Page 18 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Twelve

“ H e sort of reminds me of a bird.” Margaux pops a grape into her mouth. “Maybe that’s it.”

The night passed, Margaux reappeared from her date, and we spend our morning at a familiar café. It’s a neutral space. We won’t be overheard here.

The café is simple—with light wooden tables, optimal natural lighting, and minimal decoration. Margaux and I are seated at a little round table in the corner. It’s the spot we’ve always hidden in—but there were once three of us.

This place is nostalgic, and that only makes me more adamant about taking down Poppy’s killer.

“That’s not the point!” I snap my fingers in front of her face. “You’re getting distracted!”

“I am not! I think it could be an artistic choice for his portrait, that’s all.” She lifts her cup to her mouth, taking a small sip. “ If it’s him in the painting…”

She sounds full of doubt, but I need it to be him. My ears ring. My heart races. I need to catch Poppy’s killer. Why is this taking so long?

“I guess it’s not the proof you were looking for…”

She snorts, setting the hot mug down. “It absolutely isn’t. You have no proof it’s him wearing the bird mask, and even if it is… why does that matter?”

“What about the body? I went out with him one time, and someone died. If that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is!”

“It is suspicious, but… did you see him hovering over the body?”

“No…”

“Did you see him draining the life from said body?”

“No!”

“And you were in a room full of other people?” She lifts a brow. “And possibly… I don’t know, illicit substances?”

“Well…” Of course, Margaux has to poke holes in everything. “I have a hunch!”

“A hunch is not proof.” She leans back in her seat, lifting her head higher. “And I’m still mad at you.”

“What for?”

“For going off alone!” Her answer is obvious, and she looks at me as though it should be, shaking her head. “Another dead friend. Is that what you want for me?”

“I’m not dead. I’m right here.”

“And you’re damn lucky for that. I would have marched my ass into hell and brought you back myself. The ride home would not be a pleasant one.”

“It never is, with you.”

“I hope you feel good about yourself,” she says. “Risking your life, going to a vampire club without me—and you got nothing of substance. Just hunches. Just feelings .”

“It wasn’t a vampire club,” I mutter.

“That is a terrible defense.” She rolls her eyes. “All the paranormal clubs in the area are run by vampire covens. I would know.”

“You would.” My eyes narrow. “And you would know all about lying to your friends, so you should take it easier on me.”

“Perhaps I should, but I will not. My lie didn’t risk anyone’s life.”

“It did! Why can’t you see that? Vampires are dangerous. You could have killed me or Poppy…”

“But I wouldn’t do that.”

“You were young!”

“ Dhampirs ,” she says, stressing the word, “are more in control when we’re young than a turned vampire. I told you this! Do you think my parents would have let me attend public school if I was a tiny killer?”

I open my mouth to argue and promptly close it. Professor Cruz has been helpful. I don’t have a bad word to say about her parents.

“Fine,” I say. “Then we’re even.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up. “You’ll stop holding my lies over my head?”

It isn’t a fair trade. A lifetime of lies versus one, but… I’ve missed Margaux. I can finally admit it to myself now that she’s back in my life. She’s my best friend—the only living friend I have—and I need her.

I needed her all along. Knowing she needed me, too, makes it impossible to push her away.

Margaux has always been strong and solid, seeming like she didn’t need anyone. Now, I know that isn’t true, and I want to be there for her.

“Yes,” I say. “You proved your loyalty and… I’m over it. I’m ready to move on.”

“Finally.” She pushes her dark curls over her shoulders. “ You’re very talented, but I think your best talent is your ability to hold a grudge.”

“Maybe so.”

“And,” she says, “I think that’s what’s happening with Caldwell.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I frown. “What about his watch?”

“His watch being on the scene doesn’t mean he’s the murderer.”

“It was in the painting?—”

“That still doesn’t mean anything. I’m sorry.”

I press my lips together. “You’re still waiting on proof?”

She nods, taking another sip of her coffee. “And I’m relieved to see you waiting as well. I’ve been worried about finding his body with a stake thrust into it. His being at the wrong place at the wrong time is not proof, darling. You’re in all of those places, too.”

“I don’t know what else to do!” My breakfast sandwich and cup of tea have both gone cold. “It’s all moving too slowly. At this point, there will be another death on campus before we can bat an eye.”

“You need to escalate things.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You won’t let me escalate with a stake, and I already spent a night grinding on him!”

Saying it out loud makes my face hot. I wish I could say I hadn’t been myself, that it was the liquor, but the truth is…

Dancing with him was the first time I felt like myself in months. I’ve forgotten how to have fun—and some would say I was never fun to begin with. But dancing with Caldwell, his words whispered in my ear, it was…

I need to get laid. That’s it.

“You need to kiss him,” Margaux says, echoing a far more appropriate version of my thoughts.

I gawk at her. “What?”

“That’s how you escalate things,” she says. “If you think his game is seducing the unexpected and doing away with them, then…”

“I need to let him seduce me.” My blood runs cold.

“And you need to make sure I’m nearby when you do it,” she says. “It doesn’t need to go too far—just enough that you know he’s trying something—and I’ll step in.”

She makes the plan sound so easy, but I know it’s not. If she moves too slowly… I’ll join Poppy. I’ve been chasing death since arriving at Strode, but I realize now that’s something I’m not ready for.

“Fine,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “You want me to escalate things? I will.”

“Tobey.” She leans in closer, her eyes blazing. “Do not do this without me. I’m serious. If you run off without me again, I’m going to…”

“You won’t do anything.” I roll my eyes. “But you’ll be there this time, I promise.”

Professor Cruz calls my name. It’s unexpected. The last time I lingered after class was for the short investigation. They haven’t bothered me since, which is both a relief and a frustration. These investigators really are useless if they’re giving up this easily.

I freeze as he says my name, still stiff as I join him at the head of the classroom.

Professor Cruz looks at me with a gentle expression, leading me to believe he isn’t coming to me with the worst-case scenario, but… things do seem to get worse by the day.

I smile tentatively. “I hope you got my essay submission.”

If only it could be something so simple. I would welcome the stress of a missing paper over the horrors of Strode.

“I did,” he says. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I adjust the strap of my bag. “Then… what is it?”

“I want to make sure you’re being safe in your investigations,” he says bluntly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but the investigators the school hired are…”

“Terrible at their job?” I supply.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckles. “But they aren’t coming up with anything of substance. I was wondering if you had something that could help us.”

I can’t help it—his words make me preen with pride. If he’s asking about my findings, he must think I’m better than the professionals. And you know what? He’s right.

I have a lead for this thing, and they’re flailing around accusing innocent humans—or werecats. Whatever they think I am.

“I may have a hunch.” I bite at the inside of my cheek, suppressing a smile.

“Oh? Do tell.”

I hesitate. “What should I do if I think it’s another student?”

Darkness flashes in his eyes.

He leans in, his pleasant expression shifting into a severe one. “Is that where your investigation led you?”

“I think so. Who else could it be, right?”

“But you think it’s a specific student. Don’t you?”

I nod, swallowing nervously.

It may not be Caldwell—it probably isn’t—but he’s still the only lead I have. The evidence is piling up. More than that, I need it to be him. It’s for Poppy. This is all for Poppy.

My chest aches.

“In that case, you should give me a name,” he says. “I’ll tell the investigators personally, and there will be no way to trace it back to you.”

I hesitate, and I don’t understand why.

Margaux told me not to act rashly—and Professor Cruz isn’t asking for any proof. He wants names, but what will he do with them? In the pit of my stomach, there’s a nagging feeling beyond my desire to help Poppy—it’s doubt .

What if Caldwell is innocent? If something happens to him, it’s because of me.

“I don’t think I should do that,” I say slowly.

“And why not? You don’t trust me?” His jaw tenses. It’s a subtle movement but one I catch.

He must be stressed by the deaths. I can understand that.

“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s because… well because it’s probably nothing! I don’t have any proof.”

I never thought I would agree with Margaux on the topic, but she’s right. There have been too many deaths.

“Then I won’t tell the investigators,” he says. “But I would like to know, for my notes…”

It strikes me as odd. Me keeping my sleuthing to myself is one thing, but why would a professor do the same? It doesn’t seem very professional.

“I can’t do that,” I say, so quiet I’m not sure he can hear.

But of course, he can. He’s a vampire, picking up on the most subtle cues: the whispers, the beating of my heart, the rush of my pulse. He knows I’m afraid, and he’s known all along.

How long until he uses that to his advantage?

“It sounds like you have no answers…” He leans away, turning his back on me. “That’s fine. I’ll be waiting. Come to me when you’re sure, and we’ll talk about what happens next.”

It doesn’t feel fine. There’s a wall between us that never existed, not even during my first day on campus.

I take a few steps back. My throat is tight, and I’m afraid to turn my back on him. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he might like to lodge a knife in it.

When I reach the door, he speaks again. “Tobey?”

“Yes?” I don’t turn around. My fingers grip the cool metal of the doorknob. A clock ticks on the wall.

“Let’s hope we don’t have another death on campus before you decide to let me in on your plan.”

I don’t know what to say, so I leave.

I’m already late. There’s no time to process the conversation before I head to my next class.

As I duck inside and take a seat at my desk, my phone buzzes. I intend to ignore it, but when I see the name lighting up the screen, I know that isn’t an option…

Caldwell

There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.

My brows furrow at the text. I wait until I’m seated in the classroom to respond, texting back.

Pride and Prejudice?

I recognize the quote in an instant.

It’s from my favorite book, after all. It’s something I haven’t told Caldwell, even though he asked me about it on our first date.

How does he know?

Yes. I started my annual re-read.

Is that so? You read Pride and Prejudice every year?

I do.

It seems connected to our last conversation about books. Evil. Monsters.

But are all monsters evil? And can only monsters be evil?

That seems to be the question.

The lecture begins, but I’m too wrapped up in texts to register the droning voice of the professor. I can’t trust Caldwell, and I know that, but the topic is one that easily holds my attention.

Pride and Prejudice is my favorite classic.

It’s not dangerous information, but it’s more genuine than anything I’ve told Caldwell so far. It feels dangerous.

Is that so?

You like Darcy, don’t you? You seem like the type.

I glance around the classroom, hoping no one is watching. The text shouldn’t fluster me; it shouldn’t make me feel hot in the face, but it does.

I named my cat after him.

Oh, that’s very sacred.

What is that supposed to mean, anyway?

I seem like the type…?

The type to lust after Darcy.

I’m going to take that as you likening me to Elizabeth Bennett, so I will take it as a compliment.

Do with it what you will.

I look up from my phone, feeling the professor’s gaze on me like a knife.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks sharply.

“No! I apologize, Professor.” I lock my phone, flushing a darker shade of red.

I’m not used to the professors caring about where our attention is. The professors at my last school certainly didn’t. Now, two professors have scolded me today—god, this school really is changing me.

He grunts and turns away, continuing with the lecture.

I glance down at my phone just in time to see another text.

Let me take you on another date.

I would like to make it a special one this time.

A special date. Our first date wasn’t special enough—he has something even better planned?

The thought sends a thrill of anticipation up my spine.

I risk pissing off the professor to send one final message:

Yes.