Page 79 of The Villains of Winter

He faked a smile. “Welcome back, Elliott. Happy birthday.”

James told himself that it wasn’t the first time the elected honorarium was spared. Professor Malcolm Hexley was a selected honorarium that had been spared after his twin brother had taken his place in the winter ritual. Elliott was another spared honorarium.

“Thank you, James. I can be with Kitty now, I can’t believe it.”

Professor Ilaria is trying to replace me with you. She wants you in her debt. James clenched his teeth, wishing he could force out every dark truth of his profane history so that Elliott could understand that this wasn’t a gift. He couldn’t be with Kitty in the same way ever again.

Professor Ilaria found a more malleable protégé.

She was going to psychologically damage Elliott, right in front of James.

She might concoct methods to torture Elliott in retribution for James’s insolence. Anything was an inimical possibility with her.

The internecine power friction between them would destroy them both. Therefore, one of them had to cede power first. For Elliott’s sake, James had to surrender to the olive branch of mercy. A declaration of war was his first instinct. However, instead, he would reconcile with the woman he loathed.

“I won’t be a burden on Knox anymore,” Elliott rasped with gasps with relief. It finally occurred to him he didn’t have to return to the cold, windowless garage, kept outside of civilization. “I’ve been a burden my whole life. I’m finally free.”

His words ignited anger in James’s chest.

“You were treated as a burden. There’s a difference. You were never a burden, Elliott.” He forced him to look him in his eyes. “You are no one’s burden. Do you understand?”

Elliott smiled upon him, and James’s heart was arrested. At that moment, he would’ve done anything to keep that loving gaze in his eyes. Warmth plucked beneath James’s skin. The concentratedly sweet gaze of Elliott seized him. The heavenly mismatched eyes that enraptured everyone’s soul.

James hadn’t been in Elliott’s presence in months. He’d forgotten how close to magic it felt like to gaze upon Elliott.

Elliott believed anyone and everyone. Elliott trusted the wealthy students of Æscwulf College–because he truly believed that everyone had good inside of them. He trusted the faculty of the College with the same incurable optimism.

He trusted Séverine Ilaria because she was in a position of authority. He’d been indoctrinated to always put his faith in authority.

James felt a thread of guilt that he’d led Elliott into a dark path with him. A dark education in deception and blood.

He vowed to himself he wouldn’t ruin Elliott’s life again. If you perform an act of satisfying solatium for your slight, then you will be forgiven. You’ve been my muse. Decide well.

For Elliott, James decided he would plead for forgiveness to her on the first of September. He would spare no expense. September first was the very start of the autumn trimester, when everyone would return to campus, when everyone would witness him declare in an obsequious, adulatory monologue how much he loved his mentor.

James assumed he had more time to appease her.

He was gravely mistaken.

Far more dire than that, Elliott had finalized his plan to meet with the reporter. On July thirteenth, he would confess everything and atone for his past at last. He would be freed. He decided he would spend his last summer with James.

A decision that would decimate them both.

​​ PART NINE: AN INVITATION OF MALICE

BANEBURY, CONNECTICUT

SUMMER

​​ CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

PERSEUS SWANN AMBUSHED JAMES BEFORE he could enter the Exeter Athenaeum antechamber lift. The pre-Industrial Era wrought brass grates and pulleys were a lattice work of steam-powered machinery. Discreetly, they exited to the lowest corridors, and they reached the covert embankment of antechambers. In the brumous corridors, fumes of emulsified human fluids penetrated the viscous, putrid stench of septicaemia. The walls were crowned with the craniums of the former honorariums and four intricate dissection tables severed the antechamber on each side, bordered with examination utensils.

Even during their practice hours, there was no electricity, only the candlelit library study areas of vellum-bound tomes and massive ancient texts arranged precisely to the dead language from which it originated.

“Why in the entire fuck is Elliott Archway alive?” Perseus was out of sorts, his shirt untucked, his trousers unbuttoned, and by the banned cellphone in his hands, he’d found out in the dead of night that Elliott had returned to the College. Perseus had sprinted across the sodden lawn through the automatic sprinklers to reach the Exeter Athenaeum antechamber. “He shouldn’t be alive, James. Explain what the hell happened.”

“There’s nothing to explain.” James treaded past him into the antechamber.