“What did you do?” Wes asked Orson as the paramedic sat me down on the pavement to examine the bullet graze. Now that the initial shock of the injury had passed and the blood had begun to clot, all that remained of the pain was a dull, hot ache.
Orson shrugged, refusing to let Lauren go. “I gave up in a sense. I surrendered all of the Raptors’ information to the FBI. When my sister left me for dead in that parking garage, I knew there was no way I could allow her to continue on with the Raptors. She had twisted our once great society into something gruesome and foul. I decided it was better to forsake our association entirely rather than allow it to become a parody of itself.”
“But how did you get the Feds to arrest Flynn and not you?” asked Olivia. She lowered her voice. “Most of the society’s work was covered up by your own corporation. What about the BRS business that you were responsible for?”
Orson clapped a hand to his heart as if offended by Olivia’s statement. “My dear girl, I can assure you that I am a reformed man. If you recall, Catherine framed me for many of her own despicable deeds. I simply allowed the FBI full access to all of my files. It was only a matter of time before they followed the breadcrumbs to my sister’s various IP addresses.”
“So what’s next?” asked Wes. He knelt down to my level, keeping an eye on the paramedic as she wrapped gauze around my shoulder. “Where do we go from here?”
“Home,” said Orson, shielding his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. He tightened his grip around Lauren. “We go home.”
36
On the morning of our wedding, Wes and I got ready in the same room of our refurbished apartment. I tied his bowtie, straightened his collar, and helped him with his cuff links. In return, he fastened each and every button that ran the length of my cream-colored dress.
“Would it have killed you to pick one with a zipper?” he griped.
“You’re nearly done,” I said, ducking my chin so that he had better access to the buttons at the back of my neck.
“And… three hundred,” he joked, finishing the last button.
As I carefully swept my hair—curled, pinned, and sprayed into place courtesy of Lauren—over my shoulder, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
Lauren pushed open the door. She wore a navy blue, floor-length gown that I had let her pick out herself. It was going to be a small wedding, and I figured that Olivia and Lauren, as my only bridesmaids, had earned that right.
“Ugh.” She groaned at the sight of me and Wes together. “The two of you realize that this practically screams bad luck, right?”
“Lauren, I think we’ve had enough bad luck to last several lifetimes,” said Wes. He chucked a jordan almond at her, which she dodged successfully, before popping another one into his mouth.
“Where did you get that?” I demanded.
Wes hid the candy behind his back. “Nowhere.”
“Did you steal that from the wedding favors that I spent hours putting together last night?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently. “Lauren, help me out here. I can’t get this boutonniere on for the life of me.”
As Lauren pinned a cluster of cherry blossoms to Wes’s lapel, she asked, “Are you guys ready? Everyone’s seated and waiting. We’re a little behind schedule.”
I gave her a thumbs-up. “All set.”
“Me too,” said Wes.
She dusted a piece of lint from the shoulder of Wes’s black tuxedo. “Follow me, lovebirds.”
It was a gorgeous summer day in late May. The Waverly campus was painted in bright colors. Everything was in full bloom, from the green grass of the lawns to the pink cherry blossoms that lined our route to our improvised wedding venue. We had wanted something simple and inexpensive, so Lauren had pulled some strings, and I let out audible gasp when everything came into full view.
On the wide lawn between the dormitories and the classroom building, a small seating area had been erected with enough room for Wes’s extensive family, Natasha and Henry, and the rest of our friends. Our wedding officiator waited beneath a white trellis decorated with fairy lights and baby’s breath. A string quartet sat to the right of the trellis, playing a gentle melody. When the musicians spotted us, the song reached a coda before morphing into a light wedding march.
Olivia, in her own navy dress, met us at the head of the aisle. “Ready?” she asked, handing me a bouquet of cherry blossoms and pale pink roses.
I took Wes’s elbow. We had bucked tradition in a couple of different ways, ultimately deciding to walk down the aisle together.
“Ready,” I said.
The music swelled, and the modest crowd turned to face us. Lauren walked first, accompanied by one of Wes’s friends from the police force. Olivia followed, accompanied by Henry, who looked surprisingly sharp in his suit. At last, Wes and I proceeded to the other end of the aisle, the warm breeze playing with my wavy hair.
As we turned in to face each other, I took a moment to appreciate the grace of the day. The sky was blue, the scent of the flowers was sweet, and Wes’s lopsided grin had never made me so happy. Everyone that mattered was there. My mother sat in the front row. Next to her, Eileen O’Connor—my history teacher’s wife—smiled widely at me and Wes. A few rows back, I spotted Orson Lockwood. He caught my eye, winked, then returned his gaze to where his daughter stood behind me.
I reached back to squeeze first Olivia’s hand then Lauren’s. A light woof reached my ears, and the audience laughed as I turned to pat Franklin’s head. Ever since Lauren had picked him up from his temporary home, he’d taken quite a liking to her. He sat obediently at her feet, sporting a black bowtie in lieu of his usual collar.
The ceremony went smoothly. Wes and I had gone with a traditional set of vows to avoid writing our own corny ones. We kept it short and sweet, goofing off a little as we traded rings, and soon enough, the officiator began to wrap up his spiel.
“Nicole and Wes,” he said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. “You have vowed, in our presence, to be loyal and loving toward one another. You have formalized your bond with the giving and receiving of rings. Therefore, it is now my pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife.”
“Finally,” said Wes, and as the crowd broke out in applause, he picked me up, spun me around, and kissed me.
The reception was held in one of Waverly’s smaller ballrooms. Again, Lauren had outdone herself with the planning. A long buffet table and an open bar decorated one side of the room, while a jazz band played swing music on stage. Wes and I took turns dancing with everyone. I waltzed with Wes, quick-stepped with Lauren, and even made a poor attempt at a tango with Henry. We laughed throughout the band’s rendition of “Sway” before giving up and heading to the bar for another glass of wine. There, Lauren was deep in discussion with her father, who nursed a glass of whiskey neat.
“Ah, my dear Nicole,” said Orson as Henry and I approached. “How do you feel now that you’re a married woman? Repressed?”
“Dad!” said Lauren, smacking Orson across the front of his suit.
“Be careful, Orson,” I teased. I accepted a glass of red wine from the bartender. “I can always uninvite you.”
“I paid for the open bar, remember?”
“Then I suppose I can forgive your impropriety for the sake of my boozy guests,” I replied, tipping my glass to him in a mock toast.
He grinned and took a sip of his drink. “I find I must offer you my congratulations. I heard you were accepted into several rather prestigious PhD programs, including one here at Waverly. Have you decided whether or not to continue gracing our fine institution with your presence?”
“I think I’ll leave you hanging for a little longer.”
“But of course. I did quite enjoy your thesis though. It was… illuminating.”
“What did you like most about it?” I asked. “The fact that I managed to leave your name out of its majority?”
&nb
sp; “I must admit,” said Orson. “When you proposed an in-depth analysis of the Black Raptor Society’s history and influence, I wasn’t so sure about it, but you won me over. Is it true you’d like to publish it?”
“If I can. Even from an objective point of view, I think quite a few people would be interested in the Raptors.”
Orson nodded his agreement. “Let me know. I have contacts in publishing.”
From the dance floor, Wes steered my mother out of some sort of strange mambo and into Henry’s arms. “Whew!” he said, wiping his forehead. At some point, he’d abandoned the jacket of his tux. “I’m winded. Natasha, who knew you were such a lovely dancer?”
My mother raised a sardonic eyebrow as Henry ordered white wine for her from the bartender. “You flatter me, Weston.”
“He flatters everyone,” interjected Lauren with a roll of her eyes, but before she could offer another nugget of sarcasm, Olivia sashayed by. She grabbed Lauren with one hand and a flute of champagne with the other, spinning Lauren like a top as they laughed their way back out to the dance floor.
Orson bowed to Henry and offered his hand. “A dance, sir?”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Henry gruffly. “But I wouldn’t say no to one of those fancy cigars you’re sure to have somewhere on your person.”
“Happy to oblige.” With a flourish, Orson extracted two cigars from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“Um, excuse me, but I think you’re forgetting about the groom,” said Wes, plucking one of the cigars from Orson’s hand.
“Not to worry,” said Orson as he handed the second cigar to Henry. “Shall we?”
Natasha leaned toward me as Henry, Orson, and Wes disappeared through a side door of the ballroom. “Should I be worried?”
As the band struck up the first few bars of “Come Fly With Me,” I laughed and said, “Henry needs some friends, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose,” she said with a shrug. She smiled at me. “You look happy.”
“I am happy.” I hugged Natasha close. “Come on, Mom. Dance with me. I love this song.”
Ten Years Later
“Professor Costello?”
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering if you’ve had the time to review my essay yet.”
I glanced up from my podium at the front of the lecture hall in Waverly’s Arts and Humanities building. As usual, the students had filed out as quickly as possible as soon as I’d dismissed them, and as usual, one particular student—a stout brunette with inquisitive eyes—stayed behind to speak with me.
“I told you after Monday’s class, Phoebe,” I reminded her. “I won’t have a chance to grade the midterm papers for another week or so.”
She lowered her gaze, looking put out.
“I’m sure yours is excellent,” I said. “You’ve yet to disappoint me.”
“All right. I’ll see you next class.”
“Have a good weekend.”
As Phoebe let herself out, Lauren let out a low groan from where she sat in the corner of the classroom, her feet propped up on the desk in front of her. “Sheesh,” she said. “I was never that needy as an undergrad. By the way, why are all the students in love with you? You assign too many readings. I would hate you if I were your student. In fact, I do hate you. After all, it’s me who ends up grading all of their damn papers.”
I collected my notes from that day’s lectures, walked over to Lauren, and kicked her feet off of the desk. “You know, as a graduate teaching assistant and a PhD student, you should really work on your lack of professionalism,” I told her. “No one’s going to hire you with that attitude.”
She rolled her eyes as we made our way out of the lecture hall. “Have you forgotten what my last name is? I’m a shoo-in for a job here.”
“Yes, but you need faculty recommendations,” I countered, nudging her playfully with my briefcase. “And you certainly won’t get mine.”
“Fine, I’ll just ask Olivia to get me in with the FBI.”
I chuckled. “How is Olivia?”
“No idea,” said Lauren. Together, we made our way up the staircase toward the upper levels of the building, heading for my office. “She’s working on something top-secret for Henry, so I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks.”
“She’ll call. Have you made any progress on your dissertation?”
Lauren waved her hand dismissively. “It’s finished. I have something else in the works. I want to create an honor society before I graduate.”
I raised an eyebrow. “An honor society.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Not like the Raptors. I want to make something legitimate to promote women in research fields. We could offer scholarships and internships. It would be everything the Black Raptor Society was meant to be, only legal. What do you think?”
“I think you should do it.”
“Really?”
“Lauren, if anyone creates something like that for Waverly, it should be you.”
We reached the third floor of the building, where the lush maroon carpet, freshly installed from a recent renovation, blanketed the sound of our heavy footfalls. As we approached my office, where Lauren spent the majority of her time as well, a familiar weight settled across my shoulders. Over the last few years, I had mostly gotten used to it, but there were some days I still couldn’t believe that the name plaque on my office door once said George O’Connor. I unlocked the office, gestured Lauren inside, then fought my usual battle with the sticky key. When I finally won and headed inside, I found Lauren staring at my desk, her lips parted slightly in surprise.
“What?” I asked.
She pointed. I looked. My heart stopped. A small black statue of a raven sat at the corner of my desk, its beak pointing toward the door as if watching for intruders.
“The door was locked,” I breathed, walking over to the desk. I reached for the bird.
“Don’t!” ordered Lauren.
But I picked up the statue anyway and flipped it over. The puzzle to open it had already been solved, its familiar phrase staring back at me.
“Nothing further beyond,” I muttered and flipped open the secret compartment.
Nestled in the velvet bedding was a weathered photograph. It was of my mother and father. They were young, in their senior year at Waverly probably. My father had his arm across Natasha’s shoulders, and she wore an oversized Waverly University sweatshirt that I suspected belonged to Anthony. They were all smiles. It was hard to believe that the pair hadn’t ended up together in the end.
“There’s something on the back,” said Lauren.
I flipped the photograph over. Sure enough, in an elegant scrawl that I didn’t recognize, someone had written:
My dearest Nicole. Continue to thrive. Nec plus ultra.
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The Professor Page 40
