Page 49 of Validus Vale Academy 1
“Wes and Donovan emailed the school saying they were leaving,” I tell her, “but they never made it onto their flight.”
Willow shakes her head, looking lost. “Sorry, I’m being thick. The day after you flew to England, these scrummy twins of yours handed in their notice to the school, right?”
I nod, accepting the refilled drink.
“Then cleared out their rooms and put stuff in storage,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And that’s the last time anyone saw them?”
“No, they came back to school and had one last conversation with Cosmo, which didn’t go well. The guys said bye, and that’s it. Gone. Neither Cosmo nor I have heard from them since.”
Willow’s face clouds.—Aw shit, maybe they did dump her—I watch as she forces a smile onto her face. “They must have decided to visit family instead, or just travel the world, or something?” Suddenly, Willow sits bolt upright. “Wait! Why did the old dean say the twins were here and that you were stalking them? What was that all about?”
“I just don’t know,” I say. “I don’t get it.”
Willow's eyes widen even more. “Yeah, that shit is totally sus. Something doesn’t smell right. So what do we do now?” she asks quietly, holding my hand. The ‘we’warms my heart.
“I haven’t a clue. Cosmo has some private detective on the case, but he’s not exactly big on sharing information.”
“Fuck that guy. Cosmo might have his PI, but you've got me, Theo. I'm in. You're not alone in this.”
I rest my head against her shoulder. “Thanks. And thanks for being my friend, seriously.”
She pokes me and gives a grin. “Seriously, no problem. I’ve a million more questions, but you look exhausted. Do you want tostay in my room tonight?” she asks. “The bed will be a squeeze, but I’m game if you are.”
“Nah, I’ll brave the basement,” I tell her, “but thanks.” I give her another hug and refuse her escort down to my room.
As I head down the stairs, I feel slightly lighter, but still, I wish I could have told Willow about Manu. I won’t, though, I don’t want Professor Feniks to get in trouble. I don’t know what he has planned for Manu Hale—but I hope it stings.
Forcing my poor leg muscles to move some more, I finally make it to my room, but instead of immediately collapsing, I open the dresser drawer and pull out the bracelet the twins gave me. I attach it to my wrist and gently stroke the gold stars, pledging never to take it off again.
22
The image of the little dud’s hands rubbing oil over my skin is annoyingly burned into my brain.
My fault for asking her to touch me; I hadn’t realized my body would respond, but apparently it found the tiny, breakable girl very fuckable.
Irritating. I donotwant to be turned on by that piece of trash.
I stalk over to the liquor cabinet, deciding some eighteen-year-old, double cask McCallan calls my name. The smoky burn in my throat will hopefully ignite some clarity about this mess.
Dean Dartmouth—what’s his angle in all this?
Dartmouth's leaving last year was a blow; he’d been completely under my control. I’d discovered an unsavory vice the dean indulged in, and exploited it to my full advantage, until he left. Here one day and gone the next. Striker seriously needs to run the retired-Dean Dartmouth to ground.
Also boggling my fucking mind is the dud fighting off my command to stay silent. The voice of Vizzini from The Princess Bride echoes around my head.
“Inconceivable.”
How did she do that?
I settle onto the worn leather of the armchair, the glass heavy in my hand, and dissect every word she uttered, every flickerin her eyes. She was usually an open book. It had been obvious to every fucker within a ten-mile radius that Wes and Donovan were fucking crazy about her, and vice versa. So why would the dud so easily believe Dono and Wes had ghosted? Didn’t exactly paint a picture of soaring self-esteem. A few days of silence, and it’s straight to ‘wah, they must hate me, boo-hoo-hoo.’ Pathetic.
Though getting Dartmouth’s ‘stop stalking’ email might have sealed the deal, along with Dono and Wes leaving her on-read.
Shoving thoughts of the dud aside, I reach for my tablet. Striker’s report glows on the screen, and I scan the familiar details. The twins renting that storage unit—yeah, knew that. They’d packed everything up in a couple of hours, bribed some Ordinarii lackeys to haul boxes out. I remember looking out of the window and seeing the boxes being loaded into an obnoxiously large SUV, obviously one of the other students; the twins wouldn’t be caught dead in something so… practical.
My thumb scrolls the digital document.
According to Striker’s meticulous tracking, the digital security footage showed the twins leaving—presumably heading for the storage place—at 16:45.
