by knowing them.”
“Bullshit. You just don’t want me to listen because it doesn’t fit your narrative. Aspen wasn’t the one recording, and you know it. You just wanted me to hate her.”
“You should hate her. She is not your friend. I’m trying to protect you, Quinton, from her and from yourself. I know you are hurting, son. Your head is not in the right space. You are grieving, and grief clouds your mind.”
“Maybe your mind is clouded too then, or are you not grieving?”
“Quinton, you know I am.”
“No, I don’t. You won’t even acknowledge publicly that she is gone—”
“Enough!” My father slams his fist on his desk hard enough to make the laptop quake. A moment of silence stretches between us as we both try to simmer down our temper enough to continue a somewhat civilized conversation.
“If Aspen really was wearing a wire, then you would have known about Matteo,” I point out once I’m calm enough. “Did you know?”
“I didn’t know. There was no tape of that, but from the rest of the tapes, it could have only been her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Sighing heavily, my father leans back in his leather chair. “I know you don’t, but I can’t give you the rest of the tapes. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
“Great… I guess I’ll talk to you soon then—”
“Before you hang up, there is something I need to tell you. I was actually going to call you today. A new student is coming to Corium in the next few days.”
“Who is it?” My father knows everyone attending here in one way or another, which makes it so surprising to hear what he says next.
“I’m actually not sure. Apparently, he is Alessio Bianchi’s son.”
“Bianchi?” I recognize the name. I’ve never met them, but I know they are one of the most powerful families in Europe, and Alessio is the most powerful man in Italy. I remember him having siblings. “I don’t recall him having a son.”
“Exactly.” My father taps his fingers against the smooth surface of his desk. “He says he kept him a secret to protect him, but he is ready to let him be part of our world now, and Corium is the perfect place to integrate him.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say with disinterest.
“It might be, and it might be the opposite. Either way, Bianchi is one of the founding members of Corium, so we can’t tell him no. I need you to be careful. I never had a problem with Bianchi, but we are not close allies either. I don’t know as much as I’d like about him, especially not about this suddenly appearing son.”
“I’ll be careful, but like you said, we never had an issue with them before. Why would they start something now?”
“You are probably right, but it won’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Okay, well… I got to go… do stuff…”
“All right, call your mother when you get a chance. She misses you.”
“I will.” I close the laptop before he can say his goodbye, not that I was expecting anything heartfelt. My father is not that person, and I guess neither am I.
I make a mental note to call my mom tomorrow, but right now, I have something else to do. Something that’s been overdue.
Getting up, I grab my phone and stuff it in my pocket. Slipping into my sneakers, I head for the door and make my way to the library. On my way, I wonder if Aspen is going to be there. I don’t normally like surprises, though the thought of seeing her in person excites me.
When I get to the library, I find it completely silent and empty. A ping of disappointment hits me, but I shove it away and concentrate on what I came here to do.
It takes me a few minutes to find the librarian between two heavy oak shelves on the second floor. I casually lean against one of them, my face inches from a plaque with the engraving Fiction C-E. She is sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and a thick book in her lap. Her long blue hair covers most of her face since her head is bowed.
