Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance
Nocticadia: Chapter 29

I endured an hour of lecture and absorbed nothing. The phone lay beside me the whole time, taunting me to click on the site and look at how many nauseating views had accumulated in that amount of time.

As I walked out of class, I finally dared myself to click on it, and replaceing a quiet spot beneath a tree, I logged onto the website and scrolled through three pages of videos in search of the one I’d posted.

Nothing.

I clicked on my profile, and under the My Uploads tab, there was nothing.

Wait. What? Had it actually been removed?

The tokens I’d accumulated sat at about nine-hundred thirty-five dollars, but I hesitated to hit the transfer button. What if that made the video populate again?

No. Leave it alone.

It wasn’t worth the anxiety of the video showing up again. I had no idea what the hell had given Tony, or whatever his name was, a change of heart, but I was grateful enough not to press my luck. A potent relief swept through me as I made my way to Darrigan Hall for lunch.

Spencer met me at the entrance, and after swiping me in, we both made our way to the buffet. I’d only had warm breakfast meals since I’d been there. For lunch, I typically ate in the courtyard, and dinner was often nothing more than soup that I smuggled back into my room.

I grabbed my plate, eyeing all the many choices–fresh fish with lemon and capers, red spiced chicken, Korean BBQ beef, ravioli, vegan options, endless sides and desserts, all prepared by on-site chefs.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asked behind me, piling potatoes on his plate.

“The food is overwhelming.”

“Yeah, it’s nutty how much they prepare every day.”

I spooned roasted veggies onto my plate, along with some rice and salad, and the two of us found a table toward the front. I glanced around as I took a seat on the long bench, and my eyes locked with Professor Bramwell’s, where he sat watching me from a table beside what I presumed was another professor.

It was then the other professor seemed to catch sight of me, too, his eyes scrutinizing, the way they narrowed on me. He set his fork down on the plate in front of him and immediately leaned into Professor Bramwell, who never broke his stare.

Frowning, I turned around, wondering if I was the subject of their whispering, and caught sight of Spencer staring beyond me, presumably toward the professors.

“It seems my father does make time for a select few.”

“Your father?”

He nodded and I followed the path of his gaze toward the professor who had stared at me a moment ago–who gathered up his bag and plate of half-eaten food.

“That’s Provost Lippincott?”

“Yeah.”

Lippincott Senior paused to stare back at me again, his brows pulled to a frown, and in my periphery, Spencer waved at him. The older man didn’t wave back. Instead, he shook Bramwell’s hand and headed toward the exit.

As he passed us, Spencer leaned to the side, presumably to get his attention. “Dad, I want to introduce you–”

The elder Lippincott hobbled past without so much as a nod in acknowledgement, and out of the dining hall.

“He ignores you?”

“On the good days. On the bad? Well, let’s just say I prefer the good ones. Not sure what has his panties in a bunch today, though.”

The slight limp I’d noticed in his gait brought to mind the article I’d read a while back about the homeless woman, Andrea Kepling, who’d attacked Lippincott in his home. “Hey, are you familiar with a woman named Andrea Kepling?”

“Who?”

A furtive look around confirmed there were no other students within earshot of my whispering, and I leaned forward. “She’s the woman who attacked your father.”

“The psycho who claimed my dad put worms in her? Never met her, but yeah. He has a gnarly-looking scar on his leg because of her.”

I’d forgotten that bit of information–her claims that he’d somehow infected her. “Like … Noctisoma worms?”

“Who the hell knows? Lady was a fruitcake.”

“Was?”

“Yeah.” A quick glance around, and he leaned in closer. “Overheard my dad telling someone she died a few weeks back. Someone found her slung over the bathtub in some house she was staying in.” His tongue swept over his lips, and he glanced past me and back. “Guess Bramwell did the autopsy on her.” He spoke low, as if the guy might hear him over the din that echoed through the dining hall.

Worms in her belly. Bramwell performing the autopsy. As I poked at my lunch, I silently absorbed the picture he was painting inside my head, one that had me questioning how she might’ve died.

“Any chance your dad might actually have known her at one time?”

“Nah. He said he’d never met her in his life.”

“Lippincottttt!”

At the startling shout of a voice from behind, I turned to see four guys stroll up, all dressed in polo shirts and khaki shorts, one carrying what I guessed to be a rugby ball, like something straight out of an Abercrombie catalog.

Blood thudding in my ears, I prayed they wouldn’t sit down at our table.

Please don’t sit down.

Every one of them piled in around us, though, two on either side of me. In my periphery, one of the guys stared so hard, I almost expected laser beams to come shooting out of his eyeballs. Tension wound in my muscles, the urge to crawl out of my skin scratching at my bones.

“Who’s your new friend?” the one staring beside me asked.

“None of your business.” Though Spencer’s words were honed, his tone carried an air of amusement.

“Well, none of your business looks pretty bored sitting here with you. You’re new here, eh?” He finally addressed me directly, and I gave a sharp nod. “Where are you from?”

“Not around here.”

The guy chuckled and straddled the bench, fully turning toward me. “No one is from around here.”

I hated that he was well within my personal space enough that I could feel his breath on my shoulder.

“Thank fuck for that,” one of his friends added. “All the ghosts and stories about this place would probably drive a person mad. Like Doctor Death,” he whispered and snorted a laugh.

“So, tell us, Red. Where are you from?”

Lifting my gaze to Spencer, eating his lunch as if oblivious to my growing irritation, told me he had no plans of sparing me from his friends. “Why do you care?” I asked, the edge of annoyance punctuating the question.

“Just curious. Why are you so reluctant to say?” The slight smirk pulling at the corner of his lips left me pondering the possibility that he already knew.

“C’mon, Jared, just leave her alone,” Spencer finally chimed in.

“I don’t get why it’s a big secret. Now I need to know.”

“Well, this just got weird. Thanks for lunch, Spencer. I’ll catch you later.” I pushed up from my seat, and feeling a grip on my arm, I glared down with clenched teeth at the asshole who held onto me. “Let go of me. Now.”

“Miss Vespertine. May I have a word with you?”

At the sound of the much more mature voice, I turned to replace Professor Bramwell standing behind me, his pissed-off looking eyes locked onto Rugby boy. The mood shifted, as if his very presence cast a cold stab of ice across the table.

My pulse hastened, and the grip of my arm fell away.

Swallowing a gulp, I nodded. “Sure.”

With a slight jerk of his head, he urged me after him, toward the exit, slowing his pace as I caught up. “My apologies if you had hoped to finish your lunch. You looked like you needed an exit.”

“You’re very observant. So, I’m not in trouble, then?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He came to a stop just outside of the dining hall and turned to face me, glancing over his shoulder when a group of students passed by. “Have you deleted the video?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“So, if I asked for proof, you’d willingly hand over your phone to me.”

Eyes locked on his, I pulled the phone from my bag, holding it out between us.”

He merely glanced down to the phone and back to me, not bothering to take it from me. “Good.” An awkward silence lingered for a moment, before his gaze shifted to the dining room and back. “I see you and Mr. Lippincott have become well acquainted.”

I shoved the phone back into my bag, catching his eyes tracking the movement. The man had the mannerisms of a panther, the way nothing seemed to escape him. “He’s a nice person. Genuine.”

“I’ve found nice and genuine rarely go hand in hand.”

“That seems not to be the case with Spencer.”

“Of course not.” His hand flexed, and in the brief interlude of conversation, I found myself staring at the way the strap of his bag crossed over his chest, somehow emphasizing his broad shoulders. “I’ve graded the quizzes from last week. In a class of sixty-eight students, ten of whom failed it altogether, you’re the only one with a perfect score.” A slight curve of his lips told me that pleased him.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, the thought of that tickled me.

“For one who seems to have a good handle on neuroparasitology, perhaps you replace the class a bore,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not. I replace your lectures riveting.”

Again, his lips curved, higher that time. Without warning, he tossed me an apple that I hadn’t noticed him carrying. “In case you get hungry later. Good afternoon, Miss Vespertine.” With that, he strode off into the courtyard.

“Hey,” Spencer said as he ambled up to me. “I’m really sorry. Those guys are dicks. Everything good with Doctor Death?”

“Yeah.” I watched him cross the yard, like a thunderstorm passing over the sky. That was the perfect way to describe him–ominous and foreboding, yet mesmerizing at the same time. “He just wanted to ask me about one of my journal entries.” It was strange, the way I couldn’t look away, the way I couldn’t stop thinking of that seemingly innocuous smile. One that still had my stomach in a fluttery mess.

“Huh. Hey, I actually asked you to lunch because I wanted to know if you’re doing anything next Saturday?”

I finally dragged my attention from Bramwell. “Studying, most likely.”

“Any chance I can convince you to take a night off and attend a charity event with me?” A complete look of disinterest must’ve been plastered on my face, because he kept on, with “It’s a gala with a candlelight concert. But I promise, it’s not a date. I just … would rather go with someone who doesn’t drive me nuts.”

“I don’t think so. I’m sorry. Besides, I don’t really have anything to wear to something like that.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about that. The dress would be my treat. My thanks for saving me from having to go with Kendall.”

Having to go with Kendall? Not like she wasn’t beautiful, and she definitely fawned over the guy. Not exactly a chore to ask her. “There’s a whole campus, Spencer. And candlelight sounds a little too … intimate.”

“I promise it won’t be. Please. I’m willing to beg, if that’s what it’ll take.”

I exhaled a sigh, my head refusing to give in. I hated social engagements as a general rule, but one for the wealthy would undoubtedly give me hives. “Surely, there’s someone else you can ask.”

“There isn’t, I can assure you.”

Arms crossed, I huffed, hating myself for being so damn empathetic that I was actually considering his request. “What time?”

“It starts at eight. Ends at midnight.”

“I’m not staying out until midnight.”

“No problem. I’ll get you home whenever you need to be back. Scout’s honor.”

Damn, the guy did not give up easily. “You’re sure there’s not someone else you’d rather take?”

“Positive.”

Don’t do it, Lilia. Don’t give in.

“Fine, I’ll go.”