The Professor

by Alexandria Clarke

  My comfort didn’t last long. Wes and I woke with a start as the bedroom door flew open, banging up against the wall. Henry careened into our room, and downstairs, the dogs started barking at the noise.

  “Get up!” ordered Henry, yanking the duvet off of our bed. “We have to go.”

  “What the hell, Henry?” demanded Wes.

  With the sudden absence of our source of warmth, I shivered in my pajamas. Wes slipped out of the sweater that he had fallen asleep in and offered it to me. I pulled it over my head, grateful for his lingering body heat. “Henry, what’s happening?”

  “Natasha’s gone,” Henry announced. His hair stood straight up. He looked as though he’d shoved his fingers in an electrical socket. “So is Holden Hastings.”

  “What about the charter?” I asked, trying to swallow the anxiety rising in my throat.

  Henry gave me a look. “They took it with them.”

  In the morning, Lauren woke Olivia, who had been gently snoring in the twin bed across the small dormitory room. They got dressed for the Raptor meeting in comfortable silence, trading places at the shared vanity to wash up. When they were ready, they ventured across the dormitory lawn toward Olivia’s car, pausing only to take in the sight at the Waverly library.

  “Wow,” said Olivia. She tucked her hands into her coat pockets as she tilted her head up to look at the full extent of the damage.

  “Yup,” agreed Lauren.

  A barrier of blockades and caution tape prevented students from straying too close to the library. Once the stained glass dome had been blown to pieces, the building had folded in on itself. The bricks were charred and black, spilling outward to reveal the ravaged insides of the library. Scorched bookshelves lay like dominos, crushed by the ceiling’s wooden support beams. Broken glass sparkled in the sun, causing Olivia and Lauren to shield their eyes.

  “I wonder how long it will take to rebuild,” said Olivia.

  “I wonder if anything in the clubhouse survived.”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Since there was no longer a clubhouse to hold society meetings in, Flynn had arranged for the Raptors to meet at a location off campus. Olivia drove, following the directions on her phone’s GPS, but when they arrived at the given address, parking on the curb, Lauren stared out the passenger side window in disbelief.

  “Are you sure this is the right address?” she asked.

  Olivia double-checked her phone. “This is it.”

  It was a church. Saint Dismas Catholic. As Lauren stepped out of the car, she looked up at the statue looming in front of the white stone building. It depicted a young man’s crucifixion, but it wasn’t Christ. Olivia arrived at Lauren’s side.

  “Saint Dismas,” she said, eyeing the statue. “Your aunt has a lovely sense of irony.”

  “Who was he?”

  “The Penitent Thief,” answered Olivia. “He was crucified next to Christ. He’s the patron saint of prisoners, undertakers, and repentant thieves. Let’s not linger.”

  “How did you know all that?” whispered Lauren as they proceeded inside to the vestibule. The church was eerily quiet, and even though no mass was in session, Lauren felt that speaking at a higher volume might somehow disturb whatever divine work might be present.

  “I was raised Catholic,” said Olivia. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors into the main room, pausing to dip her index finger in a small bowl of holy water and make the sign of the cross before she entered.

  Lauren lingered on the threshold. “Should I—” she asked, gesturing toward the holy water.

  “Some say non-Catholics shouldn’t bless themselves with holy water,” said Olivia. She waved Lauren inside. “It’s meant as a reminder of your baptism.”

  Lauren crossed into the nave, foregoing the holy water. “It feels disrespectful,” she said, peering toward the altar. The sun filtered in through the stained glass windows, casting colorful shadows across the rows of pews. It reminded Lauren of studying in the library, especially in the the Rapere Wing, the room that held Waverly’s finest manuscripts and rare books. She had never been raised with regard to any religion, but it occurred to her that others might liken the acquisition of higher knowledge to a divine experience.

  “At least you’re aware of that.” Olivia led her around the edge of the nave toward a door at the back of the church. “I’m sure Flynn didn’t bat an eye at the thought. Come on. Flynn’s message said we were meeting in the basement.”

  Together, they left the main hall and carried on down a set of rickety stairs. As they reached the bottom, the low buzz of many voices met Lauren’s ears and the rest of the Raptors came into view. It was almost funny to see all of them, dressed in their designer shirts and blouses, setting up folding chairs, eating donuts and pouring coffee into styrofoam cups, and mingling like a youth group in the basement storage room. Lauren passed by Logan Wickes and Ashton Brooks, both of whom raised their cups in a mock toast to her. Catherine Flynn, of course, sipped out of a real thermos. When she caught sight of Olivia and Lauren, she cleared her throat.

  “Glad you could join us, girls,” she said with a poisonous smile.

  Lauren crossed her arms. “Is it not enough to condone murder in your own territory, Aunt Catherine? You had to pick the basement of a church to continue the tradition?”

  “Oh, Lauren.” Flynn chuckled, settling herself on an open folding chair and crossing one long leg over the other. “Don’t pretend to believe in God. This just happened to be convenient.”

  Lauren opened her mouth to protest, but Olivia caught her hand. “Leave it,” she murmured and guided Lauren to an empty chair.

  “So,” said Flynn, her voice echoing through the basement. “If it wasn’t already obvious, we’re here to discuss the bombing of the library. My fellow Raptors, I’m afraid to say that our historic headquarters are no more.”

  “Do we know who did it?” asked Brooks. “Was it that Costello bitch?”

  “No,” said Flynn. “I did it.”

  The Raptors erupted into a frenzied conversation, curious voices overlapping as they discussed this revelation. Lauren turned to Olivia with a questioning gaze, but Olivia only shrugged.

  “Why?” boomed Wickes over the chatter.

  “When I realized that our great society was at risk of being discovered, I installed extra security measures in the clubhouse,” explained Flynn. She languidly sipped her coffee as the rest of the society squirmed in their chairs, impatient for answers. “Last night, following the distraction of the library’s fire alarm, our headquarters were infiltrated. Previously, I decided that if it came down to it, it would be better to destroy all evidence of our existence rather than give our adversaries any more ammunition. I daresay it worked better than I expected.”

  “There were people inside,” Lauren reminded her.

  “If you had bothered to volunteer at the scene as I did, my dear, you would know that everyone escaped relatively unharmed,” said Flynn. “No one died. No one sustained life-threatening injuries.”

  “What about the clubhouse?” another Raptor asked from the back of the room. “Was it completely destroyed? Are we going to rebuild it?”

  “Our records did not survive the fire, but I expect our headquarters will be discovered rather easily whenever construction begins to repair the library,” Flynn said. “Of course, I’ve asked Dean Hastings to do his best to explain away the clubhouse, but I do believe it is prudent for us to find a new home elsewhere.”

  “Where?” challenged Lauren.

  “Wherever I see fit,” answer Flynn, leveling a sharp glare at her niece. “We are a society built on tradition, but even the most glorious of associations face tribulation. I know that the loss of our headquarters is devastating, especially to those of you who have come to think of it as a second home. Just remember that we are all brothers and sisters. Lean on the shoulders of your friends in these tough times. We will find ourselves a new place to call home.”

  “What about
the imposters?” asked Brooks. “Were they successful?”

  “The passageways caved in after the explosion,” answered Flynn. “Unfortunately, there was no way for them to escape.”

  “‘Unfortunately,’” Olivia muttered under her breath. “Yeah, right.”

  Lauren bit the inside of her lip, struggling to keep her expression neutral. If Flynn believed that Nicole and Company had perished beneath the library, all the better.

  “You may be asking yourselves what becomes of the Black Raptor Society now,” continued Flynn. She regarded the anxious faces in the room, pausing to linger on Lauren and Olivia. “For now, I think it’s best we temporarily suspend our current activities. All efforts should be redirected to how we move on from this setback. Who will volunteer to sit on a rebuilding committee?”

  A number of hands went up, but before Flynn could assign any duties, the patter of footsteps on the basement stairs caused the Raptors to fall silent. Lauren looked around. From what she could tell, everyone was present and accounted for. Except for one person.

  Holden Hastings stumbled into the basement, his hands zip tied behind his back. As he fell to his knees in the midst of the Raptors, he was overwhelmed by a coughing fit. His breath wheezed through his chest, but barely anyone noticed. A woman with dark hair, light eyes, and an air of tenacity had followed swiftly after Holden, lifting her chin as she met Flynn’s gaze across the room.

  “Catherine.”

  Lauren glanced at her aunt. For the first time in her entire life, Flynn seemed dumbstruck. She stared at the woman, her lips parted slightly in shock or incredulity. Then she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head, as if to clear whatever paralysis the woman’s presence had cast over her, and pasted a pernicious sneer on her face.

  “Natasha.”

  “Oh, shit,” muttered Olivia.

  “What?” hissed Lauren.

  “It’s Nicole’s mother,” Olivia whispered back.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What have you done with our dearest Mr. Hastings?” questioned Flynn.

  “He’ll live,” replied Natasha, ignoring another bout of coughs from Holden. “I’ve come here to offer you a trade.”

  Flynn’s smile widened. “You have nothing I want.”

  Natasha deposited a black backpack on the ground, unzipped it, and drew out the Black Raptor Society’s original charter. “I think you’ll find I do.”

  It was Lauren’s turn to feel shocked. Beside her, Olivia tensed, and Lauren knew that she was thinking the same thing. Henry, Wes, and Nicole had gone to great lengths to retrieve the charter; why would Nicole’s mother sacrifice it to Flynn?

  “Much to your chagrin, I imagine, my daughter managed to free your self-proclaimed bible here from the burning remains of the Raptors’ clubhouse,” said Natasha.

  Once again, Flynn looked as though she had been hit over the head with a brick, stunned into silence.

  “She’s ruining everything,” whispered Lauren to Olivia. “Flynn didn’t even know Nicole was still alive.”

  “Shh.”

  Flynn cleared her throat, finding her voice again. “What is it that you want, Natasha?”

  “I want to end this,” declared Natasha, dropping the charter. It came within an inch of Holden’s nose before landing with a thunk on the basement floor. “That’s what you’ve wanted all these years, wasn’t it? My silence? This is your chance, Catherine. Here I am. Enact your revenge on me. And in return, I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter or my husband or anyone else I know and love.”

  “And how am I to know that your precious daughter didn’t liberate additional files from the Raptors’ private library to condemn us with?” asked Flynn, arching an eyebrow.

  “I wouldn’t be here if they did,” declared Natasha. “Believe me, Catherine. I know you well enough. You would never rest if Nicole had something else on you.”

  “Yet that does not ensure our society’s safety from Miss Costello’s intrusive investigations,” countered Flynn. “She has gathered back up, has she not? And if I recall, your darling girl pried into our history long before she understood the true nature of our existence, thanks to that damned George O’Connor. What makes you think she’ll stop digging into our business simply because she no longer has hands on our charter?”

  “I can stop Nicole from further interfering with the Black Raptor Society,” replied Natasha. Her hands had balled into fists at her side, clenched so tightly that her knuckles protruded grotesquely from their standard positions.

  “How do you plan on doing that?”

  “You have deprived me of contact with my daughter for nearly thirty years. Now that we have been reunited, she is quite emotional. Malleable even. At present time, she does not understand the sacrifices one must make in order to keep those you love safe. I can teach that to her with your assistance.” Natasha kicked the charter toward Flynn’s folding chair. It skidded across the concrete floor. “I am your bargaining chip, Catherine. Threaten my safety, and Nicole will back off. Our vicious cycle continues, but from this point onward, you and I spin the wheel from the same side.”

  As Natasha’s proposal echoed through the basement, Lauren felt as though she had been slapped in the face. Everything she knew about Nicole’s mother, she had learned from hacking into digital copies of the diary that Natasha had kept while attending Waverly. The dark-haired woman standing before Catherine Flynn now did not reflect an ounce of the confidence or wherewithal of the young woman who had penned page after page on her own attempts to challenge the Raptors’ corruption. How had it come to this?

  Flynn studied Natasha unblinkingly. Then she snapped her fingers at Logan Wickes, who immediately sprang forward to snatch the charter up from the floor.

  “Lock the charter in my office,” ordered Flynn, her eyes never leaving Natasha as she tossed a set of keys at Wickes. “Brooks. Untie Holden and take him to the campus clinic. Everyone else, you’re dismissed.”

  Chairs scraped as the Raptors obeyed Flynn’s instructions, shuffling up the basement stairs without question. Lauren and Olivia idled near the bottom of the basement stairs, unwilling to leave Natasha alone with Flynn.

  “Out, Lauren,” ordered Flynn.

  Olivia took Lauren’s elbow, guiding her toward the main floor of the church. As Lauren reluctantly followed Olivia up the stairs, she glanced back at the two women. There was a rich satisfaction in Flynn’s dark eyes as she smiled coldly at Natasha. Lauren swallowed the bile that had risen at the back of her throat, wondering how the hell they were all going to get out of this one.

  34

  Henry paced back and forth at the rear of the living room, his cell phone glued to the palm of his hand as though it might detonate if he dared to set it down. Every few minutes, he would mumble something incoherent, aggressively dial another number, and return the phone to his ear. I watched from the kitchen counter. A deviant sense of calm had washed over me. After everything that we had been through, I had finally begun to shut down. My mind emptied of stress and anxiety, lulling me into a false sense of security as I followed Henry’s hypnotizing path. The sun had risen over the horizon, dusting the pasture with its golden fingers. It warmed the windows of the farmhouse, and I mindlessly shed Wes’s borrowed sweater. After what seemed like the longest winter I had witnessed in a while, the cold was beginning to ebb at last.

  Wes bit into an apple. The crunch of his teeth breaking the skin of the fruit made me shudder. He closed the refrigerator and rounded the kitchen counter to sit next to me. Part of me hated how close he was. I wanted to be alone. It was easier to pretend that the Black Raptor Society didn’t exist if there was no one else around. The other part of me was eternally grateful for Wes’s presence. He smelled of honey and cinnamon, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost fool myself into thinking that we were back in our own apartment.

  “Hey,” said Wes softly. His apple-free hand reached around to massage my neck. I tucked my chin into my chest to give him
better access. As he kneaded the tension out of my muscles, he asked, “How are you doing? We haven’t really talked lately. Just the two of us.”

  “Oh, I’m peachy.”

  “Nicole, come on. Be honest with me.”

  I scooched away from him, the need to be alone overpowering the comfort of his touch. “What do you want me to say, Wes? Honestly, I don’t know what to feel. We were this close—” I held my finger and thumb a centimeter apart to illustrate my frustration “—to finally getting rid of Catherine Flynn. I thought we were almost done with this crap. I got my hopes up. I guess I’ll try to avoid doing that in the future.”

  “This isn’t the end—”

  “But I want it to be!” I declared. As the volume of our conversation rose, Henry’s head perked up, distracted momentarily from his failed attempts at contacting Natasha. I took hold of Wes’s shirt, bunching the fabric up in my fists as I drew him closer to me. “Let’s just go,” I whispered. “Let’s just run. I don’t care anymore. Let the Raptors do whatever they want. Forget them.”

  Wes gently tugged his shirt out of my unyielding grasp. “You don’t mean that.”

  “No, I do,” I promised. “This is the second time Natasha has decided to abandon me. Why should I feel obligated to reverse that decision?”

  “We still don’t know if that’s what really happened,” said Wes. He reached out to continue massaging my neck, but I took another step away from him. He sighed. “Nicole, please. You don’t know what Natasha was thinking. Think about it. Hastings could have forced her hand. Any number of things could have happened between them while we were still at Waverly. Maybe he threatened her.”