Chương 97: Chapter 95

It was a new day, and Lily's opinionated rejection was still fresh on Cal's mind. He really thought she, of all people, would jump at the chance to get rid of Evergreen. That wasn't necessarily his goal, but it would serve as a decent cover for why he'd be looking into the deputy headmistress. Vexingly, she'd chosen the reasonable reply of, "Can you just take a break and let things settle down before sticking your fingers in any sockets?"

Really, it felt like a fifty‑fifty chance whether she'd be on board with his more creative proposals, and yesterday the coin toss just didn't go his way. Cal took her denial with grace, which was to say he pointed out the hypocrisy of that particular analogy. After all, that trick was how she shorted out part of the city. His retort was not given the respect it deserved, and he came to understand that they had different views of the Evergreen issue.

Lily did not like the woman, but it hadn't even been a week since their return, and she wasn't keen on starting a fight when the threat was, at best, murky. She hadn't completely blown him off, but she did consider breaking into the woman's office a slight overreaction. Which was a shame because Cal would have relied on her to be the distraction. Did he absolutely need her? No, but it would run smoother that way. Lily making a mess was Lily being Lily.

No one would read too hard into it, and she'd never be in any real danger. A part of him was on her side. That type of direct action was risky and potentially premature. The safer path would be to sign up for more 'community service' and ingratiate himself with Ethan, the supervisor from Evergreen's cadet house. It had seemed like a solid idea at the time, but he didn't know how long the process would take, and with how things were going, he kept sliding toward the more direct approach.

"Because that's never backfired on me before," he muttered condescendingly, slumped over his desk. His head was resting sideways on his bicep, and his other hand thumbed a text message.

"Seems I can't stop stirring shit." At least in this case, he meant actual piles of excrement. The text he sent was a confirmation with Romero to drop by the stables after classes were finished. Cal had to imagine there would be some mucking involved, and he'd be sure to symbolically stir a big pile of manure. That dealt with, he let the phone fall flat against the desk. His head shifted, still resting on his arm but now facing forward.

The classroom he currently waited in was organized in a grid, with desks lined up five across and six deep. He wasn't lucky enough to get a corner and instead was positioned off-center in the second-to-last row. About half of the desks were empty, with students choosing to congregate in groups of two to five. His eyes lingered on a trio before he realized he was staring, and he forced his gaze past them.

The teacher was seated at their slightly larger desk in the front, lazily reading a newspaper while taking sips of coffee. There was a board behind them with notes for another class, and Cal didn't bother reading it before checking the clock above it. Seven minutes and he'd be free, relatively. It felt like ages since he'd been to homeroom. He'd skipped it last week and was close to repeating that today. The class felt pointless.

On most days, it was a glorified roll call, with maybe one or two announcements that he could learn about elsewhere. He suspected he wasn't alone in that theory either. One student was taking what appeared to be a much‑needed nap. Another was furiously scribbling on a page, their head jerking back and forth as they referenced what Cal presumed was someone else's homework. They were the odd ones out, with the majority of the class engaged in what could charitably be described as social pursuits.

Cal would call it gossip. Astonishingly, although it might be arrogant for him to think of it that way, he was not the topic of discussion. Cal could be forgiven for assuming he would be. It seemed everywhere he went, eyes gravitated toward him, and furtive whispers were exchanged. That was not the case today. Technically. He needed to treat that word to an all-day spa for how badly he was straining it.

"I'm telling you it's true," one of the trio from before stressed. Her hair was put in a side ponytail, and she leaned over a desk with her hand pressed against it as she argued her case.

"My cousin's friend works in medical. He said The Tremor looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out. What else could do that?" The boy whose desk she was at looked unconvinced, lips pulled to the side as he shook his head.

"It's the Waste," he said, spitting the word like a curse.

"There are countless beasts out there who'd try. Only one has to get lucky. And don't even get me started about the rumors of a City Lord being here. There would have been a huge welcome ceremony if there was."

"If it was planned," the third chimed in with a baritone voice. He was burly for his age, with sleeves rolled up to expose his hairy forearms.

"And one of my family's servants has blood ties to Shirai. The kitchen staff practically abducted him to test recipes on. He couldn't get a name, but whoever is here, they have to be of importance." A smug grin found its way on the girl, and she pulled back, crossing her arms.

"See?" she asked leadingly.

"And that's not even considering the crown prince's absence. Something big went down. I bet they're waiting for Founder's Day to announce it. By the way, did you hear the Timberhooks boy asked the Penvise girl out? Talk about a disaster waiting to happen." Cal's attention on the group promptly waned. While they were the loudest, they were far from the only ones to listen in on. From the moment he stepped outside for the day, he noticed the shift on campus.

Any residual unease from his alter ego's activities in the warehouse district had been brushed aside, making way for the news of Ferguson's return. The details were in constant flux, but it was all people could talk about. In the line for breakfast, walking to classes, and now in homeroom, he could not escape its presence. The speed of its spread told him this was the headmaster's work, and if Cal didn't know how easy it was to get the rumor mill spinning, he might have been impressed.

While the storm of gossip raged around him, Cal remained remarkably unscathed, his name going without mention. It was like being in the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the inevitable to happen. It begged the question: if shit was going to hit the fan, wasn't it better to be the one throwing it? A familiar mop of blond hair came through the door, and Cal gave a half‑nod in acknowledgment toward the new arrival. Ryan's eyes fixated on him for a split second before returning the gesture.

The boy's pace increased a notch as he made his way past Cal and to his own desk. Cal didn't bother tracking him, waiting until he felt the boy's presence behind him.

"Something up?" Cal asked, sitting upright to better address his fellow student. Ryan hadn't wasted time, throwing his belongings on his desk before all but marching over to Cal's desk. It was easy to guess what his first question would be, but a preemptive answer felt a little too eager in the wrong way. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Yeah," Ryan said, drawing the word out. Upon seeing Cal's lack of response, he dragged a nearby chair over. He spun it around, sitting on it backwards with his arms folded over the top rail.

"Are you seriously trying to ignore that you've been gone an entire week?" He could see some heads quirk in his direction, and Cal brought a closed fist to his face, fighting off a yawn.

"I didn't know you cared," he replied flippantly, bringing his hand down to lazily scratch his stomach.

"It was a club trip. Didn't your fiancé tell you that?" Their story was flimsier than he would have liked, but it hadn't been designed with a demon in mind, and changing course now would create more problems.

"Was that when you cornered G in the library?" The nickname was unknown to Cal, but it didn't take long to connect it to Gregor. Jessica had led him to the boy last week when he was trying to get more information on the dealers. Had that upset Ryan? He could sort of see it from the boy's perspective. If he valued the well-being of his friend, then Ryan wouldn't want someone bringing up the subject of Gregor's addiction.

"That's an extreme way to describe it," Cal said, attempting to mitigate any building animosity.

"I'll lay off if you want, but is this really something you want to bring up here?" On the surface, one of them had a vested interest in keeping that under wraps, and it wasn't Cal. Ryan's expression briefly shifted to a frown before he gave a halfhearted chuckle.

"Hey, I don't blame you," Ryan said jovially.

"Gregor takes good notes. I would have stolen them too." There were no notes exchanged, but Cal grasped the boy's intent.

"You'd be a lot less blasé about it after sitting through one of Alice's lectures on propriety," Cal sniped petulantly, playing his part in their act.

"Even the slowest of learners would pick up it's something you don't want to experience twice." Cal shivered, his whole body shaking as if to expel a haunting memory. He caught a mixture of sounds containing dismissiveness and humor. He was going to pat himself on the back for a job well done when Ryan's eyes narrowed.

"I can believe it," Ryan replied, the smile on his face sagging before regaining its integrity.

"Since you brought her up, I noticed the strangest thing last week. Your sister was running around campus all crazy-like. Is everything alright with her?" Something ugly stirred within him, but Cal pushed it down. The implication that Ryan kept tabs on Alice also didn't sit well with him, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. The girl wasn't low profile, and it could well be a coincidence.

"Hells if I know," Cal said with a shrug, sweeping the desk with the back of his hand in frustration.

"Alice doesn't tell me everything. She still thinks I can be a bit careless." There were plenty of examples to reinforce that narrative of carelessness. All of them had been planted with the deliberate intent of a skilled infiltrator and not the result of a bumbling foreigner with too much power for his own good. Anyone who disagreed could fight him.

"Sure…" Ryan trailed off, scrutinizing the normal student.

"Have you talked to Anne yet? Jess told me she sent you something like a dozen texts." Cal's focus slid over to his phone. Despite his reservations, nothing disastrous had been waiting for him. He'd received a handful of messages from his small group of contacts, most asking where he was or if he was okay. It was oddly touching, if he ignored the ulterior motives at play. Oh, and then there was Marcus, all but demanding answers.

The texts were cordial, but Cal knew noblespeak well enough to know the dukedom's heir didn't appreciate the rest of his class bailing on him.

"Coverage doesn't extend very far," he said evasively, confirming they left the city but not where they visited.

"And by the time I got back, it felt kind of awkward to send responses." That last part didn't need faking. If the primitive phones had the function, he would have deleted his message history.

"I have to say," Ryan said, not sounding very reluctant to Cal's ears, "you have a funny sense of timing with that trip. You basically disappeared the day after the city was attacked." In hindsight, that wasn't his smartest move. However, what started it was the notion that he'd earned a vacation. What he'd actually earned was a broken compass and a gluttonous seed.

"Sorry, next time, I'll tell the club president to clear our schedule with the local terrorist," Cal stated dryly.

"We wouldn't want any overlap." Ryan took the critique with a strained smile, lips pressed thin. He glanced away for a moment, checking the peanut gallery before training his sight back on Cal. They'd lost some attention, but anyone who considered this a private conversation was a fool. As a born noble, Cal expected Ryan to know that. Up until now, he could attribute the line of questions to concern or curiosity. They were beginning to push past that boundary.

"Didn't they say he died?" Ryan asked sharply before continuing with that laugh of his.

"I didn't believe the official line either. I hope I'm wrong, but it's too convenient. And, not that I want him to strike again, but if he does, it'd better be during finals." In a perfect world, the Finger might have been the end of the whittling death. In this one, Cal had a pending meeting with the dead guy's buddies. Ryan's joke didn't land well, with several groups turning to regard them with a measure of distaste.

"Being skeptical of authority comes with being a bastard," Cal added shamelessly, causing several to look away.

"And if you're hoping for anything more solid, Lily hasn't told me anything." He wisely decided to not name-drop William, who would be the source of such information.

"Damn," Ryan said, snapping his fingers.

"Anne would have loved the inside scoop. Oh well, guess she'll have to settle for another story. Know any good ones?" What was that supposed to mean?

"I can think of one," he said with strong intent.

"But you might not like it." Ryan's face fell, recognizing the threat when he saw it. He wouldn't have had to be so aggressive if the boy could properly read social cues. There were giggles and gasps, those around wondering what he had on the other boy.

"Guess we'll never know," Ryan said teasingly, but Cal could tell it wasn't directed at him.

"I'll tell you, though, my brother recently told me one. I almost missed it. The letter had fallen to the bottom of my satchel." There was a beat, a level of meaning that was lost on Cal.

"Alright, I can see you're busy, but before I go, I have just one last question. It's not even for me." Ryan stood, and Cal got the feeling he'd want to punch the boy in a second.

"We noticed a certain highly ranked student who you've been known to associate with and is definitely not a member of your club, also went missing last week. Care to comment?" The bell couldn't come fast enough.