by Simone Pond
“Yeah, that’s him. Her last text said she was going to his office to beg him to let her into his class. That was the last time I heard from her.”
I thanked them and they walked off.
“So what’s the deal with this professor?” I asked Vago.
“Seems like a cool dude. Definitely a rockstar with the ladies. Half the shit he says goes over my head.”
“But is there anything unusual about him? Like supernaturally weird?”
“Maybe …”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“Well, he has a couple of dudes outside his lecture hall standing guard, but he’s a celebrity, so I guess it makes sense. A lot of the girls take his class just so they can swoon over him. They pretty much worship the guy.”
“He sounds like a cult leader.” I paused and lowered my voice. “We’re checking him out immediately. I need to get a read on him.”
“Sure. Let’s go by his office. He’s in between classes.”
***
Vago and I trekked to the far end of the campus to Whitmore’s building. Apparently, he purchased his own private facilities with money from his best-selling books and television appearances. According to Vago, the place looked like a temple you’d find in the Middle East. White marble and mosaic tile artwork.
As we approached, I asked Vago, “Why does he bother teaching at the university if he makes so much money being famous?”
“He says it keeps him grounded. He also believes his purpose is to shepherd young minds toward the vast possibilities of philosophical understanding.”
I laughed. “Whatever the hell that means.”
“Exactly. The dude uses a lot of academic jargon.”
In the lobby, Vago approached the security guard and showed his student ID.
“Need to talk to Whitmore about an assignment,” he said.
“Got an appointment?” the guard asked.
“No.”
“Sorry, kid. No appointment, no entry.”
Something was off. The guard. He was a dark shadowy blur—much like Chief Pike. Though this didn’t necessarily equate to evil, it was a strong indicator of no good. He might’ve been on the fence, struggling between good and evil. Or as in Chief Pike’s case, he could’ve gamed the system with a protective cloak. But I doubted the security guard was a high-level demon or warlock. More than likely he didn’t give a rat’s ass about good or evil. He was there to do his job, which was guarding Whitmore from any deranged fangirls, or boys.
“Aw, come on, man. You gotta help me out,” Vago pleaded.
“Rules are rules. And your girlfriend here doesn’t have a student ID, so it’s a no-go.”
We began to leave, when from across the lobby, the click-clack of high heels resonated. Each step landed with fierce determination. Vago stopped and straightened his pullover. He ran his hand through his newly cropped hair. Was he primping?
“Hey, Brooke,” he called out.
I looked over to see the ruby red glow swirling around Brooke Thorne’s body like an ethereal pashmina. The professor’s assistant who addressed me as Vago’s little friend at the coffee shop. Her spicy tuberose perfume saturated the air before she even reached security.
“Vago. Is everything okay? You ran out of class like you were being chased.” She chuckled in a sexy, teasing way. “And hi, oh, I’m sorry, I forget your name. So many new faces at the beginning of the semester.”
“Sibyl,” I said flatly.
“Yes, Sibyl. What are you both doing here?”
Vago cleared his throat and smiled in a charming manner. “We wanted to see Whitmore. Had a question about the assignment.”
“He’s with another student. I can help you, but not right now. I’m in the middle of something. Here’s my card. Text me later. Maybe we can meet for coffee or dinner?”
Vago gave a slight bow, causing her to chuckle again. I pulled his arm and headed toward the exit.
“Bye, Miss Thorne,” I said over my shoulder.
“What’s the hurry?” Vago asked, taking the lead so we wouldn’t bang into any objects along the way.
“That was painful,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Brooke Thorne.”
He laughed, slapping my back. “Are you jealous?”
I stopped walking and stared at him. That was the farthest emotion on my list. I was concerned. “Really? You think I’m jealous?”
“You’re acting all territorial,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I want you to date girls and have fun. But … just not that one. She seems dangerous.”
“Dangerously gorgeous,” he said.
“Exactly. She’s distracting you.”
He was quiet for a moment, then continued walking. “Don’t worry about me, Sibby. I’m fine.”
“What are we going to do about Whitmore? I want to see if he’s got any evil Spirit Handlers influencing him. Or demon energy,” I said, walking faster so I could keep up.
Vago glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll just have to come to class with me tomorrow morning to get a read on him.”
As much as it pained me to sit in a college classroom, it was the best way to check out Whitmore. “Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “Let’s also do some internet recon when we get home.”
“Yeah, I kinda planned on it,” Vago said a bit woefully.
“Sorry to break up your fun, but this is important,” I reminded him.
“I know. Just crappy timing is all.”
Hillside campus no longer seemed to buzz with hopeful energy and dreamlike possibilities. The atmosphere felt foreboding. I suddenly had an intense urge to get home.
“Let’s go now,” I said.
“Yeah,” Vago agreed.
I texted Eli and Marlo with an update that Vago and I were going home early.
I played Eli’s return text on my watch: What’s wrong?
Potential demonic professor kidnapping female students for a blood sacrifice that Vago and I need to look into. I instructed the watch to add a happy face emoji and a heart.
Great. I’ll stop by later. He added a devil emoji to the end of his text. I only knew this because the monotone voice on my watch said: devil emoji.
Vago laughed. “Kinda takes the fun out of emojis, huh?”
“It’s fine. I’ve seen my fair share of demons,” I said.
“I have a feeling you’re about to see a lot more.”
Chapter Ten
Vago
Sibyl and I took a bus home from Hillside, both of us still shell shocked from the vision. She kept her eyes lowered, in deep thought. Maybe I should’ve been thinking about the vision and the missing girls, but Brooke Thorne’s long black hair and luxurious scent was all-consuming. A sudden fear struck me: would Brooke be safe working so closely with Whitmore if he were, in fact, evil?
A yank on my sleeve grabbed my attention.
“This is our stop.” Sibyl stood.
We got off the bus, and the crisp air swept around us as we strolled down Church Street.
“You’re quiet,” Sibyl said.
“Just thinking about Whitmore.”
“You mean his assistant,” she jeered.
“You think she’s safe around him?”
“I get the sense Brooke Thorne can hold her own,” Sibyl said.
“Yeah, you’re right. I probably should be more concerned about all the homework I’ve been blowing off.”
“Any more thoughts on the rock?”
I clapped my hands. “That’s what I forgot!”
“You forgot about your main purpose for existing?” she chided.
I stopped walking. “You wanna tell me what’s up?”
Sibyl turned around and faced me. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I feel more like myself than ever before,” I said. “I have my memories back. I’m living my life. What more is there?”
“A lot more. We have a higher purpose,” she said.
“I know.
And don’t worry. I’ll find the rock.”
She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t sold. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sold. I didn’t want to tell her, but I was feeling overwhelmed. And drained. The moment we got inside, I beelined for the kitchen and stood in front of the fridge, shoving massive forkfuls of leftover mac ’n cheese into my mouth. I hardly tasted the cold cheesy clumps. I was looking for anything to fill me up.
Sibyl stared at me, shaking her head. “I’ll be at the computer.”
“Be there in a second,” I said with overstuffed mouth.
“I hope you don’t eat like that on dates,” she teased.
“Just go get started. I need to refuel.”
I polished off the remaining leftovers, leaving Sibyl to deal with Aunt Ruthie’s astonishment over her lack of weight gain, then joined her in my room. Sibyl was sitting at the desk, staring blankly at the wall.
“You okay?” I asked.
“This feels a lot more intense than last time. Not sure why, but it’s not as clear cut.” She rested her head on the chair, her blond hair falling over her shoulders in golden ribbons.
I pulled the other chair out and scooted her out of the way. “Move.”
“Are you driving?” she asked.
“I’m not in the mood for Monotone Mildred.”
“We’re going to upgrade the software. They’re using real voices for screen readers now.”
“Anything’s better than Millie. Where should we start?”
“Start with the obvious. Cross-reference his name with random disappearances.”
A slew of information came up for Whitmore. Links to videos, books, articles, and fan sites. I clicked through the pages, which led to more obscure sites. I was about to start another search when I saw a campus headline about cult-like followings.
“Looky here,” I said.
“Um … Read it, please.”
“Apparently, there was an article redacted from a college paper in some dinky school in south Florida. But one of the students took a photo of it before it was erased from existence and they posted it,” I explained.
“What’s it say?”
“It’s about the disappearance of a student … Says she was troubled and into drugs … became obsessed with Whitmore … Some accusations that he was involved in her disappearance. Oh, dude, they interviewed him …”
She grabbed my arm. “Just read the damn thing!”
“Okay, okay. Here’s his response about the accusations: ‘I was afraid something like this would happen. Every now and then I get a student who is deeply troubled and they come to me seeking answers. Often these types of vulnerable students do something we refer to in psychology as transference. They begin to transfer their fears, desires, and needs onto a specific individual. For Annie, that person was me. She let it get out of control and became obsessed.’ He goes on about how he tried to help her.”
Sibyl drummed her fingers on the desk. “He’s claiming she was obsessed with him? That has nothing to do with why she’s missing.”
“Oh, man. There’s more. Listen to this crockery. ‘Anytime one tries to usurp the Judeo-Christian value system, those less enlightened will come with their flaming arrows. I don’t fault them. As a matter of fact, I pity them. Mine is a theosophy of all-inclusiveness. The architecture of love of the universe. By love, of course, I mean agape, phileo, and eros.’ There’s more, but what the hell is he talking about?” I moved away from the computer and rubbed my hands through my hair.
Whitmore had seemed like such a solid guy. Congenial and magnanimous, even if a bit pompous. I had been looking forward to a semester of expanding my mind, but this was nonsensical babble. What a letdown.
“He sounds like he’s paraphrasing Blavatsky,” Sibyl said.
“Who?”
“Russian occultist who co-founded the Theosophical Society in 1875. Essentially she was a channel for demons.”
“You really have been hitting Esther’s books. Either way, this dude is full of shit.”
She laughed. “I can smell it through the computer.”
I glanced up at the screen again and noticed a link at the bottom of the page. It said something about a metaphysical experience of a lifetime. I clicked on it because why not?
“Hmm.”
“What is it?” Sibyl asked.
“Looks like Whitmore has an invite-only book signing at some covert location this Friday night,” I said. “Oh, man. Get this, it’s for women only.”
“Not too obvious … I’m gonna put him at the top of the list of those involved with the virginal blood sacrifice.”
Chapter Eleven
Sibyl
On Wednesday morning, Vago and I recounted the gory details of the vision to Eli and Marlo on the way to school. Marlo didn’t talk the rest of the ride.
Eli squeezed the steering wheel and glanced at me. “This one sounds sketchier than city hall. Even creepier than the Sons of Cain.”
“The visuals were unsettling for sure,” I said, wishing I’d stop seeing those poor girls chained and bound, but knowing I was scarred for life.
“You guys think Professor Whitmore is involved?” Eli asked.
“Possibly,” Vago said.
“Definitely,” I replied, giving Vago a serious double-take. Why was he still torn over this guy?
“We’ll know for sure when we get to my class,” Vago said.
“What if he has some sort of cloaking spell like Pike?” Eli asked.
I sat quietly a few moments. “I already know he’s evil.”
“Are you willing to bet on it?” Vago asked a bit defensively.
“Yep. The entire house,” I said.
“Just be careful.” Eli looked at me again.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll have my loyal dog shifter with me,” I said, patting Vago’s head.
“Hey, don’t mess up my hair. Took fifteen minutes to get it like this!”
***
Vago stayed close by my side as we walked through the building to the lecture hall. He had gone from his casual Converse to black ankle boots that made a loud clacking sound. I liked him better when he wasn’t trying to impress Brooke Thorne. My sneakers squelched and squeaked on the linoleum. Between the two of us clodhoppers, we weren’t very inconspicuous.
“The hall’s quiet. Are we late?” Vago asked.
I touched my watch. “A couple minutes. Why?”
“Whitmore’s a stickler about tardiness. Hopefully his goons won’t give us any trouble.”
I glanced ahead, but couldn’t see anything. Only darkness. No spirits. No signs of those oily black Spirit Handlers either. I hadn’t seen much of those evil miscreants since the city hall incident. I caught a glimpse of one or two on campus, but for the most part things had been normal. If you consider seeing wisps of colorful celestial light flitting around the edges of humans normal.
As we approached the lecture hall, I couldn’t see the men guarding Whitmore’s room, but I began choking on their spicy cologne that permeated the air. They were stationed outside the lecture hall to ward off overzealous fans and media sycophants.
Vago nodded to them and went for the door handle.
“No can do,” stated one of the men.
“I’m in this class,” Vago said, holding up his student ID.
“Once the door is shut, no one gets inside,” said the other guy.
I really wanted to get a read on them, but they were only shadows.
“That’s bullshit. I’m a minute late.” Vago began to bang on the door, but one of the men grabbed his arm, yanking him away.
“You need to calm down.” The man’s voice came through gritted teeth.
“You need to get out of my way,” Vago shouted.
The scuffle grew louder as Vago shoved the two shadows off of him.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Everything got quiet.
The door handle to the lecture hall clicked.
“What’s the commotion?” a man’s voice
bellowed from the doorway.
“Excuse us, Professor,” said one of the guards. “Latecomer.”
I staggered back a few feet, staring at the creature before me … A beast resembling half-man, half-lizard with jagged skin and glaring yellow eyes that burned with pure evil. Emerald flames churned through his veins and pulsed in his heart. Whitmore was the creature Abaddon had spawned from his belly. And he was the most evil being I had ever encountered. He made Pike look like a circus ringleader. Nausea gurgled in my stomach.
“I was trying to get into class, Professor,” Vago explained. “I wanted to bring my friend so she could hear your lecture.”
“Well, you’re late, son. I don’t allow tardiness or guests. I’m afraid them’s the rules.” He chuckled lightly, slapping Vago on the shoulder. “Don’t look so shattered, you can always get lecture notes from my assistant, Miss Thorne.”
A slight grin appeared on Vago’s lips at the mere mention of Brooke. “Sounds good, sir. Sorry for the disturbance.”
Whitmore stared beyond Vago toward the two guards. “Why don’t you escort them out of the building,” he suggested.
Before he turned away to return to his class, I caught something flash between Whitmore and the two guards; a silvery thread almost like the gossamer silk of a spider web. It flickered with light ever so slightly as though transmitting information. Whitmore was communicating to the guards telepathically. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could see the transmission.
As if sensing my awareness, he jerked his lizard gaze in my direction and stared a moment. A tundra-like chill blanketed my body. Did he know that I knew?
He cleared his throat. “Don’t be late again,” he said to Vago. “Would hate to remove you from my class permanently.”
When Whitmore said permanently, he glared at me before shutting the door to the lecture hall.
One of the guards yanked my arm and pulled me away. The other one shoved Vago, causing him to trip. I patted my messenger bag, making sure I had easy access to my stash of baseballs.
“We know the way out,” Vago growled.
“Just want to make sure you actually get out.”
My fingers traced over the baseballs. I was ready to throw down, but Vago elbowed me, shaking his head. He must’ve sensed these two low-level minions were the least of our worries.
