Page 23 of Switching Graves

9

Sonny

Devlin, as it turns out, is on the opposite end of campus, as far away from the rest of the first-years as possible. Vanessa explains that it’s set away from the rest of the dormitories because it’s the most recent addition to the campus. They wanted to ensure residents were able to fully focus on their studies without the typical distractions that come with the rest of the student housing. It’s mostly seniors or graduate students swamped with their final thesis or cramming credits in to make sure they graduate on time.

Definitely not the social party environment I’ve always seen depicted on campuses.

The building itself is beautifully crafted in onyx and charcoal hues to match the historic architecture of the rest of the campus, but still manages to hold on to its own personal, modern identity. There’s another nearly identical one sitting beside it, and when Vanessa notices my attention drifting that way, she shrugs her shoulders.

“One downside to living in Devlin is that the faculty housing is next door. I suppose that’s part of the reason they’re so strict about noise levels and visitors over here. The professors don’t want any part in college life.”

Oh, great.On top of being isolated from the rest of my peers, I’ll be under the microscope of all my professors.

Damn Poppy and her power struggle issues.

“They’ve got your temporary passcode written down right here with instructions on how to change it,” she tells me once we reach the wooden, arched double-doors. She shoves the paper in my face with her manicured nail poised against a set of six numbers before she pulls it back to her chest.

Nodding my head, I suck in a deep breath and turn to fully face her and say our goodbyes. “Thanks so much for your help, Vanessa.”

“Of course,” she says cheerily, still hugging my information packet. When my gaze drops down to her hands expectantly, she releases a sheepish giggle. “Oh, I wasn’t going to leave you here. I wanted to make sure you get to your dorm safely.”

Craning her neck, she attempts to peer through the tinted glass windows carved into the door.

“You know as well as anyone that you aren’t allowed in without permission, Nessy,” a feminine voice pipes up from behind. I whirl around to find a short woman standing there, her blue hair a perfectly spiked mess atop her head.

“I obviously have permission, Beatrix. I’m her welcome guide,” Vanessa pushes out bitterly, her tone dropping a few notes into an irritated tone that I would have never thought was possible from someone so chipper. “And I told you not to call me that here.”

“I’m sure she can find her way up a set of stairs and count by twos to her room,” the other girl, Beatrix, replies cooly.

She raises a dark brow at me in challenge, silently questioning if I’m competent enough. Then, she leans her hip against one of the pillars across from us to prove she won’t be leaving us alone.

I shrug and turn back to a red-face Vanessa. “It’s okay, really. I can handle it from here.”

Her left eye twitches as she puffs out a dramatic sigh before forcing on a polite smile. Heavy hands shove over my paperwork. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

With that, she walks off, bumping into Beatrix’s shoulder on her way through the twin pillars.

“That’s my cousin, Nessy. She hates that she can’t get in here,” Beatrix says with a smile in her voice, pushing off her pillar to stride up to the keypad and enter her code.

“Why won’t they allow her in?” I wonder, stepping through the doorway with a grateful smile when Beatrix steps aside to usher me in. Vanessa seems nice enough.

The entryway is spacious and plain, with a long, dimly lit corridor straight ahead and twin mahogany staircases bracketing it.

Beatrix heads toward the corridor and I follow. “For Nessy, it’s mostly a running joke just to mess with her. What floor are you?”

Fumbling with the packet Vanessa handed me, I rush to find the page with my room number on it, nearly tripping when she takes a sharp turn and brings us face-to-face with a set of elevators. “It’s room 505, so fifth maybe?”

“Perfect. I’m 503.” Punching in the button for the fifth floor, she steps back to lean against the wall of the elevator as the doors close. “I thought I saw them bringing luggage in earlier.”

Relief crashes over me. My bags knew where to go before I even did.

“You must be pretty well connected, swinging a spot in Devlin as a first-year . . . ”

Shrugging, I keep my gaze trained on the slowly climbing numbers. “Yeah, that, or very overprotected.”

Beatrix barks out a laugh, and I turn my head to see her shaking her own. “Hey, my parents are the same way. You have to capitalize on it wherever you can. Focus on the silver linings. The first-year dorms are haunted and absolutely vile.”

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