The Professor

by Alexandria Clarke

  I pondered this. On one hand, the idea of dropping my investigation into BRS was heavenly. It would get the society off my back, and the people around me, like Wes and Jo, wouldn’t have to suffer any more setbacks on my account. My conscience, however, would not be clear as long as O’Connor’s body rotted away undiscovered.

  When Wes finished patching up my knees, I hobbled out to the living room in search of my demolished messenger bag. I dumped the contents out onto the couch and sifted through them, hoping that none of my notes were still on the loose on campus. After a couple of minutes, I realized what had gone missing.

  “Shit!”

  Wes rushed in from the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

  “They took the puzzle box!”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, lifting my bag off the couch to make sure I hadn’t lost the puzzle box somewhere beneath it. “The cyclist or someone else. Oh, my God, it was all staged.”

  “What was?”

  “The fucking bike crash!” In a fit, I threw what was left of my messenger bag across the room. My thesis notes went flying and floated down to settle like ashes on the living-room floor.

  “Are you sure?”

  I reached for my laptop, opening up the documents that I’d saved my thesis work to. Every one of them was blank.

  “No, no, no.”

  “What?” asked Wes urgently.

  I ignored him. Blood rushed to my head, and my field of vision narrowed as I typed in the passcode to my phone and accessed the camera. All of the pictures—of the clubhouse, the police reports, everything—were gone. It was like I had never even been to BRS’s underground room. They’d wiped everything. All that I had left were O’Connor’s original notes. Furious, I hurled my cell phone too. It hit the far wall of the living room and shattered.

  “Relax, Nicole!”

  Wes trailed behind me as I rampaged through the living room, flinging aside papers and folders in what I knew was a fruitless search for the puzzle box.

  “They hacked everything, Wes!” I shouted. “My phone, my computer! My thesis work is gone! All of it!”

  “So you’ll do it again.”

  “Oh, God.” I halted my assault on the living room as another thought hit me. “My grades.”

  I rushed back over to my laptop and logged in to my academic account. My heart throbbed in my throat as the page displaying my grades fought against the shitty Wi-Fi to load. When the tab finally appeared, I nearly chucked my computer across the room too.

  I had Ds and Fs in all of my graduate courses.

  “I am going to kill Catherine Flynn,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Wes peered at the laptop screen over my shoulder. He seemed relieved that my aggressive display of mania had faded into a quieter, seething rage. “As a police officer, I really can’t condone murder, Nic.”

  I turned around to face him. “Do you think this is funny? They’re ruining my entire career, Wes.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny, but I do think it’s naive of you not to have expected it.”

  A wave of indignation washed over me at his response, but Wes was right. I’d been warned from the beginning. O’Connor, Jo, and even Stella St. Claire had all notified me of the ramifications of getting involved with BRS. I’d ignored them, too stubborn and headstrong, but I refused to place the blame on myself. If the Black Raptor Society didn’t exist, I’d have a finished thesis and a graduation gown to order by now.

  “Where are you going?” asked Wes as I walked to the bedroom and wrenched on a fresh, unbloodied pair of jeans.

  “To Flynn’s office,” I said, pulling a sweater over my head. “She has to be the main BRS member behind this. There’s no way she’s getting away with it.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “No.” I donned my winter coat, which now had threadbare patches on the front thanks to BRS’s bike messenger, and stepped into my boots. “I want to confront her alone. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “You better. If you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming to check on you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I crossed the Waverly campus in record time, fueled by the fury still boiling inside me. I stormed up the staircase to Flynn’s office with every intention of kicking her door down, but when I reached the fourth floor, I discovered it already unlocked and open.

  Tentatively, I edged inside. Flynn was nowhere in sight, and I hadn’t seen her on the other floors of Research Hall either. On the bookshelf, the crow sculpture had been moved. The books it usually supported lay toppled over, as though Flynn had disrupted the crow in a hurry. With one last glance down the hallway to ensure that I was alone, I shut the office door, turned over the crow, and arranged the puzzle pieces.

  When it popped open, my stomach twisted. The ring inside was gone.

  The empty velvet insides of the crow felt like an omen. I put the sculpture back on the shelf where I had found it, positioned slightly away from the fallen books. Flynn would face my wrath some other time, when I’d gathered my nerves to confront her again.

  Outside Flynn’s office, Donovan Davenport leaned casually against the wall.

  “Hey, Nicole,” he said with an easy smile as I paused in Flynn’s doorway. He didn’t question what I was doing alone in her office. “I wanted you to meet some of my friends.”

  Without warning, someone behind me wrapped a blindfold around my eyes. I heard the scuffle of several pairs of shoes against the carpet as Dominic’s faceless cronies accosted me. The odds were skewed—BRS had sent at least four or five members to apprehend me—and I was rendered immobile in mere seconds. Before I could yell, another hand covered my mouth. I felt a pill land on my tongue. In a panic, I tried to spit it out, but the hand kept my lips closed until the pill melted. I struggled, turning my head this way and that, and kicked out with my legs. But my limbs grew heavier, and my mind turned woozy. I blacked out, holding on to one last conscious observation: the scent of rose petals on one of my captor’s hands.

  9

  I woke with heavy eyelids, an aching head, and a dry mouth. As I blinked to clear my hazy vision, my surroundings and three blurry figures swam slowly into view. Catherine Flynn, Orson Lockwood, and Donovan Davenport stood in a loose circle around me. I couldn’t remember anything after Davenport’s accomplices had abducted me, but somehow, they’d managed to get me across campus and into the Black Raptor Society’s clubhouse in broad daylight. The four of us occupied the museum-like storage room of artwork. They had secured me to one of the high-backed chairs from the clubhouse’s dining room, my wrists bound to either armrest and my ankles tied together with several layers of duct tape. They’d confiscated my boots, which lay side by side at the end of one storage row. The light was low, but behind the looming silhouettes of my captors, the white freezer chest glowed like a beacon in the dim room. Now that it was empty, BRS had space to hide my body should they choose to discard me. My stomach clenched, and I closed my eyes, hoping I might wake up in bed next to Wes and discover that the past several weeks had all been one long, vivid nightmare.

  Orson Lockwood snapped his fingers. I flinched as the sharp click of the gesture resonated through my throbbing head. I licked my lips to return some moisture to them, but it was no use.

  “Salander, get her some water,” Lockwood demanded of someone.

  From behind me, I caught another whiff of rose petals, and a glass of water appeared beneath my nose. I looked up from its rippling surface and into Lauren Lockwood’s eyes.

  “Drink,” she ordered, tipping the glass. “It helps.”

  I allowed her to dribble the water into my mouth. The cool liquid floated across my tongue, washing away the stale aftertaste of whatever drug they had used to knock me out.

  “You deserve an Oscar,” I rasped to Lauren, purposely ignoring the gazes of the other three people in the room. “For all that garbage you fed me this morning.”

  “You were gullible enough to belie
ve it,” she countered as she set the glass of water aside. She leaned over me, planting her hands on either armrest. “I’m a Lockwood, Nicole. This is a birthright for me. Do you really think I would abandon my family? My legacy?”

  “You hacked my phone.”

  Lauren laughed and straightened, backing up to stand beside Flynn, Lockwood, and Donovan. “You made it so easy. I only needed your phone number. Got into your computer that way too. Stupid of you, really, to have all of your accounts linked like that.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have much experience in gathering intel under the radar.”

  “Clearly.”

  “As you might’ve noticed, Miss Costello,” cut in Orson, “my daughter happens to be one of the most promising young members of the Black Raptor Society.”

  Lauren smirked at her father’s praise. Donovan, however, sported a sneer that suggested he might’ve smelled something distasteful. Despite their evident partnership, the pair appeared to be in competition with each other, and Lauren had a leg up as the heir to the Lockwood throne.

  “What else have you people done?” I asked, not expecting any kind of true answer.

  “My dear, all we’ve done is damage control,” continued Orson. Like before, he projected a compassionate sincerity, a skill he must have honed over his many years of debauchery. “For instance, you ignored our warnings and spoke to Jo Mitchell again. As a result, she has been removed from the situation.”

  “You ruined her life,” I growled. My fists clenched unconsciously, and the duct tape around my wrists strained and tightened. “Where is she supposed to go now?”

  “Back to whatever hovel she crawled out of,” quipped Donovan with a snigger. “People like Jo Mitchell don’t belong at Waverly.”

  “Oh?” I turned to Donovan. “You mean hard-working people who actually have to put in some effort for their accomplishments rather than having Daddy buy them?”

  Donovan’s grin dropped. “Shut up, Costello.”

  “Enough,” interrupted Flynn as she stepped forward. “I warned you, Miss Costello, to mind your own business, and from what I understand, several others afforded you similar advice. You chose to ignore it. You gave us no choice here.”

  Somehow, I still felt as if we were in Flynn’s office. She used the same authoritative voice here in the clubhouse that she did when reprimanding me about my lack of initiative. “How long have you been following me?”

  “Ever since you broke in to my office,” answered Flynn. “I called Bacchus right away. He underestimated you, of course. You managed to find your way into the clubhouse before he could track you down.”

  “Bacchus?”

  Donovan casually waved a hand. “That would be me.”

  “Ah, right. The code names. What’s mine?”

  Orson Lockwood chuckled. “Only members of the society are awarded a nickname, Miss Costello.”

  A murmur of voices penetrated the art room from the other side of its door, and I could hear the faint shuffle of footfalls down the hallway.

  “There are more people here?” I asked, wondering once again how the Black Raptor Society managed to convene underground without anyone else noticing.

  “We called a meeting to discuss what to do with you,” said Flynn.

  My gaze flickered to the freezer chest. “Why didn’t you just off me like you did O’Connor?”

  Orson drew up another chair and straddled it. “Miss Costello,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. “I can assure you that what happened to George O’Connor was an accident. The Black Raptor Society is not made of murderers.”

  “And yet you still have a body hidden somewhere in your secret clubhouse.”

  “We moved the body, actually,” piped in Donovan.

  “Shut up, halfwit,” snapped Lauren. “She already knows too much.”

  “Better yet, Bacchus,” added Flynn as she examined her polished fingernails for apparent discrepancies, “kindly leave us to it. After all, had you responded to my call sooner and went after Miss Costello the night she discovered our little secret, we wouldn’t be here at all, would we?”

  “I—”

  “The Morrigan said out,” said Orson, without looking at Donovan.

  With a childish groan, Donovan huffed and got up to leave. As he opened the door, a shaft of golden light spilled in from the hallway, and the bustle of voices from the other rooms grew momentarily. Before Donovan pulled the door shut again, he popped his head back in to address Lauren. “This isn’t over, Salander. I’m coming back for my council seat.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” said Lauren with a sly smile.

  The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with Lauren, Flynn, and Orson. “What happens now?” I questioned warily.

  “I’m glad you asked, Miss Costello,” said Orson as he rested his forearms on the chair back in front of him. “As I said before, the Raptors have debated this matter, and we’ve decided to offer you two options.”

  “How considerate of you.”

  “Quite,” said Flynn. She placed a hand on Orson’s shoulder. “Let me reiterate what my brother has already mentioned.”

  My jaw slackened at this revelation. “Your brother?”

  “Did you not notice the family resemblance?” asked Flynn, sweeping her dark hair over one shoulder. “Orson and I have been the heart of the Black Raptor Society for quite some time now. We shaped the Raptors into what they are now while we were still in school at Waverly. In fact, I’m shocked that you didn’t figure it out sooner. You never came across my maiden name in any of your pathetic, abortive research?”

  I clenched my teeth. I’d focused so closely on Orson and the other men of the Lockwood family that I’d dismissed any female members, other than Lauren, completely.

  “In any case,” continued Flynn, though she wore a pleased simper at my incompetent research abilities, “we are not murderers. It’s too unsavory a deed, and to be quite honest, it was a blight on our society’s reputation. The Raptors only meant to frighten George O’Connor. It went too far.”

  My hands trembled as Flynn spoke, and I gripped the armrests to stop them from shaking. “Preach your excuses all you want,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “You still killed someone. And even if you hadn’t, how many reputations have you destroyed for your own benefit? I mean, don’t you people adhere to a code of ethics at all?”

  “An ambiguous one, to be sure,” admitted Lauren. Orson nodded in approval as she continued. “One must accept that in order to find success in this world, others must fail. Surely, you understand that, Nicole?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Agreed,” said Orson to my surprise. “It’s come to my knowledge that you also discovered our contacts at the police station.”

  I swallowed hard, unwilling to give away anything that might jeopardize Wes’s job. “I only guessed that you had members there.”

  “One or two.”

  “Whitehall, right? And Officer Wilson?”

  “Ah, yes, Daryl!” said Orson affectionately. “He always liked you, you know. He was quite upset when that boyfriend of yours started poking his nose around. Daryl was never a man of conflict.”

  I remained quiet at the mention of Wes, trying to keep my face impassive.

  “Speaking of your boyfriend,” Orson continued. He snapped his fingers, and Lauren handed him a manila file folder. He took a photo from it and turned it around so that I could see it. “Weston McAllen. This is him, right?”

  It was Wes’s profile picture from the police academy. I did my best to maintain a straight face, but then Orson produced another photo, one of both me and Wes, that someone—Lauren most likely—had downloaded from the private pictures on my computer.

  “Beautiful couple,” remarked Orson. He held the photo up for Flynn to see. “Don’t you think?”

  My face burned as Flynn peered at the picture. “A little too crass for my taste, my dear.”

  “Then shove it up your ass,” I snapped bef
ore I could help myself.

  “Tsk, tsk. Bottle it up, Miss Costello,” Orson said, closing the file folder and handing it back to Lauren. “My point is this: we know that you’ve been keeping Mr. McAllen in the loop on our affairs. I would assume you’ve shared your inner knowledge of BRS with him, as women are so prone to doing with their significant others.”

  Out of Orson’s line of sight, Lauren rolled her eyes. At least she didn’t buy into every aspect of the Raptors’ brotherhood bullshit.

  “I barely told Wes anything,” I lied. With any luck, BRS would leave him out of this. “I didn’t want him to get in trouble with the force.”

  “Sure,” said Orson, his tone dripping with patronage. “Whatever the case, we have members standing by outside your apartment. Just in case.”

  “Just in case of what?”

  “Should you make any trouble,” Flynn began, “our members will take your boyfriend into custody as well. You do not want that to happen, Miss Costello. It will only end poorly.”

  They had to be bluffing. After all, why would Flynn and Lockwood try to convince me that O’Connor’s death was an accident if they’d planned on kidnapping Wes all along?

  Lauren leaned casually against her father’s chair. “Good God, Nicole, don’t look so put out. Torturing your boyfriend is our last-resort option.” In a playful gesture, she tousled her father’s hair. “Come on, Dad. Stop freaking her out.”

  “All right, all right.” Orson chuckled, batting away his daughter’s hand. If it were not for the fact that I was tied to a chair, I might’ve thought I’d intruded on some sort of bizarre Lockwood family bonding time. “So, Miss Costello, your first option. If you so desire, you may choose to vanish from Waverly University entirely.”

  “What?” I said, incredulous. “What do you mean by vanish?”

  “Simply disappear,” elaborated Orson with a noncommittal shrug as if the suggestion wasn’t the most far-fetched idea I’d ever heard. “Pack up your things, take your boyfriend, and leave the area. Tell no one of our society. Begin your life anew.”