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The Spirit of Ecstasy. The figurine is delicate, almost apologetic, unlike the rest of the classic Rolls-Royce Phantom,
“Rather die than go in?”
“I’ll back up. I can make it look like an accident. You’d be the third one I have done today.” I’d smile if my face wasn’t frozen in place by the biting wind. “Marvelous. If you could just throw me off the drawbridge when you’re done.” “I heard the fish needed feeding.”
“What’s wrong, fish food? Scared of my driving?”
“What’s next? Spit in the glove box?” I drag my gaze to his. “No, shit on the dashboard.”
“I just feel like there has to be a middle step there, fish food. Shit on the dashboard is extreme, you could at least…” “Pee in the cup holder?”
A sketchbook peeks out of the passenger door pocket. My fingers itch to touch it, to get a glimpse inside a mind that is not my own. “Don’t.” “I’m not gonna judge your Mickey Mouse fan art.” He snorts, eyes fixed on the road as he veers us round a fallen log. “More of a Minnie man myself.” “What is in there?” The sparkle in his eye is frightening. “Drawings of all my previous victims.”
“Alex. My name is Alex.”
I am here for two reasons and two reasons alone: to graduate from the only university on this planet that had a place for me, and to find out why my parents died a mile away from where we are parked.
Hemlock, Nightshade, Cortinar, and Snakeroot.
Cortinar House is renowned for its ruthless, logical approach to everything, molding clever creatives into society’s most cutthroat businessmen and women. Many of the law and economics students end up there. Hemlock House is for the strong and driven, those built with endurance who excel at physical challenges and tests of their sanity. It comprises an even blend of courses, but most of its students are on the sports teams. Snakeroot House has spat out a long lineage of the world’s finest surgeons. Many medical students find themselves there. It’s just a shame most of them abandon patient care
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“Colette DuPont.
“Was it you I saw in the Rolls-Royce with Alex Corbeau-Green
Green Aviation.
Mura Sayari, only because the nineteen-year-old supermodel and Japanese technology heiress
He’s sitting with Nightshade.
“There isn’t a sports team for being a spineless nepo baby.”
“Carmichael’s been ignoring my emails about adding being a spineless nepo baby to the syllabus for weeks.”
“You know, I was going to sign up for rugby, but I’m suddenly remembering I’m actually a really good swimmer.” I edge closer, almost nose to nose. His pupils dilate, but I practically feel mine constrict with disgust. “Don’t you dare. You’d never get in.”
“Yeah? And you sure looked athletic when you stood still and invited me to mow you over with my car earlier.” “I think anyone would consider ending it all if they had to face three years in present company.” He lets out a dark chuckle and releases the pen, his large hand curling my fingers around it. “We could re-create Romeo and Juliet.”
“I see you’ve made yourself known to Cain Green’s son.” My stomach roils. “What about him?” Carmichael doesn’t turn around, but I can almost see the unsettling expression on his face. “I would be very careful around the Corbeau-Greens.”
“Ophelia Winters,” he drawls, slicing through the thick silence by making my name sound dirtier than it is. “We meet again.”
When Vin’s father, Rocco, asked my father how much it would cost to make one of his Russian enemies vanish in an accident, they asked me to stand outside. The man in question died in a helicopter crash the next week. The official report was swept out of media coverage just as quickly, but the press said the Russian pilot was on Class A drugs at the time.
Vin has a habit of bumping into a woman in a coffee shop for the first time and then planning all their future children’s names the same day. He once matched with a girl on Tinder on a Monday and gave her the code to his Amex on the Wednesday.
“Fucking hell, Twist, you’re obsessed with me.”
my dreams burned to ash in that helicopter wreckage.
“You look just like your mother.”
“We’re classmates!” “I can see that, Vincenzo,”
Shawn Miller probably still breastfeeds from his mama when he goes home for Christmas. “Vincenzo!”
“I’ll go with Ophelia. Pick me!” shouts Vincenzo, through a mouthful of raisins.
“Ophelia and Alex.”
I spin around to Vincenzo. “Would you say my style is girl-next-door?” Dark eyelashes flutter, a wonky smile appearing on his face. “Whatever you say it is, angel, I agree,” he says, at the same time that Alex mutters, “Dickensian-orphan-next-door, more like.”
“Alex?” “Doing a tremendous job of convincing me you’re not obsessed with me, Twist. Do you shout my name in your dreams, too?”
“Only when it’s a nightmare.” He palms his jaw, thumb tracing the sculpted curve of his lower lip. It takes a few seconds to drag my gaze away. “So I’m on your mind.”
“What did you want with Andersson?” “Tried paying her to make you go away.” I hate him. “Yeah? And how did that work out for you?” “Turns out, someone on this planet thinks you have potential.” “Or maybe she knows you’d fail the essay without me.”
“How old are you, Ophelia?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Twenty-one.” One eyebrow raises like he’s surprised by this snippet of information. “Quite old.” “All right, DiCaprio, calm down. What do you need next, the name of my first childhood pet?” “Please. The street you...
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“Tonight at six?” “Got rugby training. Four o’clock in the library?” “I’ll be swimming. Eight? After dinner?” His tone is sarcastic as he turns to leave. “Great. I’ll wear a tux.” “I’ll wear my pajamas,”
Unknown My room at 8pm, Twist. I have a desk and two chairs. -A C G. Ophelia I didn’t give you my number. Unknown Ten points to Detective Winters. Are you always this observant, or is this a good week?
Delete my number. Email my student address if you need me. Unknown I almost forgot you’re stuck in the Dickensian era. See you tonight.
We’ll meet in the library. Unknown It’ll be fun, I promise. Ophelia I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than set foot inside your bedroom. We’ll meet in the library downstairs. Unknown But I was excited to see your pajamas :(
From: Alex Corbeau-Green Subject: Punctuality (noun) the fact or quality of being on time Date: Tuesday 1st October 20:04 BST To: Ophelia Winters I’m in the library. Look for the charming gentleman in the black shirt. -ACG
From: Ophelia Winters Subject: Patience (noun) the ability to wait, or to suffer without complaining or becoming annoyed Date: Tuesday 1st October 20:05 BST To: Alex Corbeau-Green I’m on my way down now. Are you sitting to the left or the right of the charming gentleman? Signing your emails with your initials is obnoxious, Ophelia
“We should’ve gone to my room.” I pull my tangled earphones from my pocket and open up the report that Alex started on my laptop. “I’d sooner insert this pencil into my eye socket than join you in your bedroom, Alex. Have
“Ophelia, is this your first attempt at holding a conversation with someone?” I retain my steely expression, but I know my blushing face betrays me. “Yes, how am I doing?” His focus returns to his phone, raising my blood temperature yet another degree. “Horribly.”
“A phone addiction is an extremely unattractive characteristic, Alex. Come back to me when you can be bothered.” He pushes his sleeves farther up his forearms and nods down at the device in my hand, expression neutral. “Please, sir. Can I have some more?” “Fuck you,”
Éléanor isn’t really interested in anything that isn’t Taylor Swift,
“So what are we now? Study buddies who bury bodies together?”
“My bedroom, Ophelia.” His bedroom? Alex shares my hallway? I said I’d never set foot in his room, but a manslaughter charge in my first month here feels worse. As Alex makes my bed with a speed I can only admire, my shaky fingers turn the key and I dive inside.
“Because for some reason, I’m willing to be your alibi.”
“If you weren’t so unbearable, I’d make you look freshly kissed,”
