Page 62 of The Villains of Winter

James was swarmed as the rest pressed into him.

“We’ll miss him. Sometimes he would drum in between classes. He was adorably cute.” Another actress patted his hand gently. “Let me know if you want to come with me to see a healing monk in Tibet, James.”

He returned kisses and embraces, mentioning how grateful he was to have everyone’s support in his time of need. He mentioned he couldn’t wait to go home for the holidays, and that he’d pay Elliott’s orphanage a visit.

As they clung to his every word, he repeatedly slipped in the fact that he was headed home to his family as many times as he could. Therefore, it would be understandable that his dormitory was empty when the police came.

​​ CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

11:00 AM.

After the wrap party’s conclusion, Professor Ilaria drew him to a porcelain clawfoot bathtub in her lavish antechamber. The serpentine ivies and pothos snaked around every corner of the professor’s private cave in ostentatious flora, the ornamentals of selenite and black tourmaline were scattered throughout the draughty antechamber with the aroma of crushed sage and earthy camphor incense. Surrounding James were trinkets, baubles, beads, and charms to avert evil and unclean spirits.

A laurel was bestowed upon his head.

After thysía, the lustration needed to begin to cleanse them of ceremonial impurity. The lustration was a form of purification–expurgating the body and mind from guilt, harmful spirits, omens, unsanctified mindsets, or ill luck. For the lustration, the animal sacrifices were often half burnt on the altar and half abandoned into the sea. However, there were no rams, bulls, or priests nearby, but there was always ample water to cleanse him.

James stepped inside the warmth of the scented waters. He kept a rough cloth between his thighs. He tried not to cough from the smoke of the frankincense in the thousand-year-old clay thymiaterion. He kept his nicked hands beneath water.

Professor Ilaria bathed him as though she truly was a priestess of Delphi for Apollōn, the god of archery, the arts, light, healing, and prophecy. James was the god of nothing.

Yet with her, he was her everything.

“You know you may tell me anything, my muse,” she whispered against his ear.

“Thank you, I appreciate your condolences.”

She hadn’t meant condolences. She quickly cleared her throat in mortification. “Of course, condolences are to be given. I am very terribly sorry for…” She paused and it seemed to occur to her that she didn’t even know his friend’s name. “I offer my deepest regards to…I shall send all my heartfelt wishes to…Ellison…”

“Elliott Archway.”

“Ah, yes!” She smeared the letters of Elliott’s name across her wrist with ink as not to forget the next time. “Elliott Archway, the boy in your dormitory every afternoon. Very tragic, indeed.”

“You’ve met him at rehearsals, line readings, and recitations.”

“Naturally, I have. I remember him fondly.”

James felt tension in his muscle as the cold compression of her hands held his broad shoulders.

“Is there…anything you wish to tell me in your moment of darkness?”

“The Paean of the Villains of Winter was exceptional as always. No one nearly drowned in the seawater this time.”

“You were absolute perfection on stage. An impeccable performance as ever.” She breathed further in his ear, cleansing his forearms. “Anything else?”

James complimented her commitment to the lustration. She was very young for a professor, but she cared greatly about history and tradition. She thanked him with a kiss on his laurel.

“I am excellent with secrets, Apollōn. You may speak to me about anything.” She reached further into the waters. “Anything you desire to tell me at all. Anything you would like from me.”

Her eyes met his fiercely.

“The provisions were delicious, as always.” James plied her with praise on the ripe fruits, fine meats, olives, bread, honey, and exotic cheeses. The abundant assortment of imported fish, iced fresh from the islands of Greece. “I am full on your generosity.”

Her voice hovered above his shoulder blade. “My gracious Apollōn, remember that I was once a student of Æscwulf College as you are. I was terribly gifted and out of place as you are. I had a mentor that awakened my world when he introduced me to the Oxlade Cabal as you were introduced.” She skimmed her fingers lithely over the chiseled barrel of his chest. “He protected me from all troubles. He spared no expense for my private erudition. He restrained nothing from me. All was given to me. As I gave unto him.”

James knew who her mentor had been. Who her mentor still was.

Provost Tytheridge.