Otherworldly Bad Boys: Three Complete Novels (41 page)

“You’re up early, Carter,” said a voice behind me.

I turned. “Oh, good morning, Marcus.” It was Marcus Bancroft. He was the head of the department. We were also both members of Scales and Fangs, the secret society on campus. We’d been members as students, but Scales and Fangs membership was a lifetime deal. The benefits continued until death, as did the responsibilities. “Just had some stuff to get together today, that’s all.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain scholarship student that’s showing up today, would it?”

I went back to the coffee, so that he didn’t see my expression tighten. Was Marcus jealous or something? Even he must see that he was too old to perform the ritual himself. I’d worked hard to prove myself worthy of this honor. Well, I’d lied, cheated, and stepped on people. Same difference. I earned it. “Oh, does she arrive today?”

He laughed. “As if you aren’t aware.”

I slammed the coffee maker shut. “I haven’t seen her since the auditions. She did a very good job. Quite talented, actually. I didn’t have to work that hard to make sure the others on the committee agreed to give her the scholarship.”

Marcus settled at the round table in the center of the room. “How long do you think the coffee will take?”

I crossed to the sink, filling the pot with water. He was planning on staying then. Wonderful. “Not long.”

“You haven’t made it too weak, I hope.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You know me better than that.”

He rummaged through his briefcase, coming out with his laptop. Opening it, he said, “Well, you’re playing it cool, Carter, but I can tell you’re excited.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m an instrument of the society, sir. I do as they will me to.”

He snorted. “Stop it, Carter. Humility doesn’t suit you. Anyone in your position would be looking forward to what will happen a few months from now.”

Well, he was right about that, at least.

“How often are you handed an excuse to have sex with a young, nubile—”

“The power’s what I’m excited about.” Certainly, I was going to have sex with her. The ritual demanded it. But the ritual wasn’t about sex. It was about the acquisition of power.

“This one ugly, then?”

I poured water into the coffee maker. “No.” She was stunningly gorgeous, if he really wanted to know. She had very light skin and very dark features, and she resembled a porcelain doll, pretty and delicate. And then there was her body, her genuine hourglass figure, like something out of the Civil War, with an impossibly tiny waist and swelling hips and breasts and... I turned the coffee maker on. “Personally, I’ve really never been attracted to younger women.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about you and Adelaide.” He raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t think she’d be very excited at the prospect of your ogling this girl for weeks. The girl’s in your freshman acting class, isn’t she?”

“Adelaide and I haven’t been seeing each other for months,” I said. I thought he would have noticed, but either Adelaide and I had been more discreet than I’d thought, or Marcus didn’t pay much attention to my love life.

Adelaide was the dean of students. She was an attractive woman in her early fifties, and we’d been occasional lovers last year, my first year teaching at Thornfield College. I’d always been more attracted to older women, even when I was younger.

That didn’t mean I only had sex with middle-aged women. Certainly, when I’d been in college myself, I’d had a few encounters with my peers. But girls in their early twenties had no idea what they were doing. They seemed to think that because their bodies were so firm and supple, all they needed to do was show up. And they were clingy and insecure.

No, I’d much rather be with a woman who knew what she was doing. I preferred mature women, like Adelaide.

Hell. Maybe I kind of liked the fact that they seemed a little bit... well, grateful. I was twenty-six and a fairly attractive guy if I didn’t say so myself. I liked being appreciated.

Adelaide had broken it off with me. I didn’t really remember what excuse she’d given. Considering our relationship had been primarily physical, I wasn’t too upset about it.

“Months ago?” Marcus showed me a leering grin. “Then there’s nothing standing between you and that girl.”

I sighed. “She’ll be in my class. She’ll be my
student
. Besides, I don’t have any interest in her besides as a means to an end. You seem intrigued. Why don’t you fuck her?”

He went red suddenly, opening his laptop in a hurry. “Of course not. I’m a happily married man.”

Of
course
. I was beginning to think that I should go on a quick walk until the coffee was done. I didn’t feel like talking to Marcus anymore. There had to be some excuse I could make up to get away from him. Something in my office, maybe?

“I will say that the society chose wisely in you,” said Marcus, his voice quieter. “I was here the last time, you know? I was a junior professor, like you. I think Todd had a much more prurient interest in completing the ritual than you seem to.”

Todd Armstrong. He was the last member of the society to complete the ritual. He’d died in the spring, and because of his death, the energy he’d funneled into Scales and Fangs was fading. That was why there was a need for another ritual. Another girl. “Well, I assure you, I won’t let the guilt eat into me the way he did.”

Armstrong had shot himself. His suicide note detailed how guilty he felt over what he’d done to that girl twenty-one years ago.

I found it astounding. Armstrong had money, houses, cars, and
power
. And it hadn’t been enough for him. I wasn’t going to go soft the way he had. I’d give the society its due. And then I’d enjoy the fruits of the ritual. Teagan Moss? I wouldn’t give her another thought.

Marcus wasn’t looking at his laptop, I realized. He was looking at me, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t believe you will be guilty, Carter. The society chose you precisely because of your lack of scruples.”

* * *

Teagan

“You’re flushed,” said Aunt Libby. “You had the dream again, didn’t you?”

I pushed past her to the refrigerator. “Don’t be silly, Aunt Libby. I’m fine.”

Aunt Libby raised her voice. “Kate, Sarah, get in here. She’s had the dream again.”

I got out some jam and butter and set them on the counter. I wished I’d never told my aunts about that dream. But I was thirteen when I got it, and I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

I’d had a very sheltered childhood. My aunts insisted on homeschooling me until high school, and they only gave in then because I begged and pleaded. Public school was a culture shock for me, but a welcome one. I finally had been able to hear other viewpoints besides my aunts’. And I’d had the chance to join the theater department. Acting had saved me. It was my passion and my joy. I’d known from the first time I stepped on stage that it was the place I belonged. It had been like coming home.

I’d been considered weird in high school, and I hadn’t had many friends. Afterwards, I was still solitary. I left the house to go to work and for the community theater productions that I did. Acting was still the only thing I wanted to do.

That was why this scholarship to Thornfield was so wonderful. I finally had a shot at doing what I loved, and I got to get away from my aunts in the meantime.

But when I’d first had the dream, I’d only been thirteen. I didn’t even know what sex was. I didn’t know what the dark man was doing to me, I only knew that I liked it. And back then, I told my aunts everything, because they were all I knew.

But the minute they heard the dream, they freaked out.

It wasn’t a dream, according to my aunts. It was a vision of the threat of the Evil Ones. And the only way to make sure that these threats never came to pass was to keep me close.

After high school, I would have moved out if I’d ever been able to save up enough cash to do it. But the little money I made always ended up getting eaten up in various ways. Helping my aunts with grocery money, paying for my mother’s medication, taking care of the electric bill. I had begun to think that I’d never get away from them.

And then... the scholarship.

I pulled out two pieces of bread and put them in the toaster.

Aunt Kate and Aunt Sarah rushed into the room.

My aunts all resembled me. We were all dark, round women. When I looked at them, I saw exactly what was going to happen to my ass in twenty years. I wasn’t looking forward to it. One of the few things I had going for me was the fact I was relatively attractive.

Thinking about the size of my ass, I put the butter back in the refrigerator. Two pieces of toast with jam was about... three hundred calories? The butter would pack another hundred on there, and I’d barely taste it. I could let it go.

I turned from the refrigerator, and I was swarmed by my aunts. Kate and Libby grabbed my wrists, and they tugged me out to the kitchen table, where they forced me to sit down.

“I’m running behind as it is,” I said. “Can’t we skip the purification thing?”

“Teagan Angela Moss,” said Aunt Kate, “you have no idea how much danger you are in. Every second of every day, the Evil Ones seek you out.”

“They want your light,” said Aunt Libby.

“That’s precisely the reason you shouldn’t be going to this college,” said Aunt Sarah.

My shoulders slumped. I wasn’t going to get into the argument about going to Thornfield again. I’d won a full scholarship from that monologue contest. It paid for everything—my books, my lodging, the whole nine yards. If my aunts thought I was going to give that up, they were crazy. This was my ticket out. I was twenty-one years old, and I was finally going to get to go to college. They weren’t stopping me, especially not with their crazy talk of the Evil Ones. But if I had to pick between getting the purification chant or arguing about Thornfield, I’d pick the chant. It was quicker.

Aunt Libby bent over me and made a cross on my forehead with scented lavender oil.

Kate and Sarah lit smudges of sage, and they began to swirl the smoke around my body.

I shut my eyes. I wished they’d hurry up already.

“Teagan Moss, answer yes if you are a servant of the sky,” Sarah’s voice rang out.

I sighed.

“Teagan,” prompted Kate.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I serve the goddess of the sky and clouds, of the storm and rain.”

The smoke enveloped us in a sweet-smelling haze. My aunts’ voices joined together, swirling around me as well. “Mother Innarra, Serpent of the Sky, we offer your servant Teagan into your protection. Coil her in your body, keep her safe from the schemes of the Evil Ones. Purify her thoughts, take from her temptation, wipe from her mind the sensation of evil.”

My aunts drew back.

My toast popped up from the toaster. “Thanks,” I said. “I feel very pure. Very protected.”

“This is not a joke,” said Aunt Kate. “You haven’t experienced the Evil Ones firsthand—”

“And thank the goddess for that,” said Libby.

“But they are very real, and they seek to harm you,” said Kate.

I went to get my toast out of the toaster. “I’ll be careful.”

“You mustn’t allow them to steal your light,” said Sarah. “Guard yourself, Teagan.”

I smeared jelly onto my toast. “I’ll smudge myself with sage daily.”

Aunt Kate covered her mouth with one hand. “We really don’t think it’s a good idea to leave this house. This building protects us, you know.”

“And you know what happened to your mother when she went to that college,” said Libby.

I swallowed a bite of toast. “Mom’s sick. She’s mentally ill. She got worse away from home, but the Evil Ones did
not
muddle her brain.” I glared at them. “I wish you guys could join the rest of us in the real world.”

They folded their arms over their chests.

* * *

My mother stayed in one wing of the house. She wouldn’t leave because she wasn’t convinced anywhere else was safe. We couldn’t even get her out to visit a therapist or anything. In all honesty, she’d probably get better care in a facility somewhere, but we couldn’t afford that. And my aunts were convinced that our house offered a protective bubble against the Evil Ones, whoever they were.

It was very unfortunate that my mother seemed to have taken my aunts’ weird New Age religion and incorporated it into her delusions.

Right then, I was standing in the doorway to my mother’s bedroom. She hadn’t seen me yet. She was crouching on the floor wearing the white nightgown she refused to take off. We kept her hair short because it was easier to take care of it, so she resembled a little boy. She was clutching a crayon, and she was writing something on the floor.

The entire room was covered in her scratching. She liked to draw pictures of snakes and write, “Don’t scream, Angela” all over everything. Angela was her name. My aunts used to try to keep writing implements away from her, and they used to paint over the walls, making everything fresh.

But Mom always found pens or markers or pencils. Eventually, they gave up and let her have the crayons.