Sutton leans forward, his eyes on the television, and grabs my wrist, yanking me down onto the couch. I fall into his side, and he immediately covers me with a blanket, holding me against him.
“This is now a hostage situation,” he says, offering me a handful of popcorn.
I open my mouth, and he feeds me a few pieces. The earlier sensation is absent, so I write it off as nerves. “Fair warning, I’m a really bad crisis negotiator.”
He laughs, his eyes softening. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of letting you go.”
41
SUTTON
“Professor Dupont,”Iris Creighton whines, holding her paintbrush between two fingers. “How come you didn’t go to last night’s meeting?”
It takes a moment for my brain to compute which meeting she’s asking about—not the Death’s Teeth gatherings I’ve been skipping but Visio Aternae, of which she’s the secretary.
The former I’m avoiding under the guise of getting to know my Maiden, which they believe Sabrina to be. As long as I can keep them out of my business, I’m hoping I can protect Elle—at least through the end of the semester.
After that, once the Maiden ceremony has happened and a student has been sacrificed, there won’t be an opportunity for them to protest when I announce my real pick.
Visio Aternae I’m not avoiding at all—they just tend to fall by the wayside as the end of the semester nears. They’re pretty self-sufficient anyway, and most of them volunteer to help with the final play where they can check in with me as Iris is now.
“We picked a charity to sponsor this year,” Iris continues, leaning in to add some fine, thin lines to the backdrop she’sworking on. “The Entertainment Community Fund. That’s one you like a lot, right?”
I nod. “They do good work.”
“See, I told Sabrina that when she suggested we do something with a wider appeal. Can you believe she thought a nonprofit focused on affordable housing would make a bigger impact?”
“Uh…” I cock an eyebrow. “What do you think the Entertainment Community Fund does?”
She blinks her big blue eyes at me. “Provides funding for theatrical productions, obviously.”
At my side, Quincy lets out a low whistle. “Maybe you should think about vetting your organization’s members next year.”
I shift, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Can’t. We’re the sole non-invite-only group, and Avernia needs accessibility to decency now more than ever.”
She says nothing, and I refocus on the task at hand—or try to at least.
Recruiting Visio Aternae members to repaint the sets from last semester’s production was an easy enough task since they’re so into reducing, reusing, and recycling.
But considering what happened last time we were here, I gave the cast the week off, with the explicit instructions to be off script at our next rehearsal.
“What?” I bark over my shoulder, glaring as Quincy crosses her arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.
Turning around, I frown. “Making sure these sets get painted correctly?”
Her eyes darken behind the lenses of her glasses. She takes a step toward me, bringing her nose toward my collarbone.
I shift back, holding my hands up as discomfort ripples through me. My fingers are numb today, the added stress of theplay not good for the Raynaud’s or my migraines. “Whoa, hey, I’m not into you like that.”
“Oh, please.” She scoffs, straightening back up. “You smell like Noelle.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know a Noelle…”
She clenches her jaw. “Don’t play stupid, Dupont. You have a lot of nerve risking her reputation and status here.”
“As an Anderson, wasn’t that already a given?”
