Page 114 of Oleander

“And what about Gideon?” I asked.

Finn looked confused by my question. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, well, he brought Cas up. If Cas is this truly awful person, then maybe part of that is Gideon’s fault?”

I felt a little guilty saying it. I liked Gideon. I wasn’t sure I trusted him, but I liked him insofar as he’d been there for me before and just after Cas tore out my heart and disappeared from my life. But I saw suddenly a moment of opportunity to learn more about the two spectres who haunted Deveraux House. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to find out about Gideon, but it was novel to speak to someone about them who wasn’t Luke. Someone who might be able to offer me some small sliver ofwhy.

I ordered two more shots while Finn pondered an answer to my question.

“Well, Cas spent his life in boarding schools,” he began. “And those places are a hotbed of fuckery. So I’m not sure Gideonreally brought him up so much as dealt with the legalities of his existence, you know? Signed the appropriate paperwork, made sure he didn’t murder anyone.” Here, he gave me a pointed look. “Took him for dental check-ups, made sure he ate and drank, and was generally healthy. Life admin, that sort of thing. We all know Gideon should never have been landed with a kid, not with his issues. My parents say he’s never been quite right and then there was the stuff with Seraphina and the guy who fucked him over. I don’t really know much about any of it as it was before my time, but it was messy.” Finn seemed to visibly shudder.

“Does anyone know anything about Cas’s dad?” It felt as though I was stepping into forbidden territory. I could imagine Cas’s outrage at the question even in his absence. At my daring to ask it.

Finn looked at me, flushed face turning thoughtful. “Someone does. Gideon probably. But he’s been a hot mess for years.”

“What happened with him and the guy?” I had Gideon’s version, but I wanted Finn’s.

“The way I heard it, he fell hard for someone when he was in his twenties. This guy stole a fortune from him and disappeared, and he had to go back to his father with his tail between his legs and beg forgiveness. He’s never gotten over it. Imagine a woman ditched at the altar and the guy running off with her money; that’s Gideon,” Finn said with a note of derision. It was the only time I ever saw something cruel in him.

Something protective flared up inside me. Some kind of empathy for the broken-hearted. For those of us who could never quite get over that first deep break. I understood it painfully well. Perhaps it was why Gideon and I had bonded as we had these last months.

“I’m guessing you’ve never had your heart broken then.” I glared at him. “Must be nice.”

Finn seemed to sober a little, understanding seeping into his eyes.

“Shit,” he said. “Fucking Caspien. Sorry, man.”

I nodded and knocked back my tequila.

“Thank fuck he isn’t my type,” Finn groaned as he ordered another two.

“He’s your cousin?”

“Listen, we’re descended from royalty. Do you think a little thing like a familial relationship can hold us back?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that barked out of my throat. Finn laughed too, and the mood immediately became lighter.

“Well, yeah, thank god he’s not your type then, I guess,” I said after the laughter faded.

He picked up his glass and shot me a very specific kind of look, one that could have meant all manner of things, really, but just in case I wasn’t sure, he said: “Youarethough.”

Three

Hilary term started in the last days of a bleak and cold April. I had three papers due that week. I’d worked on them through Easter break while picking up extra shifts at P&P. (I’d again managed to avoid going home to Deveraux) and felt confident as I submitted one early Monday afternoon to Professor Alexander.

I’d always enjoyed writing academic essays. It used a different part of my brain from the creative stuff, even if there was still an element of the creative about it. I enjoyed reading, and so it felt like a natural extension of that to write about the subjects, books, and theories I liked reading about.

The best thing about Oxford so far was the freedom I felt being able to read and write and learn about things that interested me as opposed to being told by a decades-old school curriculum. The scope of the curriculum here was infinite. It stretched from Beowulf to Dickens to Hemingway to Roth, and for the most part, allowed me to move in any direction through the history of English Literature that I wanted based on my own curiosities. The work wasn’t hard, not yet at least, but what was harder to adjust to was the fact that everyone here was smart.

I wasn’t the smartest student in class anymore; I was slightly above average at best and middling at worst. But there was some comfort to be found in that. It allowed me to keep my head down, listen, and learn. I didn’t have to lead discussions like Idid back home. I didn’t have to impress anyone. I didn’t have form that I had to maintain. Each paper I submitted was a new chance to improve and show progress.

Oxford was a beautiful setting in which to learn. To sit and read some of the greatest works of literature, poetry, and prose ever written in a city steeped in what was a near-mythological wealth of history was a privilege. Some of the greatest minds that had ever existed had studied here, and I was lucky I got to do the same.

I thought about the nameless donor a few times a day. Though he’d still never confirmed it, Gideon was the form they often took in my head. Now that Cas was thousands of miles away and out of his life, and mine, I couldn’t understand why, if it was him, he couldn’t just tell me so. I’d mention my gratitude to the benefactor often so that if it was him, then he’d know.

Since I’d not been back to Jersey since starting university, we continued to exchange emails – Gideon didn’t text – where he’d ask me to tell him in extreme detail about my life here. He’d loved studying here. Had said this was where he was his happiest. Occasionally they invited old cohort’s back for ceremonials and he never missed a single one. I wondered if this was where he’d met the person who broke his heart, though I was always a little too scared to ask him that.

He’d still feed me tidbits of news about Caspien and Xavier, though it was far easier to skip over these when they were written down.