Page 62 of Dirty Little Saint

“Shoo. You’re making me look crazy,” I whisper. They squawk before flying off. I look around to see more eyes on me.

Fuck this.

Professor Crane’s poetry class is at the other end of campus, and I’m already two minutes late. I throw my bag over my shoulder and book it through the woods. The wind whips my hair around my face, lashing my cheeks till I can barely see. I almost trip twice over fallen branches and foliage. But I keep running as fast as I can without making myself puke.

My hands tremble around the campus map. I’ve only been here one semester, but it feels like a lifetime. And yet, I still don’t know my way around this fucking school. The buildings here are ominous. They aren’t like the ones we have back in Wickford Hollow.

Tenebrose Academy looks like something you’d see out of a horror movie. Everything is dark and Gothic, black and grey, with stone walkways and iron spires. Gargoyles and statues of crying angels decorate almost every walkway and entrance.

As the forest starts to fall away and I inch closer to the spot marked on my map, I remember exactly where I am. I stop to catch my breath and gaze up at the monstrosity before me. Black walls, iron spires, and purple stained glass windows. It’s the Goddess of Death church where I had my Appreciation of Melancholic Music class last semester. It was the first time I’d met Professor Harker, and he refused to answer my question about his students worshiping the goddess, Nephthys. Funny how I used to think that was a cult. Now that I belong to Nocturnus… everything else seems less threatening.

My pulse races out of control, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I can’t believe I ran all the way here. I feel so fucking out of shape. Time to face the fucking music… well, poetry.

I look behind me one last time to see an unkindness of ravens watching me curiously. They don’t annoy me as much as they used to. Ever since the night I got my first sigil from the guys, I’ve felt just as drawn to them as they are to me. We are tethered now. At first, their cries were agonizing. I was repulsed by them. But they’ve slowly settled inside me like they’ve always been there.

My adrenaline spikes as I spot Valentin between the trees. He leans against one of them, arms crossed. This is my new normal. The first thing he told me this morning was that Atlas’s dad tried to have me kidnapped. The elders are unhinged. So the guys won’t let me out of their sight now. But the darkness growing inside me is what they should really be afraid of.

My dreams are getting bloodier, more sadistic. And the acts of violence I’ve committed don’t disgust me like they used to. I crave more. The rush of power and control. The need to show everyone I’m not the one to be fucked with. I never want to be that scared girl running through the woods again.

I turn away from him, now ten minutes late for this fucking class, and blow out a deep breath as I pull on the heavy wood door.

Oh no.

It’s not as heavy as it fucking looks.

Fuck.

I practically rip it off the hinges because I underestimate its weight. The wind makes it blow back even harder as it shuts behind me with a loud bang.

I clutch my bag to my chest as twenty or so students spin around in their pews to ogle the hot mess that just blew into their class like a fucking hurricane. My eyes dart around the cold church, desperately seeking an empty place to sit.

Professor Crane stops mid-sentence when he sees me, his brown eyes playful and amused. “Miss Blackwell. Thanks for fitting us into your busy schedule. Please, take a seat so I can continue.”

I feel my cheeks burn and know without any doubt they are bright red. “Sorry.”

A guy with pale skin and white hair scoots over to allow me space to sit. The pew squeaks as I sit down, eliciting muffled laughter from the class. Shit. Fuck. “Sorry,” I mumble again.

Professor Crane smirks. “All right, where was I?”

“The Haunted Palace,” a pretty redhead drawls. She tilts her head to the side coyly.

In fact, all the women and men in this class are looking at the professor like he’s a tasty snack. I forgot how striking he is. He projects an energy that oozes lust and sin. And everyone in this room is drinking it up like holy water.

“Yes, thank you, darling. That particular piece could very much be about a haunted palace, or it could mean something else entirely. Our bodies are temples, are they not? Palaces of trauma and emotions and dreams. Let’s read between the lines, shall we? Open your book and turn to page thirty-three.”

He smiles at the redhead again. “I’d like you to read the fifth stanza of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Haunted Palace aloud, please, darling.”

Darling?

This man is fucking slick. So charming, he’s got everyone on the edge of their seats, mesmerized by his every move.

I follow along in the book as the girl reads, her voice practically purring as she caresses the words with the ache in her voice.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch’s high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn! —for never morrow

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