Page 111 of An Academy for Liars

When Lennon realized that this was the end—that she couldn’t hold her breath for even a moment longer—she decided to make things quick. She opened her mouth, inhaled a lungful of water, and blacked out.

When she woke,it was to the twisted shriek of rent metal. She opened her eyes to see the elevator doors parting open, all of the water draining out of the cabin. Writhing in a puddle on the floor, she attempted to breathe in a series of gags and gasps, garbled by water and vomit.

With her lungs clear, she was able to ground herself. The walls of an office took shape around her as her vision came into focus. Big windows, glaring in the sunlight. A butcher’s slab of a desk—on it, the bust of a young boy cast in brass. A man knelt on the floor beside her. His eyes were closed, and he was bleeding from the mouth. He looked familiar, and she tried to reach for his hand, but her limbs had not yet come to life. But she could hear his voice in her head:Lennon.

Lennon. Yes, that was her name.

And this room, it was in Irvine Hall, on Drayton’s campus. She recalled it from the scent—wood polish and cedar. The glimpse of magnolias beyond the windows, a steeple piercing high above them. A woman stepped into view. Pale skin. Thin ankles. Leather pumps.

Eileen. “Do you still have your name?”

“Lennon,” she spat out, repeating the name the bleeding man had placed into her head.

“Very good. And who is the man lying to your right?”

Lennon tried to remember his name, but it didn’t come to her. “It’s…he’s—”

“Don’t strain yourself,” said the woman. “His name won’t be of much importance anymore. Better not to trouble yourself—”

“Dante,” she said, decisive if a little clumsy when it dropped from her lips. And with his name came the memories—of his kindness, of his knuckles brushing her cheek, the wordAugusttattooed in the hollow between two of his ribs, the taste of him, the sound of his voice. It was Dante, beside her.

“You people have such a rage in you,” said Eileen, shaking her head. “I’ve never quite seen anything like it. You have no inhibitions or restraint. There’s no line of propriety that you won’t cross. No building you won’t burn. No institution you won’t attempt to dismantle.”

“What have you done to Dante?” Lennon asked. Her voice was so weak. She didn’t sound like herself.

“Dante is fine. Or at least he will be if you listen carefully and do as I ask. Our sitting chancellor, William Irvine, has suffered a massive stroke. The doctors don’t think we have long now, and by ‘not long,’ I mean we’re counting his life in hours, not days.”

“I’m not going to be your sacrifice,” said Lennon.

“I know. You’ve made your stance quite clear, but I was hoping that Dante might change your mind.” When his name dropped from her lips, Dante gave a cry of pain. Lennon thought she might’ve heard the hollow pop of a bone breaking.

“Stop it.”

“I will, if you raise the gates,” said Eileen. “Your service in exchange for the freedom of the man you love. And to clarify, you do love him, right? That’s what all these theatrics are about?”

“Let him go.”

“I’ve just told you that I would,” said Eileen, laughing a little, incredulous. “Don’t you see? You sit at the helm now. You’ve single-handedly made yourself the most important person on our campus. A kind of rising chancellor, in everything but name. If you want to save Dante, that’s well within your power. You just have to cooperate.”

“Don’t…do it,” said Dante, too weak to even raise his head.

Lennon reached for him, but Eileen paralyzed her arm so violently her elbow overextended with a gnarly crunch. It felt close to breaking. She cried out.

“All you have to do is let me into your mind and I’ll guide you. I don’t possess the ability to move through time, as you do, but I’ve spent many years of the vice-chancellorship dwelling in the mind of William Irvine. I’ve learned enough from him to be able to perform the act of raising the gates myself, through you, of course.”

“You just want my mind,” said Lennon, understanding for the first time. If William was the machine that the school ran on, Eileen was its conductor. All of these years while William had lain in agony, it had been Eileen siphoning his power, using it to sequester the school.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” said Eileen. “It’ll be as easy as going to sleep. You won’t feel anything.”

“She’s lying,” said Dante, on all fours now, struggling and failing to push to his feet. His arms—corded with muscle—were now so weak they couldn’t even support his weight. “Don’t listen to a word she says.”

Lennon attempted to push to her feet and go to him, but the windwas knocked right out of her lungs when Eileen dragged her down again, her ankle rolling painfully beneath her.

Dante extended a hand to her, his fingers twitching as they dragged along the floor. A fresh mouthful of blood spilled between his lips and slicked his chin.

Desperate, Lennon extended her mind to his, and what she found took her breath away. It wasn’t just Eileen who was suppressing Dante. The full weight of half the faculty on that campus bore down upon him, bursting blood vessels and breaking bones. Lennon sensed Alec’s signature—a venomous force that corrupted Dante’s nerve endings and contracted his muscles, so that every time he attempted to push to his feet they spasmed and stiffened. There was Dr. Lund, holding his thoughts submerged under a cold tide of catatonia. And there were others too that Lennon didn’t know.

It was torture.

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