Page 2 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter One

THREE MONTHS LATER

S tay calm. Everything will be fine. You’re only heading into a den of bloodthirsty vampires!

And one of them is a killer.

My pulse races as I stand in front of the most covert college in Maine.

I may be one of the few at Strode University with a pulse.

The building towers over me—closer to a castle than anything I’ve seen—and my chin lifts as my gaze roams up.

Stone walls, stained glass windows, and towering pillars greet me.

Fall is only beginning. Bright leaves still quiver on tree branches, threatening to fall any day, and the sun still shines.

In a few months, we’ll descend into the season I can only describe as a pit of despair. Winter in Maine is not for the faint at heart. I’ll enjoy autumn while I can.

I clutch the pamphlet, glancing down at the logo. Strode University, with a single orchid underneath. The orchids litter the school grounds as well, dark flowers in bloom anywhere you look.

A flash comes to me—a memory. After Poppy died, I did something stupid. Something I shouldn’t have done. I swept the scene for clues. The investigators didn’t find anything, but I did.

One useless thing. It was a heavy, ivory mask shaped like a bird skull. On the back was this very logo—the orchids and the familiar S.

I’m supposed to be here.

The grounds are well-kept, and the students wear designer clothes. They put my simple outfit to shame.

Strode is more than a beautiful campus; it’s a haven for the supernatural, home to the things that go bump in the night.

Against all odds, Strode accepts me. It helps that I have a connection to the supernatural world myself, making me—possibly?—the first human who was able to trick the system. They bought my lie of being a werecat too easily. There was practically no screening process.

It was almost too easy.

I step lightly through the courtyard, knowing each student—and teacher—has the power to drain me of life. There are vampires who can drain me of blood, demons to suck my energy, and werewolves to… eat my flesh? I don’t know what they’re going to do, and the witches are more elusive.

But I know they’re all here. I watch each of them like a hawk as I push through the growing crowd. Many of the students have been here for years, or they received their acceptance letters while they were young. I am a fish out of water, but there’s no way I’m already standing out.

Am I being paranoid if I feel like someone is watching me? I must be. Anyone would be in my shoes. I tuck my hair behind my ears and wrap my coat around myself as a protective barrier.

Not that it’s of any use. I am waiting to be someone’s meal, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a reason I’m here—revenge.

I poke my head into the dining hall. Long, dark mahogany tables fill the area.

Students perch on dining chairs with meticulous carvings, and portraits of past deans are on display.

It’s miles ahead of the university I attended before—the University of Southern Maine.

It had a dining hall I would compare to a high school cafeteria.

Maybe that sounds harsh, but next to Strode…

Well, anything is dull in comparison.

The only thing greater than my fear, and thirst for revenge, is intrigue.

I spent so much of my life knowing the supernatural existed, but I was far removed from the world.

I was five years old when they first came out of hiding.

More than anything, I remember my mother’s fit of panic.

She draped garlic over our door, warned me about flashing red eyes, and invested in wolf traps as soon as they were on the market.

Twenty years ago, their council decided to reveal the supernatural world, but most prefer to stay undercover. They have their own government and little pockets they inhabit. Places like Strode.

Our human government loves keeping secrets—letting the supernatural hide in plain sight is ideal for them, I imagine.

The journalist in me yearns to discover more about this thinly veiled world. Some have tried, but I will be the first to succeed.

I step into the room and instantly regret it. She’s looking at me.

It’s too late to turn around, but I nearly do anyway. It would be better than the alternative. Running into her this quickly is enough to throw a wrench in my plan.

She meets my gaze with parted lips, looking like she’s seen a ghost.

It’s Margaux, the snobbiest woman (read: vampire) in the world, with a pretentiously spelled name to match.

She hovers a few inches above me, with jet-black eyes and spirals of raven hair that trails to the middle of her back.

Summer is over, but her flawless complexion is still golden and sun-kissed.

She single-handedly kills the rumors that vampires are all pasty.

I narrow my eyes.

The shock on her face is a small reward, but it isn’t enough. I despise her. From the silver spoon jammed down her throat to the secrets she keeps, everything about Margaux was made to anger me specifically.

Except that she used to be my best friend. That’s one thing I can’t erase, and it makes me hate her more. At a point in my life, I had found something about Margaux enjoyable… or at least tolerable.

I tear my gaze away, holding my head high as I march off. The school is small enough that there are only four tables in the room—and, of course, the only free spot is at Margaux’s. I ignore her as I head to the other end of the table, precariously perching myself on the dining chair.

I don’t know where to begin. Breakfast should be the easiest part of what lies ahead of me. It’s simple, the most important meal of the day and all that. Instead of settling in and filling my belly, I’m overwhelmed with options.

This is nothing like the dining situation at my last university.

There’s no line to wait in, and there are no trays of half-frozen food.

Instead, there’s a feast spread across the table: waffles, eggs benedict, French toast, chocolate croissants…

and bar bottles filled with a liquid I hope is wine.

It’s likely not; it’s too early to drink.

My stomach rumbles, and I know I have to eat, but that doesn’t make it easier to overcome my fears. Is the food fit for humans? I’ve seen Margaux eat regular food, yet I’m shocked that vampires consume normal —albeit expensive—food instead of… I don’t know. Blood pudding?

The student across the table smiles and leans closer.

“You look new,” she whispers, lifting a brow.

I could deny it, but why bother? Strode is a small, private university. Leaning into the new kid archetype will work in my favor.

“What tipped you off?” I aim for a charismatic smile, but it’s shaky.

I’m the worst person for this! There are a million people who can charm the pants off this stranger, and I am not one of them.

For what it’s worth, she looks normal. Her hair is strawberry blonde, her eyes a warm brown, and the smile on her face is welcoming… if not for her sharp, pointy fangs.

I repress a shudder.

“It’s the wide-eyed look.” She leans back in her seat, looking pleased with herself. “Every year, without fail, I see new students with exactly that look.”

“Ah…” Nervous laughter falls from my lips. “I’ll try harder to adjust my face.”

“Don’t bother. You’ll adjust soon enough.” She picks up her wine glass, swirling crimson liquid around the cup. “It’s usually just the freshmen who look like that.”

I would believe her if not for the uneasy, twisting feeling in my stomach as she lifts the glass to her lips.

Her eyes are stuck on mine as she takes a dainty sip, leaving behind a mauve lipstick stain.

Blood. The person across from me is drinking blood.

I’m going to faint.

Do other supernatural beings feast on blood?

If they do, I’ve never heard of them… and I should have.

My mother loves telling terrifying tales of the supernatural and the different ways to ward them off.

She was one of the rare people who believed in vampires and witches before they confirmed their existence.

I guess most would call her a conspiracy theorist. For once, the unhinged people were right.

Maybe if I had listened to her advice better, I wouldn’t be here.

“You’re doing it again,” she says.

“Sorry!” I blurt.

“It’s all right.” Her nails tap against the glass. “Is the drink throwing you off? I can tell you’re not a child of the night.”

“I am not.” Shit. What do werecats call themselves? Children of… the claw? I need to do more research. “I’m a werecat.”

I’ve said the lie before. I rehearsed it in front of a mirror, and I told it in the admissions process a few times. The school was excited to accept me. They hardly questioned it as I got the lie past my shaking lips. It was a new moon; they couldn’t exactly demand I shift in front of them.

There’s a reason I decided to pose as a were- something.

She lets out a delighted laugh. “I love cats. I think we’re going to get along great. The witches will probably like you, too. You’ll remind them of their familiars.”

“Maybe.” My gaze sweeps the area. “Are there any witches here? ”

“Oh, tons,” she says. I expect her to point them out, but she doesn’t bother. “Their fertility potions keep their numbers high. Us children of the night aren’t as lucky.”

“That’s, um… too bad,” I say. “Aren’t you immortal? That should be good for your population.”

“Some of us are,” she says vaguely.

Before I can press for more information, another student slides into the seat across from mine. He’s a man of average height with dark hair that falls to his chin.

“You’re new.” His eyes lock onto mine as he fills his plate. It isn’t a question.

“Yup! I found a new one. Lucky me.” The redhead winks. “And I’m realizing I forgot to ask your name. How silly of me.”

I hesitate, realizing my plate is still empty.

“Tobey.” I point to the nametag pinned to my shirt.

Tobey. She/They.

“Amelia. She/her pronouns,” she says, pointing to herself. Then, she points to the man next to her. “And this is Jun. He’s a demon.”

I’m looking at a demon! She says it like it’s nothing. I meet his gaze again, and my heartbeat is irregular.

“Nice to meet you,” I say weakly.

“Son of a demon, actually,” he says. “You don’t need to look so scared. What are you, anyway?”

I don’t know the difference. Either is terrifying! But I should be used to being around demons.

“I’m a werecat.” I force a polite smile.

“Werecat?” His eyes linger on me. “You’re unique, then. I like that. Most of the shifters here are wolves. There are way too many fucking wolves.” The final words are muttered under his breath, but they still earn a glare from a few people down the table.

The werewolves have good hearing. Noted.

Both of these students seem nice enough, but I make small notes about them. Their names, his dislike of werewolves, and Amelia being a vampire. It may mean nothing, but I won’t let anything slip through the cracks.

Someone’s gaze is on me like a dagger. Without turning, I know it’s Margaux. I’ll be in danger if I don’t leave soon.