Page 7 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Five

I sit at my desk, squinting at my bright laptop screen. It’s too early for this, but my classes start in an hour, and I have research to do.

The human news outlets don’t report on the Strode deaths, but there’s a way around that. The supernatural news is easy to find now that I’m on Strode Wi-Fi.

I guess that’s how they keep everything so private.

There are five reported deaths scattered over the last year—including Poppy.

“How is this place still open?” I mutter, making a new tab for each of the articles.

This is why they’re trying to keep it from the mainstream outlets, I assume. They’re good at sweeping things under the rug. Too many people don’t want to acknowledge that the supernatural exists at all.

Five deaths, including Poppy’s.

The first was a witch. She was an eighteen-year-old freshman and identified as a woman. No cause of death.

I click on the next article. A twenty-three-year-old werewolf. Man. No cause of death .

And the next. Another witch, twenty, a man. Drug-related death.

In a shocking twist, the next one is a thirty-year-old professor. A man. No cause of death—they assumed it was a suicide. But how?

Lastly, there is Poppy. She isn’t reported in the supernatural news. Her death is ruled as drug-related. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman.

Three students. One professor. One local.

There are no common links between the deaths. Two were witches, but there’s nothing else.

Maybe Poppy’s death is unrelated. She’s an outlier with no connection to Strode.

What the hell am I doing here?

I shake off the thought and close the tabs, but their names follow me on the way to my classes.

Another day, another body. It’s expected, but I didn’t see it coming this fast.

Two days in, and the school is already burning to the ground.

Walking outside after dark is something they told me to avoid at orientation, but I can always play stupid.

It is stupid—just as stupid as investigating the scene of Poppy’s death. That had a favorable outcome, and so will this.

At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at, but it’s out of the ordinary. Quiet hours began an hour ago, but there’s a large group surrounding the area.

And it's not only the students. Professors and security guards are there, too, blocking them from something I can’t see.

I push closer, ignoring the voices telling us to leave the area.

When I realize what they’re crowding, I go cold. Time stops.

Yellow tape is the only thing keeping the other students from trampling over the poor, lost person. My heart pounds, and my eyes prick with tears.

I don’t recognize them, but it doesn’t matter. Images of Poppy’s perfectly preserved body flood my brain.

I may be the next to die—from a heart attack.

The student is one I vaguely recognize from orientation, and—God, they can’t be more than eighteen years old.

They didn’t speak a single word, and their loss doesn’t impact me personally, but they mean everything to me.

They are Poppy. I had never seen Poppy in this state, and now I’m glad.

If the sight of a stranger looking like this feels so terrible—enough to make me want to vomit—how would I feel if it was a friend?

There’s no time to be sick. I have to focus. I take note of what I can see. No injuries. No sign of a struggle…

There’s nothing helpful, and I need to leave before my lingering becomes suspicious.

The investigators usher us away. I allow it, incapable of fighting the swarming crowd.

After walking a few steps, I stop. A golden glint catches my eye.

I try to make it subtle as I bend over, picking up the mysterious item.

A pocket watch? I stare at the item, head tilted to the side. It’s a pretty antique thing, made of heavy gold, cool and slightly damp to the touch. Not blood, thank God, but water from the sprinklers.

I turn it over in my hand. There are two letters etched on the back: B.C.

Who is B.C?

Under my touch, the watch becomes scalding. I nearly drop it.

“Evacuate the area!” a voice yells, bringing me back to reality.

I throw the ticking item into my pocket and stand, scrambling away from the scene.

I found something! It may be nothing, but it’s more than I had before. I’m on cloud nine as I leave.

I’m so high in the clouds that I don’t realize who’s standing in front of me until I bump into them. My head collides with someone’s chest, and I let out a yelp, holding their arms to keep myself steady.

“Sorry!” I say.

Of course, it’s Caldwell. I was hoping not to see him at all, much less like this.

His eyes narrow. “You again?”

The simple words are enough to make me roll my eyes.

Of course, he’s here. It isn’t suspicious—right? Everyone is here.

If he did something wrong, he wouldn’t stick around to taunt me.

As much as I long to push him away, curiosity keeps me glued in place.

The watch in my pocket is heavier as I look at him. I match the narrowing of his eyes, fixing him with a glare.

“Yes, it’s me again . I do go to school here, you know.” I cross my arms and storm off.

“Wait!” I don’t need to turn around to know he’s following behind, easily falling into step. “Are you all right? No one should have to see that.”

“I’m not the only person who saw it.” I shudder at the reminder of the body. “And I’m fine, though I think it’s funny that you’re the only one showing concern.”

A professor is there to escort us to our dorms, but aside from that, there is no fanfare. No one seems worried.

“Let me walk you to your dorm,” he says.

“What is it with you offering to walk me places?” I gesture to the professor. “We already have an escort. Shouldn’t you go to your dormitory?”

“Probably.” But he continues to linger. “I can’t go until you give me what you have in your pocket.”

I nearly stop in my tracks. The item is more than heavy now—it is an anchor. It’s as if the watch itself is asking for release, trying to tear its way out of my pocket.

I ignore the feeling, my head held high. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“My watch,” he says. “I dropped it, and you picked it up. It’s a family heirloom.”

“I didn’t ask for your life story,” I say. “I doubt the watch is yours. You’re trying to pull a fast one on me, but it won’t work.”

“And you’re stealing my watch,” he says lowly, “but it won’t work.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to admit it’s yours, considering I found it near a corpse. It’s evidence, and I’m going to properly submit it.” A feeble lie, considering I’m heading in the opposite direction of the investigation.

Finally, I’ve found a way to silence the maddening man. His brows furrow, lips popping open. Only a frustrated sigh passes through them.

We arrive at the dormitory, but before I can go inside, he stops me, holding onto my arm and fixing me with a serious stare.

“If you wanted to speak with me, you could have found a better reason than stealing my family’ s watch,” he says. Something close to a smile dances behind his eyes. It’s a small glimmer of light in his otherwise serious expression.

I roll my eyes. “I will give it to you when you can prove it’s yours.” Hopefully, that will buy me time for a thorough investigation.

My curiosity grows.

I know I should turn it in to the investigators, but why bother? They’ll brush it off like they do everything else. I will have to figure this out on my own. The night around us falls into silence, and only then does it strike me that I’m alone with a stranger.

My throat tightens. It’s a telltale sign panic is trying to take me hostage.

Next, my brain will shut down. Then I’ll only breathe in huffs and pants. I should count—five things I see, four things I…

Oh, who fucking cares? We’re all going to die.

“How do you suppose I do that?” he asks.

“A phone call with your mother will do,” I say, “or a written letter with her signature. Maybe a picture of her I.D. to go along with it. Whichever is easier.”

He nods. “There is a problem with that.”

“Which is?”

“I cannot communicate with the dead.” His voice is dry and emotionless.

The fear tightens in my throat. I can hardly breathe, torn between being embarrassed—no, mortified —and sympathetic. I have to go. I cannot feel bad for this man. Trusting anyone at Strode is a danger.

“Then you’ll have to find another way.” I take a step back.

“In that case, you’ll be seeing me again.” He pulls a tin of cigarettes out of his pocket, placing one between his lips. “Though I have a feeling that’s what you were hoping for.”

There’s an insinuation behind his words and a dark look in his eyes.

I don’t know how to respond. Heat rises to my cheeks, my eyes wide as I flounder for words. “I don’t?—”

“It’s all right,” he says, speaking around the cigarette. “I get it now. Perhaps you’ll pluck up the courage to ask me on an actual date next time. These spur-of-the-moment meetings have got to stop.” He holds my gaze as he lights the cigarette.

I should deny the accusation, but I can’t bring myself to say a thing. Caldwell is annoying and strange, but… he’s piqued my curiosity. Everyone on this campus is a suspect. I may need to investigate him, and I certainly need to keep the watch. It was too close to the body.

If this is what I need to do to avenge Poppy, so be it.

There is also the chance it will lead to danger, but I’ll worry about that later.

“Smoking kills,” I say in a weak voice.

“Look around.” The cigarette rests between his fingers, and he exhales smoke, blowing it away from us. “There are worse threats to our lives.”

“Right. On that note… get to your room safely,” I say.

If he has a response, I don’t stick around to hear it.

“You!” The escorting professor stops me as I enter, watching me with beady eyes. “Where did you go? I thought we lost you.”

“I was just outside?—”

“Don’t wander off again,” she says. “When you’re in a group, stay with the group… especially at night.”

I duck my head. “Sorry, Professor. I won’t let it happen again.”

She sits at the lobby desk. “Go to your room. It’s past quiet hours. Security will not be as kind as I am.”