Page 42 of Switching Graves

Her eyes widen, hands swiping across her thighs beneath the table. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. It’s the strangest thing. This girl had all her classes set up without any courses for her bloodline. Turns out, she had no idea she even had gifts. It seemed like she wasn’t aware of Ravenshurst’s programs at all, actually. I felt bad for her.”

I narrow my eyes, filing that information away for later. What kind of game is Divina playing, sending her own spawn into Ravenshurst without a speck of knowledge about her gift?

Unless it’s as I suspect, and the woman attending classes under Penelope Ellery’s name isn’t really her.

Wouldn’t that be a delicious surprise?

“So, you sent this charity case my way?”

Her lips press together, eyes flicking behind me before they hotly bore back into mine.

She’s irritated with me.

“She isn’t a charity case. She was looking for a work study, and you had one open. I told her that we were close, and I could probably help her. She got to you before I could ask you about it. Sorry.”

“In the future, don’t offer things you don’t have the power to give.”

With the shake of her head, she bites her bottom lip and nods. “Where are your plans?”

“Something for work came up.” When she rolls her eyes and juts her chin out in a defiant little pout, I lean forward until there’s only a few inches between us, then lower my voice. “You know I’d rather spend the evening buried deep inside you.”

Red blooms across her cheeks as her features soften. A tiny, sultry smirk plays across her lips at the thought of us being together. She’s always been easy to diffuse, it’s almost boring.

Not boring enough to stop seeing her, though.

“Fine. Raincheck, then,” she relents with a sigh.

I offer her a fake relieved smile, then make a show of checking my watch even though I’ve been counting down the minutes on the clock behind her head. I’ve officially been out long enough.

“I have to get ready for my next class. We’ll talk later.”

She doesn’t bother hiding her disappointment as I throw my napkin on the table and slide out of the booth. Still, she knows better than to expect a special goodbye. Instead, she waves as I walk past, rushing out a demand for me to call her later. Slipping a fifty to the waitress on my way out to cover our meals, I make it through the door at the exact time the sheriff is entering the diner.

No one notices the envelope he slips into my pocket as we brush past one another. Nor do they see me rip it open once I hop into my car, counting the bills to ensure they’re the correct amount. Once I’m satisfied, I throw the envelope and the handwritten thank you note from the town’s mayor into the trash, then speed off toward the university.

23

Sonny

“Grades on your research papers exploring Narcissistic personality disorder have been entered into the gradebook and can be viewed in your portals. The results were . . . underwhelming,” Dr. Whitlock announces at the end of our Wednesday class.

He goes on to explain next week’s assignment as the clicking of laptop keys fills the large hall with everyone rushing to check their grade, myself included. A few grunts of disappointment echo around us, and he pauses his explanation to glare at those who aren’t offering him their full attention.

When his threatening gaze zeros in on me, I slowly close my laptop and swallow past a thick lump in my throat, anticipating the worst. He’s been doing this more and more in each class. He narrows in on me and forces me to answer his questions, then picks them apart with a fine-tooth comb until I’ve been effectively proven wrong and humiliated in front of my peers.

I have no idea why he’s chosen me as his pin cushion.

“Do you have an issue with your grade, miss Ellery?”

Glancing around, I straighten myself in my chair. “I’m just slightly taken back by it. I’d prefer to talk about it in private, if that’s okay.”

“My office hours are limited this week, but if you have an issue with your score, I’ll be sending an email this evening with the altered schedule. Save your dramatics until then. And perhaps if you bothered paying attention to the assignments as they were given, you wouldn’t have such low scores,” he chastises, slamming his laptop closed and tucking it under his arm.

The large screen before us goes black, cutting off all the information he was just reviewing. All of us watch with slack jaws as he marches up the center aisle and toward the door in a silent tantrum, effectively ending class.

Hayes clears his throat and shuffles over to the podium. “We’ll have the details of your next paper posted in the portal tonight,” he announces, raising his voice above the clatter of students packing up their notebooks and laptops.

I’ve just zipped my backpack when Hayes appears beside me, that signature smirk plastered on his face. I’m beginning to think he’s perfected it for the simple purpose of showcasing that dimple.

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