An Arcane Inheritance by Kamilah Cole - 27

The day of Professor Colt’s next salon, she didn’t hear from Hudson at all. After the fifth unanswered text, she realized she was running out of time to get ready and frowned her way to the shower, hoping—in vain—that something would be waiting for her when she got back. The idea of going alone disoriented her almost as much as the flash of Colt among the trees, a warning she wasn’t entirely sure she could afford to believe. After all, a recommendation from the sexagenarian professor could set her up for life.

Still, she packed her pepper spray and her Taser just in case; they were more reliable than magic. Then she tried Hudson one more time before calling an Uber. His robotic voicemail informed her that his inbox was full.

Professor Colt’s face lit up when he saw her at the door. He’d chosen a tweed suit with an orange pocket square that made it look as if he were wearing the foliage around them. His eyes were the blue gray of the winter sky, and his beard had been shaved down to stubble that outlined his square jaw in silver and blond. It was so much like her vision that she almost fled, except she could hear the other members of the salon behind him, people who wouldn’t spit on her if she were on fire, and she was struck with a sudden unfairness that they were inside and she was not.

She needed this. Needed Colt. If he was hunting her, she would have to make herself harder to hunt.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be joining us,” Colt said. “Mister Graves hasn’t arrived.”

“He might not be coming at all. Can I—”

“Of course, my dear. It’s a pleasure to have you, with or without Mr. Graves. Come in, come in.”

Ellory could tell that he meant it, but she couldn’t tell why he meant it. Her fingers itched to ring Hudson one more time, but he already had an abundance of messages and a missed call. Not even Aunt Carol would try that many times; she would already be halfway to Hartford after three messages at most. Boone must have taken his phone again.

Hopefully.

Ellory willed herself to think about nothing but the salon; it felt like a spotlight was on her, an unaccompanied interloper in a space that had been carved out for people older, richer, more talented. The rest of Colt’s guests were gathered near the fireplace, which was currently lit. The orange and yellow flames cast the room in warm tones that made it feel all the more inviting.

“Where’s Graves?” asked Duncan Something-or-Other. “Did he finally get tossed out?”

“And replaced by her?” Kendall Rhodes frowned. “I doubt it.”

“Maybe she killed him,” said Sofia Aston. “There was this weird tension between them last month.”

Ellory bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reminding them all that she was standing right here. They knew that. They were enjoying it, in fact. Ellory had met people like this in high school, who fed on negative attention. Ignoring them never solved the problem, but it felt good to turn her back on them to stare out the window instead.

Colt joined her, smiling. His mustard suit made him look like a golden emperor, but she saw no trace of the malevolence that had been so evident in the clearing. “The gardener overseeds her every autumn,” he said, jutting his chin toward the yard. “There’s not much to be done about the trees short of replanting them, but I do so hate dead things.”

“You could replace them with evergreens,” said Ellory, wondering if the school groundskeepers would claim overseeding to explain the abrupt change in Bancroft Field. “Junipers and spruces, maybe.”

“Too festive, for me. But I’ll bear that in mind.”

If he found it absurd to be standing here, talking to her about tree species while his regular salon attendees whispered poison behind them, it didn’t show in the lines of his face. Should she ask him about the Old Masters directly, or would that only get her killed? Was this salon part of the recruitment effort, or would his guests be shocked if he killed her before them and buried her underneath his dead trees? Ellory tried to slide her trembling hands into her pockets before remembering that, unlike her coat, this dress didn’t have any. She twisted her fingers in the folds of the skirt instead.

“So Hudson didn’t tell you he couldn’t make it?” she asked, finally turning away from the view.

“He rarely does,” said Colt, unbothered. “These salons are difficult for him. The rest of the group envies him in many ways. They think he’s my favorite.”

“Well, is he?”

Colt’s smile widened. “It would hardly be appropriate for me to play favorites, Miss Morgan. I’ve done this too many years for that. But I do see a lot of myself in him, more so than I do in Kendall, Duncan, Sofia, Quentin, Miles, Percy, or Gaia.”

It took Ellory a moment to realize that Gaia was the girl she’d thought was named Greer. “How so?”

“I choose my cohort based on talent, potential, and, I’ll admit, connections. Talent is something many people are born with. They may cultivate it, but they may also take it for granted. Connections, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, grease the wheels of this world. Knowing the right people at the right time offers the kind of protection that not even money can buy. But potential…it can be hard to find students who aim to reach their full potential. Mister Graves is one of two, in the entire time I’ve been hosting these.” Colt rubbed at his bare chin, shaved so closely that she could hardly see the silver of his stubble. “He’s never been content to coast on his talent. He reads ahead. He asks questions. He has a hunger in him that appeals to me as an educator. He will do great things, and I want to be a part of his journey.” A wry laugh escaped him. “Perhaps I am playing favorites.”

“No, I think you’re right,” Ellory said carefully. “I’ve always…seen that in him.”

“I see that in you as well,” said Colt. “Mister Graves can be very withdrawn, so I was surprised when he brought a guest at all. But in the short time I’ve known you, I see your similarities. Have you considered—”

“Professor,” said Gaia-Not-Greer, appearing between them with a look of strained politeness. Her blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun, which made her look like she should have been teaching classes herself. “Can you come and settle something between Sofia and me?” Her blue eyes cut in Ellory’s direction. “You don’t mind if I borrow Colt, do you, Morgan?”

“Not at all—”

But Gaia was already dragging the professor away, leaving Ellory alone by the windows. The whispering on the other side of the room grew louder, interrupted by performative laughter that sent a clear message. The setting sun looked like the glowing eye of a monster, waiting for her to fail.

Ellory took a deep breath and braced herself for a nightmarish evening without Hudson as her shield.

***

Dinner had a Southeast Asian influence: pancit miki bihon, which blended egg noodles and rice-stick noodles, shredded cabbage and stripped carrots, shredded chicken and chicharrones; skirt steak skewers with caramelized marinade and a side of nước chấm; tofu pad thai, the rice noodles flavored with sweet-and-sour sauce; Cambodian chicken and rice soup garnished with a lime wedge and garlic cloves.

Ellory forwent the wine in favor of water, letting the conversation wash over her instead of contributing. She didn’t want to be drunk around these people normally, but she especially didn’t want to be drunk around people who might want her dead. Her phone was in her lap, the screen remaining dark as the night wore on. At one point, Miles tried to press her for information about Hudson’s whereabouts, his eyes narrowing when she told him she didn’t have any.

“Then why did you come?” he asked. “Not that you’re not welcome. It’s just a little strange, don’t you think?”

Ellory lifted her eyebrows. “You seem to have a lot of thoughts you want to share.”

“The rest of us busted our asses to get chosen by Professor Colt for this year’s salon,” said Miles, leaning forward so that she could smell the rosé on his breath. He wore a silver tie that stroked her arm as he invaded her space. “And you just, what, slept your way in? It’s not fair.”

It wasn’t fair that Miles’s grandfather had possessed a billion dollars in start-up money to loan to his father. It wasn’t fair that Miles’s father could still oppose things like the Godwin Scholarship for elevating disadvantaged students into spaces like this. It wasn’t fair that Miles could look at her and assume she could have gotten here only on her back—and that he would look down on that when he didn’t seem to have anything that wasn’t handed to him thanks to an accident of birth. At least if she had slept her way into the salon, she would have worked for it. Miles dripped with the egotism of a man who had never struggled and never would.

“Leave her alone,” said an unfamiliar voice on her other side. Percy, the quiet one, didn’t lift his gaze from his plate, but his mouth was twisted into a scowl. “That’s so fucking sexist, man.”

Miles snorted. “I’m just saying what the rest of you are thinking.”

“I’m thinking you’re an asshole, actually,” Sofia, sitting on Miles’s left, chimed in. “And that you’re probably projecting. Which of your professors are you sleeping with to have the grades to be here?”

Miles’s suntanned cheeks grew dark with an angry flush. He drained his wineglass, glancing quickly at Colt to make sure he was still buried in conversation with Kendall. When he spoke, it was acidic. “And why are you here, Aston? Didn’t your family go bankrupt in the last hospitality crash?”

Sofia rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I ever dated you.”

While Sofia and Miles argued over who was to blame for their breakup, Ellory loosened her grip around her fork. Her nails hadn’t broken the skin of her palm…this time. She wanted to be angry at Hudson for leaving her to suffer these people alone, but she had chosen to come, despite everything. She was choosing to stay, in the hopes that all this would be worth it, and she was choosing to bite her tongue so as not to come across as the belligerent one. But Miles’s accusation did more than make her feel small. It made her feel like the basest sum of her sexual parts, worth nothing in his eyes but what was between her legs. Her mind, her personality, her appearance—those things could not possibly have charmed Hudson. No, they had to have fucked.

It made her ashamed of every time she’d ever been aroused in Hudson Graves’s presence, and who was Miles to have that kind of control over her thoughts?

Carefully, she set her fork down on the table before she stabbed him in the thigh with it. She had been so focused on the dangers of magic that she had forgotten the everyday danger of a man who thought his money made him worthy of having stupid opinions.

Dinner wrapped up soon after. Ellory helped Colt’s cook clear the plates, mostly so she didn’t have to risk walking out with the rest of the group. Her thoughts were a tangled wasp’s nest, buzzing with her anger, and she was afraid of what she might say to them. By comparison, Colt—who had yet to do anything to her that she could prove—seemed like the lesser evil.

“I was hoping I could catch you alone,” he said, stepping back into the dining room. The table was clear between them. He rested his hands on the back of his chair. “I have an unusual proposal for you, if it’s of interest.”

“Okay…” Ellory’s hand hovering near her bag and the pepper spray concealed within.

“The spring semester will be here before you know it. I’ve looked into your transcript. Your grades are impressive, even more so given you successfully juggle your coursework with your work-study. If it wouldn’t be too much for your schedule, I’d like to take you on as a student assistant for my research next term.”

Ellory blinked, all thoughts of sinister secret societies and overt misogyny forgotten. “Me? But—I’m just a freshman.”

“You’re hardworking and reliable. You manage strong personalities with an unexpected grace. And, according to your professors, you already show a strong grasp of political theory. You’re one of the most engaged students in your classes.” Colt glanced toward the hallway. “I know you had some sort of disagreement with the others at dinner, but I hope you won’t let what one or two students think of you stop you from considering my offer. It’s unorthodox, but I do feel you’re the right person for the job.”

“I—I’d love to.” The agreement could not come out of her mouth fast enough. It wasn’t exactly a recommendation, but it was an opportunity. She would have the same access to him that she did to Boone on the Communiqué , a path to information she couldn’t get otherwise. If he was innocent, it would look good on her résumé. If he wasn’t, as she increasingly suspected, she could keep an eye on him, even stop him, from the heart of his own research lab. “What sort of work is it?”

“I’ll send you all the details so you can make an informed decision. But I typically spend my fall term teaching and my spring term doing field research with around four or five student assistants. However many my grant will allow. You’ll be the first.”

Ellory swallowed past the lump in her throat, unsure if the sudden onset of tears was because of the stress of the night, the emotional whiplash of getting everything she’d ever wanted, or the obvious trap he was trying to close around her. “Not to talk you out of this…but are you sure? We’ve only just met, Professor.”

“I trust my instincts about people.” He checked his watch. “Anyway, let me call you a car. It’s late, and you’d best get back to your dormitory.”

Ellory’s hands shook as he called a car service, but, thankfully, Colt didn’t seem to notice. It would be a lot, adding something like this to her already-packed schedule. She would have less time for dates and parties, and even less time to study for her actual classes. But if she could do this—the work and the investigation, learning and spying—then her future would finally look bright.

“Hey, Colt,” she murmured, once the car was three minutes away and she could slip back into her coat. “You said earlier that Hudson was one of two students you’ve seen potential in. Who was the other?”

“Oh, that was so long ago.” A shadow passed over his face, like he was remembering something unpleasant. “It was a boy by the name of Malcolm Mayhew. Sadly, he died young.”

Ellory froze with her arm only halfway through the sleeve. “Malcolm Mayhew was a part of your salon?”

“Yes. Did you know him?”

“No. I just met his niece, I think.” She yanked her coat all the way on, her heart pounding. Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to drop this lead into her lap, and now she wasn’t sure if he suspected her or if his confusion was genuine. Idiot. Idiot! “Would it be strange if I asked you for a list of all your attendees? I’m…working on something, a research project of my own, and I think it might help.”

“I suppose that would be fine,” Colt said, his eyebrows drawing together. “It’s hardly private information.”

Ellory thanked him and hurried outside to meet her car before he could ask follow-up questions. Or worse.