by Tee, Marian
As for the other type, well...
Legally speaking, the second type of secret society is more like a respectable non-profit. They're legit and charitable, and they frequently hold the hottest and most star-studded parties. But what makes this type of secret society a thousand times deadlier is the fact that they're all divinely founded...and thus outside the reach of human laws. While all gods from all major continents have unanimously agreed that no human may be forced to join such an order, it's a different matter altogether when said human joins voluntarily. Doing so means he's immediately forfeiting his right to ask for help from law enforcement - no matter what happens.
The latter type of secret society is not something anyone would want to mess with, and if rumors are to be believed, the Ancient Order of Sub Rosa is the most powerful among in its kind. Which is a good thing. Right?
Just thinking about it makes my temples throb, and I find myself unnaturally relieved when the professor starts handing out worksheets.
Today's seatwork in Scientia has us solving advanced equations for alchemy, and while I do admit it's more fun to play with numbers when gold's potentially involved, it still doesn't prove completely effective in keeping divine thoughts away.
By the time Cad and I are both done solving all ten questions, it's all I can do not to fidget in my seat as the professor comes to inspect our worksheets. I feel like I have more ants in my underpants than Poseidon has tridents in his walk-in closet, and I all but sigh as Professor Hondros folds our sheets with a look of approval.
"Good job, both of you." The older man blows on his pipe as he moves to the next table, and I wait until his attention is fixed elsewhere before turning to Cad...who's already on his feet, preparing to leave.
Oh no, you don't.
I kick him in the shin under the table, and Cad looks at me with a grunt. "What?"
"You can't leave yet."
"You may not want to, but I do. I just got Mila to say yes to giving me a ha—-" Cad seems to change his mind about what he has to say. "I mean, a happy time. Mila promised to make me a happy man, so if you don't mind—-"
I smile at him...before promptly pointing to his chair. "Sit." When he looks like he's about to argue, I decide to take a calculated gamble and arch a brow at his direction. "Are you going to sit or do I have to tell a certain god—-"
Cad falls back to his seat faster than I can roll my eyes, and I struggle to hide my surprise over my ploy actually working.
"What do you even need me for?" Cad grumbles under his breath. "If this is because I offended you by wanting to be lab partners, I would like to point out that I didn't force you—-"
"Why would I be offended?" I can't help asking.
Cad stares at me. "Is there even a single thing that you know about us?"
"Sadly, no...but I'm hoping you'll rectify that."
"We have only fifteen minutes left until the next class," Cad points out in an exasperated tone. "It's impossible for me to even scratch the surface about what makes up you-know-what——"
I can't help rolling my eyes. "You-Know-What? Really? We're not in Hogwarts, Harry wannabe. This is real life, and we're talking about something equally real. So if you don't mind - there's one thing I'd really like to know about the Sub Rosa—-"
"Will you keep it down, for gods' sake?" Cad throws me a look of almost comical panic. "It's called a secret society for a reason."
Seeing that he won't be appeased with anything more than a few decibels, I take a deep, calming breath and try again, this time with a clear attempt to speak like we're shooting a hush-hush scene in an Agatha Christie movie.
"Can you tell me about the secret M-A-R-K—-"
"You are seriously bad at this," Cad says with a groan, and honestly at this point, I'm tempted to start groaning myself. What did I do wrong again? I already whispered. What more can he ask for?
"How do you even do it?" Cad asks with what seems like genuine - albeit reluctant - admiration. "It's like you have this gift of making things uncool, which shouldn't even be possible, with you looking the way you do. But somehow...you just have to open your mouth, and bam. What's supposed to be the coolest organization in the universe has officially been un-cooled. "
"I feel like I should care about what you just said, but...I don't?"
Cad flashes a grin. "Now, that's cool."
I wonder if he'd still think I'm cool if he knows how close I am to strangling him. "Can we please stop wasting time and get down to business?" I point, hopefully for the last time, to the mark on his right hand. "Who gets to have that?"
Cad frowns. "Everyone who belongs to you-know-what, obviously."
I feel like I'm going to barf if I hear that term one more time.
"If that's all..." Cad starts to rise from his chair.
"I'm not done."
Cad falls back to his seat with a sigh.
"Do all male members have their marks on their hands?"
"I think so."
"And the women?"
The class bell chimes out from the PA system before Cad can say another word, but the horrified expression on his face is answer enough for me.
Ninety minutes of Istoría lessons go by in a flash, and I'm still beyond pissed when I join my roommate for lunch.
"Can I just say you do not look happy for someone who's supposedly made up with her god of a boyfriend?"
"That's because I'm not," I confirm shortly.
Nia watches me play with my pasta with a frown. "Is it the sex? Are gods not godly in bed? Is that it?"
Just when I've finally managed to feed myself a forkful, Nia just has to say something like that, and now I'm about to choke to death. After taking a huge gulp of water, I quickly put the record straight with just four words. "I'm still a virgin."
It's Nia's turn to choke, and I hand over her bottle of water.
"Gods always fuck at first sight," my roommate bursts out the moment she finishes tossing off her Evian like it's Chardonnay. "Always!"
"I heard you the first time around," I mutter, "but this god doesn't, and I used to secretly think he was being considerate, but after what I found out..." I stab my pasta with my fork for a second time...and keep stabbing it since I've completely lost my appetite.
"I'm just so pissed," I burst out. "I know I should've expected that a god like him would have...worshippers, and that whatever he's done with those worshippers is all in the past, but..."
"You're jealous," Nia gasps.
"I said I'm pissed—-"
"But you really mean jealous."
"It's stupid to be jealous over something like this—-"
"Haven't you heard?" Nia interrupts. “The more you like someone, the dumber you get."
Her words echo in my mind when I see my phone light up with a new text. It's from an unidentified number...which then turns out to be Professor Lucious'. He wants me to be at his office during Mirykasmós, and as I text him back with the affirmative, it's then I realize...
Nia's right.
The more you like someone, the dumber you get.
Chapter Twenty-One
I regret my decision the moment I hit Send on my phone, and it's not even fear of the god's wrath that makes me feel shitty. We each were living our own lives before meeting, and only an unreasonable bitch would hold the god's past against him. And I'm never that. The unreasonable part, I mean. The B-word, well. I was born one, so it's not like I can help it.
The rest of the day passes at an excruciatingly slow pace, with my mind constantly bringing up imaginary scenarios where the god uses his lips to leave the order's mark on his female whatchamacallits. Devotees, worshippers, initiates. It's all the same annoyingly slutty banana, and it's the fact that his lips had to touch another woman's skin I'm unable to stomach.
Mirykasmós is my last class for the day, and it's basically the fancy Post-3rd version of free periods. Rosethorne has it thrice a week, one hour per day, and it's the time students can either do club activities or privatel
y consult their professors...like I'm supposedly doing now.
Isabella's just stepped out of her office as I make it to the second level of 44 Rosemary Square, and I can feel her green eyes following me as I continue up to the third...and the fourth. I'm not imagining it, I promise. I can't...since she has her head stuck out over the balustrade like a divinely spying ostrich.
When I remember how she made me stand for hours, knowing I had a bad knee, it's almost enough to tempt me to give her a show.
Almost.
But because I have too much on my plate, I force myself to simply walk out of view and knock on the professor's door.
"Come in."
My idiotic heart skips a beat at the deep, velvety sound of his voice, and I forget all about Isabella as a horrible pair of twins also known as Guilt and Discomfort start torturing me. Do I even have the right to be jealous about the god's past when my senses still go a little crazy where the professor's concerned?
Entering the professor's office makes me feel like I've willingly gone inside a lion's den, and the twins amp up their conscience-whipping tactics when I see the professor waiting for me, hips leaning against his desk.
He's immaculately dressed like always and is just oozing with more sex appeal than any high school teacher should have a right to. I wish I could ignore these things, but it's like there's this connection between us I can't get rid of, and my hands start getting clammy as my slow and awkward steps gradually eat the distance between us.
Dark eyes narrow at me with unconcealed intensity as I come to a halt before him, and I find myself hurriedly building a wall around it by thinking of as many memories as I can of my god.
There is no need to remind me of your worth, moraki mou.
You are and will always be irreplaceable.
What I'm saying is that you are a dirty little girl under your icy shell.
I will never let anyone hurt you again, little bird.
And it actually works!
I can already feel my heartbeat settling back to a normal rhythm, and by the time the professor speaks, I'm not even worried about sounding breathless or anything equally shameful.
"Thank you for coming," the professor murmurs. "I wasn't sure you'd bother to do so..."
Huh?
His words make no sense at all.
He's not only my professor, but his family also owns the whole damn school...while I'm the eighteen-year-old new student with a criminal record and a scholarship to maintain.
"There is no need to play the helpless innocent." His lips twist into a sardonic smile, and my confusion grows. "I received the memo like everyone else, kyría."
The mocking note in his tone is unmistakable, but I'm just too puzzled to even care. What is up with him? Why is he suddenly addressing me like I'm some rich madame, and what memo is he—-
"What are you doing?" I can't help gasping and instinctively taking a step back as soon as I see the professor start unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you—-" Insane, is what I'm about to say, but my voice abruptly dies the moment I see him push his shirt to the side and reveal the insignia shimmering a few centimeters below his right collarbone.
Holy. Greek. Shit.
The professor mutters an expletive under his breath. "Sit down, will you? You look like you're about to faint."
I do as asked because even I know I'm in shock.
How can this be possible?
Is this still the work of the Crones, or is someone divine playing a joke on me?
"Drink this." The professor hands me a bottle of water, and I don't hesitate to snatch it out of his hold. My fingers are shaking a little, and it has droplets of water dribbling down the side of my mouth as I quench my suddenly parched throat. It's embarrassing as Hades, obviously, but when I lower the bottle to wipe it off, it's then I see the professor gazing at my mouth in a way that we both know he's not supposed to...for more reasons than one.
"Here..." The professor is offering me another one of his silk handkerchiefs, but this time I shake my head in refusal and deliberately use the back of my hand to wipe the side of my mouth.
His lip curls. "Not good enough for you now, I take it?"
My indignant gaze flies up to him. "That's not the issue here, and you know it."
His jaw clenches, but he doesn't say a word as he shoves his handkerchief back in his pocket, and I strive to keep my face expressionless as I watch him perch a hip against his desk. I'm vertically disadvantaged as it is, but the difference is more intimidatingly obvious with him on his feet while I'm already struggling not to sink in the leather cushion of my chair.
"So..." The professor's tone is excruciatingly polite. "I believe congratulations are in order."
"Pun intended?" The words are out before I realize what I'm saying, and I can only cringe when I see the professor literally blinking. He's looking at me like he can't believe my sense of humor isn't a criminal offense, but before I can plead temporary insanity, he's already nodding and saying very, very gravely, "Yes. Pun intended, Ms. Mariposa."
I make a face, the professor smirks, and as the tension in the air noticeably eases, it almost has me believing it's possible for us to be...friends.
Almost.
But everything changes the moment I catch the glint of desire in the professor's dark gaze. I scramble to my feet, intending to leave before anything can happen—-
"Where do you think you're going?"
The professor's fingers curl around my wrist and forcibly spins me back to face him.
"Will you please let go of me?"
"Why should I?"
"My god doesn't like other men touching me—-"
"Your god, is it? Do you think of him as your possession?"
I get a feeling the professor wants me to lose control, but this only makes me even more determined to keep my emotions in check. "What is this really about, professor?" A part of me expects him to simply brush this off, but to my surprise, his answer shows that he's taken me seriously.
"I want to understand why you've chosen him over me."
It's enough to make my eyes widen, and I see the professor's lips twist at my reaction. "Why are you surprised? Did I not make it clear enough how much I want you?"
I'm already shaking my head even before he's finished speaking. "Have you forgotten? I saw you with Isabella—-"
The professor cuts me off with a caustic sound of disgust. "Are you an idiot?"
All thoughts of keeping my chill threaten to fly away at the words. "Excuse me?"
"What you saw that time," he bites out, "is Sub Rosa business. Isabella is part of our god's order, and that's why we were together that night."
Isabella...is part of the order?
Does that mean the god's lips have also touched her skin?
Pain, both vicious and abrupt, stabs me at the mere thought of Isabella and my god having any kind of moment together.
That...that...DAMN god!
How many other secrets is he keeping from me?
Oh, you just wait...you, you beast!
I look at the professor, and for the first time ever, I actually find myself immune to his gorgeousness. "Can you please let me go?"
The professor's jaw clench, but just as his fingers loosen its hold, I also hear him say, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that—-"
"Uh..." I quickly back away before he can physically restrain me again. "Yes, I so can—-"
"Because he's the one who wants you here."
"Who do you mean—-" Wait. "Are you talking about my god—-"
"No, actually, I'm talking about Santa Fucking Clause," the professor cuts me off sarcastically.
Ouch.
"Of course I'm talking about your god! And just to be clear, sweetheart - he isn't actually your god alone. He's our god. Do you get that, Ms. Mariposa? You can wish and dream he's yours alone, but he's not. He's our god," the professor says with a curl of his lip, "and he's the reason I asked you to come to my office."
Even though his slightly
scathing tone makes me fidget, it still doesn't make me any less wary. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
The professor walks around his desk and angrily pulls out a drawer open. "Why do you think I've had access to your file from the start?" he demands. "Who do you think ordered me to call in my contacts in law enforcement to help you out? Like it or not, your past has come back not just to haunt you, but to kill you as well." The professor pushes a stapled set of documents towards me across the desk, and my heart drops when I see the girl in the photo, and the one-word caption under it.
Myrrha...is dead.
"Her body was found in an empty lot a few miles away from her home. She was last seen in the company of a male who fits the description of your attacker."
Shit.
"That's not all," the professor says curtly. "The other girl involved in your case—-"
"Cen?"
"Her parents have filed a missing report on her a day or so after Myrrha's corpse was found. However, we have several eyewitnesses saying that a man who also fits the description of your attacker was seen leaving the girl's house several times...in broad daylight."
Shit, shit, SHIT!
Everything about the past used to be black and white, but now I no longer want to think. "What does that make him then?" I ask jerkily. "Is he their accomplice? Their blackmailer?"
"It doesn't matter either way. What you should give a fuck about is that he's started killing again, and you can be the next one on his list. That's why our god asked me to take over—-"
I shake my head, unable to believe that my god - okay, our god - is asking him of all people to help me out. "But you're just a professor—-"
"Is that your way of showing concern, Ms. Mariposa?"
"I don't want anyone else to die—-"
"Who says anything about me dying?" the professor asks with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "As long as we can get you to retrieve your memories, I'll kill that son of a bitch for you."
