“I’m not the only one who’s sneaking.” Dr. Morgan gave me a half-smile that I might’ve once imagined was friendly. “Why were the two of you outside?”
“We walked down to the ocean. I wanted to see the sunrise.” I held Trey’s arm. “It was romantic.”
“I see. What have you got in that satchel, Trey?”
“Food and a bottle of Champagne,” Trey said. “For the romance.”
No way will she believe this tripe.
She didn’t. Dr. Morgan lowered the lantern and gave me that ‘I’m smarter than you’ smile of hers. But she wasn’t of a mind to punish us – perhaps Ms. West had said that I had certain privileges. She indicated we follow her into the darkened hallway. “Come to my office. I want to talk to you both.”
“We can talk right here.” I yawned. “But we’re pretty tired. What with the romance and all that.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t risk it. You don’t know who might be listening.”
“That’s right. We don’t. And that’s why we’re not going anywhere.”
She grabbed my arm, pulling me so close that her breath hissed against my ear. “Fine. But you must listen, because I can’t risk repeating this. The teachers know you’re having your little party on Friday night. They’re planning a little shindig of their own, in the faculty lounge, to celebrate the successful capture of Gloria Haynes.”
“So?”
“So…” Dr. Morgan pressed something into the palm of my hand. “If you can get your friend on the maintenance staff to slip that into the staff coffee machine before last period, you’ll find them indisposed for at least three hours. Hermia replaced the lock with one that’s not supposed to melt, and the key hangs from a loop on her belt. Dr. Atwood has another in his pocket. You’ll need both of them to unlock the weight room.”
My mind whirred. The whole faculty would be out like a light for three hours. Provided Zehra was in any shape to move, we could get her quite far away by then.
Trey squeezed my hand. We exchanged a glance.Can we trust her? The vial feels real enough, but I don’t understand why Dr. Morgan would want to help free Zehra.
I slipped the vial into my pocket. “Why are you helping me?”
“You’re not the only one who thinks Hermia’s let the god get into her head.” Dr. Morgan ran a finger through her auburn curls. For the first time, I noticed how pretty she was. She had to have been only in her late twenties when she agreed to become one of our jailers. Now she wore her youthful face like a mask. Only her eyes gave away her true age – glinting with the horrors she’d witnessed and been forced to partake in. “At first, I thought it was so exciting, being part of witnessing the birth and evolution of a new race. But after twenty years in this cursed place, I’m done. You students weren’t the only ones who left a life behind. I don’t have a family, either – most of the faculty members are either orphans or estranged. I fought with my parents over my college major – my dad wanted me to become a surgeon, like him, but I wanted to teach history. He disowned me and we hadn’t spoken in five years when Ms. West sought me out. What she offered was so amazing… the chance to be part of something bigger than myself, of complete freedom to create a curriculum that would do so much more than help students pass tests – to teach the possibility of actuallylearningfrom history, to make sure this new race didn’t repeat humanity’s mistakes. But it was all a lie. Ms. West didn’t want the students tothink– she wanted to cultivate their cruelty and avarice. I’d traded one overlord for another, only at least my parents came from a place of love. They just wanted what was best for me. I hated my dad so much for trying to control me and now I want nothing more than to fall into his arms. I don’t even know if they’re still alive…” her words broke into a shuddering gasp.
Heat flared in my palms at the sound of her sob. I’d thought little about the faculty since I’d discovered the truth about Miskatonic Prep. They were the ones who tossed students to the god. They plotted to hurt me and the people I loved most. For the first time, Dr. Morgan gave me a glimpse into what might have brought them here to become pawns in Ms. West’s game.
Freedom. Power. Revenge – all desires I could relate to.
Dr. Morgan sucked in a breath and rallied herself. “I’ve seen Hermia try to extract information from Zehra Demir. She tried to sacrifice Zehra, but the god wouldn’t take her. Hermia’s now convinced Zehra is here as an agent of Vincent – since her brother is his favorite. Your friend is strong, but she won’t last much longer. Use that vial. Get Zehra out of the school, before she becomes the next casualty of Hermia’s megalomania.”
“And then what happens?”
“You tell me, Hazel Waite.” Dr. Morgan’s lips curled back into something that resembled a smile. “There are teachers on your side, even if they remain in hiding for now. You’re the one who’s really in control of Miskatonic Prep, and everyone except Hermia knows it.”
Chapter Nineteen
I knocked on Ayaz’s door. In the corridor, students skirted around me, pressing their backs against the walls and refusing to lift their eyes from me until they were out of firing range.
Classes had finished for the day, although I hadn’t attended any of them. As soon as we got back, Trey and I fell into bed and slept the whole day. I must have needed the rest because not even the god could penetrate my dreams. I woke just as the final bell ring with the overwhelming urge to speak to Ayaz.
It might have had something to do with my mother’s box sitting on the shelf in Trey’s room, calling me, taunting me.
But it was mostly the fact that I’d made a promise to Ayaz. The Deadmistress had Zehra because of me, and seeing his face pinch every time someone mentioned his sister twisted that knife of guilt deeper into my gut.
Thanks to Dr. Morgan I might have the chance to reunite them.
IfI could trust her. I turned the vial over in my hand as I waited for Ayaz to answer. Was this really some kind of sedative? Or did Dr. Morgan have some other plot in mind?
“It’s open,” a delicious voice called from inside.
I pushed the door open, revealing the Scandinavian furniture and calming colors of Ayaz’s dorm room. At first, I didn’t see him – he wasn’t lying on the bed reading or curled up on the white sofa playing video games. A moment later, Ayaz emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, his bare chest on full display – all hard planes and perfectly-healed chiseled muscle and beautiful ink. Droplets of water glistened over his shoulders, and the scent of musky aftershave curled off him.
