Cassius smirks and stares directly at Claudia. “Pro.”
The clock tower rings, signifying the end of class. Professor Olivier stops Claudia and Cassius from packing their things and says, “Both of you stay. We need to have a talk.”
They stand before their desk. Cassius glares at Claudia. She turns away, crossing her arms and squeezing her fist. The sting from the slap keeps her hand buzzing. She loves it. This is her favorite kind of pain—well-earned, attended with pleasure. She’d slap him again right now if Olivier wasn’t looming over them with pure fury in her eyes.
When the room clears, their professor closes the door and stands before them with her hands on her hips. “I know you two do not get along, but this must stop.”
“She was the one who slapped me,” Cassius says, his stance rigid and defensive.
“I know. But let’s not pretend you are innocent in this, Mr. MacLeod. I’ve seen you two fight in every single lecture, and Professor Lamour says it’s just as bad in his class.”
Bastard.
“Now that Malevimus has paired you two for debate, I am going to use this opportunity to force you both to work out whatever tensions keep you from behaving in class. It is imperative that you cooperate during the preparation process. If I detect any instance of sabotage or hindering each other’s progress, I will fail you both. Am I clear?”
Like children, they both nod solemnly with their heads hung low.
“Good.” Her stern stare lingers for a moment longer, and then she relaxes a bit. “You know, it’s quite interesting how evenwhen people argue passionately, they often have more in common than they realize. I actually think you two are more alike than you’re willing to admit. Rather than making each other worse, you could make each other better if you simply tried to be kind instead of cruel.”
Cassius mumbles something in a sarcastic tone, but Olivier quiets him with a quick raise of her brow.
“I’m serious, both of you. I don’t want to see this anymore, even after your debate ends. The fighting in my class is over. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Professor,” Cassius says.
Claudia nods. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” She waves them off. “Now go and get to work.”
“You have to beat Cassius,” Alistair says, stretching across Claudia’s bed on his stomach. Bishop, wary, inches up to him and sniffs his outstretched fingers. The snake is not great with new people, or men, and Alistair is both. He has to work extra hard to earn Bishop’s trust. Every day since Claudia introduced Alistair to her beloved pet, he’s visited her room with different offerings for Bishop—crickets, frogs, even a dead bird once. The snake has warmed up to Alistair enough that he’ll occasionally allow a head pat.
Today, Alistair has brought him a roach. He dangles it by a crooked leg and says, “Cassius has never lost before. It would be good for him.”
Claudia stands before her vanity table and nervously fidgets with her trinkets. Her eyes go wide when she realizes that Odette’s diary entries are poking out from beneath her spattering of accessories. She’s keeping them a secret so long as her hunt for the killer continues. Anyone could be the killer—though not Alistair, of course. He’s too good. But Cassius? Marcherie? Even Lamourraises suspicions from time to time. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s collecting diary entries that very well may lead her to unmasking a monster. She swiftly shoves the papers into a drawer and asks, “How many times has he been selected?”
“Three, including this one.”
“And he always wins?”
“Oh, he doesn’t just win. He annihilates. His last opponent—James Birdsong—hasn’t uttered a single word since their debate. His shame was so deep it inspired a vow of silence.”
Claudia groans. “So how am I supposed to beat him? I’m a semester behind everyone else, and I’ve never done a debate in my life.” She crosses the room and slumps onto her bed. Glaring up at the ceiling, she says, “Why would Malevimus put him against me? It’s cruel.”
“Malevimus likes him, I suppose.”
“Everyone likes him. Even you,” Claudia bites out. “I don’t get it. He’s insufferable.”
“He’s tough to crack, but gooey inside. And he’s famous.” Alistair’s voice sounds far away as he focuses on enticing the snake with the bug in his hand.
“What do you mean?”
He’s hardly paying attention to her. Bishop springs forward and snatches the roach into his jaws with a crunch. Alistair turns over his palm and offers Bishop a place to settle. For the first time, the snake slithers into his hand, then twists around his arm to hold on tight. Elated, Alistair says, “Claudia, look!” He brings Bishop close and gives him a gentle forehead kiss. “He loves me!”
She takes a long look at them—Bishop’s crooked grin, his wiggly tail, Alistair’s full lips resting on top of the snake’s chess-piece-shaped head; it’s so damn cute, and sonothelpful right now.
“There’s my little Bishy,” Alistair says in a baby voice. He holds the snake to his ear and pretends to be listening closely. Feigning concern, he makes eye contact with Claudia. “What’sthat, boy? You want your mother to get you a proper enclosure so you can stop living on the floor like a wild animal?”
“I’m working on it.” Claudia rubs her temples. “Now, focus. What did you mean about Cassius being famous?”
