Page 49 of Divine Oaths

So, after classes the next day, I decided to explore the History Department, and Vivian, seemingly determined to be my friend, tagged along.

Unlike the School of Business, which had been newly renovated, the School of Humanities was brittle with age. The ceilings arched lower, the old light fixtures still capable of burning gas, while the hallways and floors were fixed together with scored stone tiling.

Most of the classrooms were empty except for a few evening classes taking place. In the department lounge, Vivian and I waited in line to speak to the receptionist at the front desk.

“Honey told me she invited you to Theta’s party,” Vivian said, glancing over the line to see how much longer the wait would be. “It’s the night before your birthday, right?”

“Were you eavesdropping?” I asked, even though she obviously had been.

“I have an ear for those things,” she said with a little shrug. “Are you mad?”

“I mean, I guess it’s better than you looking up my wiki.”

Vivian smiled, pleased with herself. “I don’t even know what that is, but I’m glad you’re not upset.” She glanced at me, tentative. “So, are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Kasem will probably be there,” she said. “He’s Sigma. They’re brother and sister societies. You do know he’s a known player,” Vivian said. “But in case you’re unaware, he’s not a long-term kind of guy.”

I sighed. “Trust me. I’m aware.”

“I’m just saying that you spending so much time with people like him and Honey and their circles—it won’t help you like you think. The Sigma and Theta crowds host these parties to lure people, but they don’t actually want any Poppies there. That’s what happened to Nathan. At first he was a Poppy, and then he became wrapped up with the Ivies and Roses, and befriending people like Kasem. Next thing you know, he’s dead.”

“I made a lot of assumptions too about Kasem when I first met him. But he’s not like that. And what happened to Nathan was an accident.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “Congratulations. You officially sound like a Westfield spokesperson. Funny how the Saint James family and the school always have an excuse for the accidents on campus but can’t seem to give an answer as to why they’re happening.”

“I’m not asking you to get involved. But I appreciate your concern.” And I did. I was used to doing things on my own, being alone. Vivian was nosy, opinionated, and a bit of an oddball, but nonetheless, I found that I enjoyed her presence, even if it wasn’t something I was used to.

“Just talk to Angelica,” she said. “If you’re thinking of rushing, Theta isn’t the kind of sorority you want to involve yourself with. Ԑnhye, our sisterhood, would be of much better help.”

We stopped at the front desk, and a receptionist interrupted our conversation to scan our ID cards. Vivian had left hers at her dorm, so she ended up shooting me a quick goodbye and leaving.

I slipped mine from my bag and pinged the digital reader. The device flashed brightly, a loading icon appearing on the screen as it analyzed my ID card before it turned red.

I cursed under my breath.

“Are you signed up for any department classes?” the receptionist asked. “You need to be either in the School of Humanities or taking one of its courses to enter the faculty and student lounges.”

“I’m in an elective,” I lied. “A history one.”

She gave me a blank look. “Then your ID card should’ve been recognized in our system.”

Quickly, I brushed my hand against the digital reader, and despite how much I’d been avoiding triggering my powers, I willingly let a vision wash over me.

The images raced through my mind: students tapping their cards on the screen and gaining entry, some being denied, and others typing their student numbers into the reader so the receptionist could look them up manually. Jojo had been among the sea of faces that had entered the lounge earlier in the day. The sight of him tore at my heart. I pushed further to days before, pain rippling against my head as I channeled until I found someone I thought I could pass as.

“Actually, can I try my student number?” I said, gasping as I drew away from the reader.

The receptionist looked concerned but didn’t voice it.

Instead, she glanced at her computer.

“Are you sure?” she said. “It’s reading your ID card, and it’s just saying you don’t have access. There’s no photo here, though. You might want to update your student profile.”

“I’m in the process of switching to the History Department, so my adviser, Professor Saint James, said it might give me some trouble in the beginning.” Name-dropping Alaster made my stomach curdle, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.

The woman’s eyes widened.