Page 18 of Divine Oaths

I shot a look at a girl who stood at the edge of our group. Other than me, she was one of the few Black girls enrolling this year with a scholarship. She had light brown skin, dyed chestnut hair, and warm brown eyes. She wore a pleated moss-colored skirt, a white blouse, and a navy-and-green plaid blazer with Westfield’s lily crest embroidered on it. Next to her was a guy with pale skin, auburn hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. He wasn’t wearing Westfield iconography but seemed just as intrigued by the fact that the girl had already managed to get her hands on one of the coveted Westfield blazers.

Even back in the city, when I’d been living off tips and my hours being a psychic at Center City Mall, I’d seen Westfield students casually wear the blazer over their designer clothes while shopping at the mall or getting dinner. This girl’s blazer looked strangely outdated compared with the ones I’d seen other Westfield students wear, and I wondered if she’d found it in a secondhand store. Her short height fit the frame of the blazer like a doll, and against the soft glow of morning sun, her figure was like a mirage glittering in the light.

As Honey began explaining orientation rules, I approached the girl.

“Poppy House was supposed to get its own resident assistant,” she whispered when I neared, as if she could read the questioning look in my expression. “But Honey’s covering last minute.”

I nodded. “Yeah, she mentioned that.” If my powers weren’t so out of control, I could have shaken Honey’s hand, seen the full backstory of how she’d wound up in her position. But this would suffice. “Do you know what happened to our original RA? Doesn’t seem like Honey really…” I paused, glancing at Honey in her designer clothes with an RA T-shirt pulled over them to make her seem more approachable.“… gets it,” I finished.

“Of course she doesn’t,” the girl said. “She’s a Garnier.”

“Oh?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “The Garniers, as in that old money Virginia family that’s been around here since, what, the 1800s?”

“I’m from New York, originally,” I said. I didn’t add that my family had moved out there initially when my Baby Mozart videos had started taking off. Before then, we’d lived in a small Maryland suburb, and before that, my mother and her side of the family were immigrants from West Africa in the ’90s. My dad and his family, on the other hand, moved from the South to Chicago during the Great Migration, while the other side of his family was from Virginia. All of this was easily verified on the Baby Mozart fan page. Though, from the looks of it, the girl didn’t seem to recognize me.

“Her parents are on Westfield’s board of trustees,” the girl said, continuing her explanation. “Honey’s a legacy, and her family and the Saint Jameses practically own Westfield. I mean, the Saint Jameses literally do, but that’s neither here nor there,” she said with a shrug. “The only reason Honey agreed to be an RA was so her parents wouldn’t force her into rehab after what happened last year.”

At my wide-eyed expression, a wry smile formed on her lips. “I’m Vivian,” the girl said. “Vivian Smith. I started my first term at Westfield a while ago but never finished.”

“Hence why you know the Westfield gossip,” I said. I smiled back at her. “I’m Sianna.”

With my powers not as they once were, someone like Vivian, who had been to Westfield before, was quick to run her mouth, and had an ear to the ground, could be an ally. If she could help me find Kasem, then I could confront him about my powers and figure out what had happened that night.

“Last name?” Vivian asked.

“Oh, I mean… does that matter?”

“That’s all that matters at Westfield,” Vivian said. “You’ll learn soon enough.” She ran a hand over her hair, which had been straightened and gathered on top of her head into a huge bun, while her bangs swooped to the side of her head. As she did, I noticed the sleeve of her blazer was damp and dripping with swamp water.

“Sianna Grace Adu,” I said. “Does the middle name help?” The good part about being known simply as “Baby Mozart” was that most people who weren’t tabloid junkies or on fan forums didn’t actually know who I was.

Vivian smiled. “You’re not local but you got a scholarship?” she observed. “Interesting. They usually save them for in-state students.”

“My dad’s side is from Virginia. And I’m here on a music scholarship.”

That seemed to satisfy Vivian. “I’d shake your hand,” she said, “but…” We both glanced down at her hands, which were wet with swamp water.

“Did you, like, fall in?” I joked.

Vivian frowned. But then, thankfully, she giggled softly at my bad attempt at a joke.

With Honey leading us, our group followed closely. I expected us to pass through the main part of campus to get to our dorms. Instead, Honey led us to a side path, away from the towering structure of the main campus, past the ivory facades of Westfield’s Greek life housing. It took us nearly half an hour to arrive as we ducked past weeping willows, our shoes caught in muddied underpasses and overgrowth. At one point, I saw a yellow snake burrowing behind a rotting tree as the path slowly deteriorated into an overgrown trail.

Finally, we arrived in front of a group of three multistory houses. A wooden gate, with the words WELCOME TO POPPY HOUSE carved into it, enclosed the structures. The words were painted in Westfield colors: ivory white, blue, and green. While the three houses were identical, each framed by mahogany awnings, Honey clarified that they were separated by academic year. One of the buildings housed all the scholarship graduate students, while the two that housed undergraduate scholarship students were designated for first-years in one building and everyone else in the other one.

Honey led us to the first-year scholarship student house.

“Take the morning to freshen up and put your things away,” Honey said. “Your orientation starts in the afternoon.”

A South Asian guy clad in Westfield regalia raised his hand.

Honey seemed confused by the gesture. “Babes, this isn’t class. You don’t have to raise your hand.”

“Aren’t we getting a tour?” he asked.

When Honey didn’t answer, he moved past her, back in the direction of campus. But she stopped him, all of the bubbly energy and lightness deflating from her instantly.