Page 34 of Tempest

Clover smacks me in the middle of my back, swallowing back laughter. “Am I that surprising? It’s clear we have a lot to catch up on, Ardy.”

“Good afternoon, class.” Professor Morgan waltzes in, younger than I imagined in a pin-striped blazer and black-rimmed glasses. Like Clark Kent, if he were a librarian, complete with a Superman body under all that tweed. After clearing my throat a few times and blinking back tears, I straighten.

Clover folds her hands in her lap, ever the good student who wants to sleep with her professor. Last I’d seen Clover, she and I were virgins together. Sex wasn’t much on my mind these past years, but the same can’t be said for Clover. It seems I’ve missed out on more than just friendship.

Tempest’s lingering imprints on my skin turn to fire. The way he shoved his hand down the front of my shorts, his cool fingertips searching for heat and finding it wet. His threats in my ear turning into shivers down my neck, the promise of his hardness leading to my desperate urge to spread myself for him, in public, a virgin for the taking…

“We’ll begin with our first subject: ghosts.”

My fingers seize around the pen. An ink splotch forms in my paper, growing tentacles. A few of my neighbors groan with boredom.

“One of the most culturally universal phenomena and older than witchcraft, spanning thousands of years. A tablet from ancient Babylon contains instructions on exorcism. The ancient Greeks called them fantasma. Even the Bible touches upon it. While Jesus never comes out and confirms their existence, He does admit He’s not one when his disciples see Him walking on a lake. Tell me, does anyone here believe in ghosts, restless spirits, or strange apparitions?”

Less than half of the class’s hands go up. One of them belongs to Clover, who elbows me to participate. I keep my arm stubbornly at my side. One becomes touchy about admitting to believing in the inexplicable after being committed for it. It takes a few seconds, but Clover gets the hint and twists her lips in apology.

Professor Morgan’s eyes light up. “I do love a divided classroom. A lot of you have taken my class in hopes of dissecting witchcraft in Colonial America. Specifically, occultism in Titan Falls.”

After confirmatory head-nods, Morgan comes between two students across from us, leaning his palms on the table. I notice the tops of his hands and fingers are all stained with ink. Tattoos of strange symbols.

“They’re runes,” Clover whispers in explanation beside me. Or more sighs it lovingly.

“You’re a violent bunch, and that’s okay because the occult, the rituals, can be nightmarish indeed,” he says.

His dark brown eyes seem to target me when he says it. Only me. Clover catches my hand under the table and squeezes. Hard.

Morgan lifts himself off the table, tucking his inked hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there. For now, your first essay is thus: two thousand words arguing the existence—or non-existence—of spirits in the modern era. Cite para-psychology, occult sciences, superstition, what you will. Just prove to me what you believe to be true.”

Clover shifts in her seat next to mine, whispering excitedly as she jots down Morgan’s instructions word-for-word, “This is so my fucking vibe.”

I look down at my notebook, blank except for a spreading ink splotch.

“I want to get a sense of your arguments,” Morgan continues, “your sense of self within the curiosity and demonic wonders of our modern age.”

I wonder if I can write about personal demons. Mila’s screams. A shattered skull from a bullet. My unnamed victim, haunting me until I find them justice.

A textbook snaps shut beside me. I jolt, blinking.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Clover says breathlessly, rising from her chair. “Do you think he was checking me out?” She gestures down her body, clad in a black scoop dress, knee-high combat boots, and heavy silver necklaces, all complimenting her raven hair. “I dressed my goth best, just for him.”

I scan the room, surprised to find everyone packing up and dispersing. Morgan’s already exited.

Shutting my blank notebook as inconspicuously as possible, I rise with her. “I’m more interested in what Tempest’ll do when he sees you.”

“Ugh, don’t bring my brother into the subject of seduction.”

I pull my lips in, surprised I allowed my lips to betray me. I may think about him nonstop, but I don’t want Clover to know that, especially while we’re discussing the art of seduction like she said.

He’s just too damned good at it.

“You’re telling me,” Clover agrees, pulling her books to her chest. It’s then I figure out I said it out loud. “If Professor Morgan shows any interest in me whatsoever, I will make it my life’s work to get under him, regardless of how many of Morgan’s family members Tempest threatens to kill. You’re lucky, you know.”

“How so?” I follow her out the door.

“You got to live over two years Tempest-free. He doesn’t give a shit what you do, so long as you don’t cross paths with him. Oh, how I wish I could be you.”

That guy cares about nothing, especially you. Some of Mila’s last words float through the murky depths of my mind.

But this is not Mila, and it’s not two years ago. I’m no longer a girl who tears up when she’s told her crush doesn’t like her back. “Does Tempest really blame me for our accident?”

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