Dead Man's Stitch

by Meg Collett

  D E A D

  M A N’ S

  S T I T C H

  Book Five

  The Fear University Series

  By Meg Collett

  Copyright 2018 Meg Collett

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing by Arrowhead Editing

  Table of Contents

  Title Page and Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Other Books by Meg Collett

  O N E

  Ollie

  The first day of classes hummed with an electrical undercurrent of promise and excitement. Chatter flooded the halls. Students—the few who remained—rushed about, checking their schedules and glancing at door numbers, their backpacks bumping against their backs.

  The school’s windows were cranked open to let in the lazy late summer breeze. The freshly scrubbed floors and windows gleamed in the sunlight. Out in the courtyard, music thrummed beneath a nearly constant stream of laughter. Dewdrops glistened on vibrant green leaves, the wet beads crystalline in the light. Farther out, toward Tick Tock Bay, waves crashed against the rocky shore.

  It was a fucking Hallmark moment.

  I took it all in, standing at the row of windows on the third floor of Fear University, the old Alaskan supermax prison turned college for monster hunters, even though it would make me late for … I checked my fourth-year schedule. I was late for Advanced Strategy Analysis, followed by Advanced Tracking, Advanced Combat Theory, and Advanced Cryptozoology. After lunch, my afternoon classes were Advanced Weapon Application, Advanced Fear Simulations, and Practical Combat—which meant I’d finally get to hit somebody.

  Classroom doors shut one by one. The professors who had once belonged in those rooms were mostly long gone. Our new professors—the hunters who had even the slightest kernel of knowledge about their appointed classes to teach—pulled the doors shut, their droning voices calling their classes to attention. Inside the rooms, all the vacant desks, reminders of the missing students, had been removed.

  A small child scampered down the hall and skidded to a stop outside his class. He glanced back at me, his face sticky with jelly, and waved. I smirked at him. With a giggle, he stole inside and closed the door behind him.

  I tried not to notice the fine scars along the side of his neck. His hair, like most of the other lab kids, had grown back in over the past few months. Their hollow-eyed looks and dark circles had lessened after months of decent sleep. Their tiny frames had filled out with heaps of food and cakes and late-night trips to the cafeteria where Ms. Brightly, a hunter’s grandmother with a devilish knack for frying various foods, always left out a platter of cookies.

  The school should have felt empty. Abandoned. A ghost of what it had been. But it didn’t. Not even close. It felt filled to the brim. Packed tightly. Cozy.

  Beneath the scars above my heart, my chest squeezed crushingly tight. So tight I thought I might burst.

  If my mother had been alive to see the school, she would have been proud.

  Normalcy had returned to Fear University. We were together, and that was all that mattered.

  We were okay.

  The late bell rang, ruining my moment. I rolled my eyes. Freaking Advanced Strategy Analysis. What a pain in my ass. What a joke. But Mr. Clint had insisted I pick up the mantle and slum it like the rest of the university students. Everyone, even Sunny, had agreed with Mr. Clint, solidly outnumbering me.

  But unlike Dean’s feeble ruse to keep my true nature secret from the rest of the school and the illustrious Original families, Mr. Clint thought I might learn something from attending class, not to mention my secret was completely out. There was no going back now. Mr. Clint thought it would be good for me to sit in lectures with my eyelids propped open, clutching a thermos of coffee.

  At least with Dean I never had to worry about him sticking me in a classroom and forgetting I’d ever existed.

  Sometimes, I actually missed that shithead.

  Almost six months had passed since he’d vanished with most of the university’s students, faculty, and family backers. Just … disappeared into thin air. We hadn’t heard a peep from him or Dr. Milhousse.

  Maybe Dean had forgotten about me. Maybe he’d admitted defeat. Maybe he’d heard about my massive pack of loyal aswangs who called me Queen and moved to Florida with his tail tucked between his legs.

  I told myself it was dangerous to hope. I knew I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to believe Dean was gone.

  So, I let myself.

  And why not? I deserved that, didn’t I?

  I still woke up at night, drenched in sweat from a nightmare in which my father wasn’t dead. Where I hadn’t held a knife to his throat and slit it. Sometimes, I still couldn’t bear Sunny’s hugs or Luke’s touches. Sometimes, I thought of Max and my scars ached. Sometimes, I looked in the mirror and thought the black scars along my jaw and neck made me ugly. Sometimes, I wanted to tuck tail and haul ass to Florida.

  So, fuck it. I believed Dean Bogrov was gone.

  And anyone who thought I was delusional could bite me.

  * * *

  Sunny plunked down a towering stack of books on the cafeteria table, rattling everyone’s dishes. I grabbed my water glass before it could tip over.

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. “I see someone’s had a great morning.”

  “A great morning?” she huffed. Normally, her glasses would have slipped down her nose and she would have impatiently shoved them back up with her finger, but she’d switched to contacts. “A great morning? Did you even go to your classes? Do you know how much we have to learn? How behind we are? When my Tracking professor started talking about aquatic methodology, I thought he was speaking in another language.”

  My eyes narrowed at her button-up shirt with four-leaf clovers all over it. I pointed at the bulging pocket. “Is that a pocket protector?”

  Sunny jerked her chair out and threw herself into it. “Yes! Because I need the extra pens! I ran out of ink once already!”

  “Right.” I stifled a laugh. The others at our table, which was surprisingly somewhat empty, tried to hide their smiles as well.

  “Don’t ask me to share my notes if you’re going to make fun of my pocket protector.” She sniffed. “It’s only practical.”

  I held my hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Whatever. Is the meatloaf good?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” I asked around a mouthful of the divine meatloaf. Ms. Brightly had made it, so of course it was delicious.

  “Really, Ollie,” Sunny hissed at me. “You shouldn’t swear so much. Th
e kids hear you and think it’s cool. Luke had to give one of them a demerit this morning for”—she lowered her voice even further—“saying the f-word.”

  I choked on my meatloaf. The thought of Luke teaching the lab kids in their Intro to Aswangs class sent me into hysterics every time. But he’d given someone a demerit this morning? Luke Aultstriver, one of the greatest hunters to ever live, who had permanent scowl lines from taking himself far too seriously and had a great disdain for smiling, had given a demerit for swearing.

  Tears streamed down my face, and I had to set down my fork. “Holy shit,” I gasped. “That’s amazing.”

  Sunny rolled her eyes. “Get yourself together. You have meatloaf coming out of your nose. I’ll be back. Save my seat.”

  After lunch, Sunny and I walked to our Advanced Weapon Application class together. The first bell rang, but a group of students outside the boys’ bathroom didn’t move. They were huddled together, whispering into each other’s ears.

  I tapped Sunny’s arm and pointed.

  She looked up from her notebook. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s check it out.”

  As I approached, the students fell quiet. They stepped back to let me by. As soon as they did, I saw what had caught their attention.

  There, on the restroom door, someone had spray-painted “Mutts Only.”

  The paint was blood red and tacky beneath my touch. I whirled around and fixed a glare on the bystanders. “Who did this?”

  At my growl, the students shrank back, shaking their heads. “We just found it,” one said, a younger second-year whose name I didn’t know. The others around him nodded vigorously.

  “Did anyone see who did?” Sunny asked.

  They shook their heads hard enough to give themselves whiplash.

  “If one of you did this—”

  “What’s going on here?”

  We all looked up. Mr. Clint strode over, the students parting around him and breathing a sigh of relief at his reassuring presence. Mr. Clint was a nice guy. Too nice, in my opinion. Nobody was afraid of him, but he somehow got the respect he deserved as acting president of Fear University. He wore khakis and a tie. Sunny should have let him borrow her pocket protector. They spent enough time in the fear simulator together that they were practically best buds anyway.

  “Someone just spray-painted this shit,” I snapped, jerking my thumb at the slur on the door.

  “Demerit for swearing,” Mr. Clint told me as he brushed by to check the freshness of the paint.

  “What?” I sputtered. “A demerit? Are you serious?”

  “I’ll have the janitors scrape this off.” He turned back to the group. “Everyone to class. Tardiness isn’t acceptable. You too, Ollie and Sunny.”

  The other students took their cue to book it out of there. Sunny tried to pull me away from the door, but I held my ground.

  “What are you going to do about this?” I asked Mr. Clint. “That’s about the halflings. We can’t stand for this kind of shi—crap. If anyone doesn’t like the halflings being in school, then they can fuc—freaking leave.”

  Mr. Clint sighed. “It takes time. The other students won’t just accept the halflings right away. Let them get used to everything first.”

  “Time? They’ve been fine for months!”

  “They were scared. It’s easy to get along when you fear for your life every day.” As Mr. Clint spoke, the late bell rang and Sunny’s anxiety fell over me like a thick, oppressive wool blanket. “But now that school has started back and things feel normal, this sort of thing will happen occasionally. They just need time to get used to the halflings.”

  “Come on, Ollie,” Sunny said, tugging my arm again. “We’re late. Thanks, Mr. Clint.”

  “Hang on.” I pulled back against her. “If I find out who did this, I will kick their as—butt.”

  Mr. Clint smiled at me. It was his “you’re overreacting” smile. I got those smiles a lot these days. “That would only make them more afraid of you and the other halflings.”

  My stomach dropped. I still felt that instant, clammy swamp of fear wash over me whenever I heard my secret so casually tossed about. Of course it wasn’t a secret anymore. Everyone knew what I was. They knew who I was and who my parents were, though only Luke, Hatter, Sunny, Thad, and Zero knew I had killed my father. They were also the only ones who knew I was the queen of the entire Kodiak aswang pack that had been loyal to my father. All that notwithstanding, I still wanted to grab Mr. Clint’s words out of the air and stuff them into the pocket of my jeans.

  Old habits die hard.

  “You don’t want a line between you and them, Ollie,” he continued. “If we draw lines between ourselves, it will only make it easier for Dean to tear us apart when he returns. You don’t want that, do you? I’ll let you decide. Go on to class, girls. See you this afternoon in the sim, Sunny.” With that, he walked away, his leather loafers squeaking over the clean tiles.

  “Thanks, Mr. Clint!” Sunny called after him. Then she pinched my arm and hissed, “If you make me late, I will stuff my mothertrucking pocket protector down your mothertrucking throat.”

  With one last glance at the graffiti-covered door, I let her drag me to class.

  * * *

  The Intro to Aswangs professor was hot as hell.

  I hung back in the hall to watch through the classroom’s open door. All the room’s windows were open, and a box fan blew the air through. Hatter had his Converse sneakers propped on top of the teacher’s desk, his left arm’s empty shirtsleeve pinned to his side. He spotted me by the door and rolled his two-toned eyes, making the line of scars down the side of his face twitch.

  I flipped him off and focused on Luke.

  He stood at the front of the classroom next to the green chalkboard. On the board, he’d written “Intro to Aswangs,” but he’d crossed it out and written above it, “Don’t Die 101.”

  The class bell rang, followed almost instantly by seats scraping back.

  “Don’t forget your homework!” Luke called above the racket. The lab kids slung on their too-large backpacks, their cheeks red with excitement. “Read the first chapter in your book and answer all the questions. Don’t write like a drunken monkey either. If I or Mr. Hatter can’t read your work, you get an instant F. Got it? I mean it too. An F!”

  The kids flooded past me with “Hi, Miss Ollie” and “Bye, Miss Ollie.” They barely stood to my waist, and I fought the urge to ruffle their hair as they scampered into the hall.

  The little shits were too cute.

  One particular little shit with tufts of downy hair and blazing bright eyes skidded to a stop beside me.

  “Miss Ollie! Guess what!”

  I laughed. “What, Peyton?”

  Peyton struggled with panic attacks and night terrors. He barely slept and ate even less. It had been a long road with him, but he was one of Luke’s favorite students, and he spent a lot of time with the young boy. I’d never been much of a softie when it came to kids, but Peyton gave me the warm and fuzzies, especially when I saw him following Luke around like a little puppy.

  “I learned about monsters today!”

  I gasped. “Were you scared?”

  He snorted at the ridiculousness of this question. “No! But Mr. Luke said being afraid was good! So he wouldn’t be mad at me if I was! He even said he gets scared sometimes! Did you know that?”

  “Mr. Luke gets scared, huh? I don’t know if I believe it.” Grinning, I glanced back toward the classroom. Luke shot me a swoon-worthy smirk.

  “That’s what he said! Bye, Miss Ollie!”

  “Bye, Peyton,” I said, then added, “Don’t run!” as he tore off down the hall at breakneck speed.

  Luke walked over. “How was your first day back?”

  I fingered the rolled-up edge of his white button-up shirt. His tanned forearms bulged beneath the cuff. “Fine. Since when do you wear button-ups?” I tried to hold back my smile. I couldn’t.


  Luke scowled. “Better than my thermals,” he grumbled.

  “Sure.” I ran my hand up his arm and across his chest, feeling his muscles jump beneath my touch. He and Hatter had been sparring more than normal as Hatter had to relearn how to fight with just one arm. The extra time in the gym was showing, and it made my mouth water. “I like you as a professor. It’s kinda hot.”

  Hatter strolled over with a textbook under his arm. “Let me out of here before you two start doing it on the desk or something.”

  I dropped my hand and looked at my friend. His neon red hair stuck up in every direction as though he’d jammed his finger into an electrical socket. His eyes were dull above bruised circles. His scars looked stark on his pale face, and he moved as if he were dragging his feet through knee-deep muck. His shoulders were off-kilter like he hadn’t adjusted to his new center of balance without his arm.

  I pulled my gaze away from the empty sleeve before he caught me staring. He hated that.

  “Sorry, Hatter. Sunny is in the courtyard if you’re looking for her.”

  His mouth flattened. “I’m not.”

  He shouldered by us and disappeared down the hall.

  Luke reached around me and closed the door. With a sigh, he walked back to his desk, raking his hand through his brown hair. His white shirt pulled across his shoulders. Even though he wore khakis, he still had on his worn-out, steel-toed shit kickers.

  You could put a hunter in a classroom and call him a professor, but he’d always be a hunter at heart.

  “We need to talk about Hatter,” he said, pacing back toward me.

  I set my backpack on the ground near the door. As Luke paced in front of the classroom, I sat on top of the closest desk and swung my feet back and forth, watching him.

  “He just needs time. Once things with him and Sunny sort themselves out, he’ll be okay.”

  Luke’s jaw flexed. “It’s more than that, Ollie. His head is all twisted around. This morning I told him he looked like hell, and he said, ‘Good, because I am in hell.’”