Page 21 of Divine Oaths

Instinctively, I yanked at the cowrie shell bracelet on my wrist, touching it briefly enough that I was able to keep from being pulled into a vision of its past. In the time since I’d had it, the visions I’d seen had been scattered: incessant memories of that night in the alleyway, flashes of figures and shadows that brought migraines and nosebleeds so painful, I’d be anchored in bed for days on end. So, the bracelet stayed on my wrist, a danger close enough to reach, yet at bay from my powers.

“Just a phrase,” she said. “Most of the Greek life here have their mottos in Latin. But my sisterhood speaks of our mother tongue. Are you interested in joining?”

I thought of Honey, and how she’d joked about training to be part of a coven. Vivian had called her sorority a “sisterhood.” There was already a hierarchy here among the houses. Greek life was another part of Westfield’s incongruity.

“I’m good, actually,” I decided.

“A shame,” Vivian said. “But just so you know, there are more reasons to join a sorority than community or friendships.”

“Such as?” I asked, waiting.

She smiled, softly, sadly, like she wasn’t speaking to me at all but recalling something from memory. Slowly, she moved her thumb from her mouth, licking the tip of it and touching both of her ears. “Protection,” she said finally.

I suddenly wished that it wasn’t just the two of us in the hall. Below, I could hear the first-years settling into their rooms on the other floors. But it was just me and Vivian in the empty hallway, and the door to my room behind us both.

“If you change your mind about rushing,” she said, “let me know. We’re always looking for new sisters.”

Before I could refuse again, Vivian was already far enough down the hallway that she wouldn’t hear me.

It was strange. There was something about her that was comforting and made me uneasy all at once. But she’d been right about one thing: Westfield was huge and its buildings were old. Even the silence in the hallway was steeped in memories—memories of the students who’d lived here before me, the staff who’d cleaned up after them, and the faculty who monitored us. There was a heaviness to everything, a cloak of history and buried secrets that seeped from every floorboard, every wall, and every surface of Poppy House. I could feel it even as I entered my room.

Inside, there was a set of beds and two desks, each with a small lamp on the table. Someone had already claimed one bed, and their bags covered it and the desk near the only window in the room. Whoever my roommate was, they’d either come and placed their things there to claim their territory or paid for the unpacking services so that they could attend the tour.

With a sigh, I put my things down on the other desk in the room. I’d only brought a few clothes, one set of sheets, and travel-size bathroom supplies. I’d simplified everything I owned to this suitcase and book bag. It was easier to uproot my life from one place to another that way. It also meant I’d never feel like I was missing anything if I had to move on or leave something behind.

A recent addition to my “always bring with me” emergency item stash was gloves. I searched through my suitcase for them. The money was there, right where I’d stashed it at the bottom of my suitcase, but my heart sank when I realized that I hadn’t packed my gloves with it. I’d forgotten them entirely. Heat built against my eyes, the burn of my desperation to escape these perpetual migraines and visions clawing at the back of my mind now whenever I touched things.

I pressed my eyes shut, gathering my breath and trying to calm myself. I just needed practice. In the coming days, I could stop by the campus store and buy new gloves. In the meantime, I’d train myself to keep from channeling the past and to hold the visions at bay. And then, eventually, I wouldn’t need gloves at all.

I forced myself to pick up my phone and flip through my notifications.

There were six missed spam calls, one call from a clinic I’d visited to seek treatment for my migraines, one from Louisa asking me if I’d arrived okay, and an email from Westfield welcoming me for the school year.

But none of the messages were from Jojo.

He’d kept his word. Not once had he tried to reach out to me since his text. He was probably here somewhere, locked in one of the classrooms or libraries, writing papers and reading articles for the new research role. The thought of running into him made it hard to breathe.

I had so many questions about that night, and I couldn’t help the wave of unease that always settled in me when I thought of him arguing with Kasem’s bodyguard or how the bracelet had somehow ended up with him. But I calmed myself. I was here for Kasem, to see if he had answers to fix my powers. And if Jojo and I ran into each other, then we’d be strangers. Just like he’d wanted. I’d find my answers from that night without him.

I slipped my phone back in my pocket and looked out the window. Half of me expected Westfield to have security scanners or locks on the window too. But it was just a regular window, easy enough to open and close without some system tracking your movement.

The tree outside it was close enough that I figured I’d be able to climb down it pretty safely. Better that than go past security and have to explain that I was exploring campus to try and find the victim of the stabbing from months ago.

Quickly, I unlocked the window and removed the mesh screen. I hid it behind my desk, hoping it wouldn’t be too noticeable. Then I grabbed the Westfield blazer from my roommate’s chair, stuck my head out of the window, and began my descent.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Journeys end in lovers meeting

ORIENTATION WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BEGIN for a few hours. The way Honey had described it, all of the events would begin later in the afternoon. But when I arrived on the path back to main campus, voices seeped through the woods. In the distance, the sound of music filled the air, the operatic notes of a scorned singer’s cries. It was muffled only by the soft ring of laughter. I drew closer, peeking my head past the arching trees that obscured the main lawn. Faces emerged; the familiar stuck-up smirks of the legacies and regular admits who’d been separated from us after arriving at Westfield. They stood gathered on the front steps of Westfield’s main building, where a sign reading WELCOME FRESHMEN had been strung across the towering building’s arches. Everyone was here. Everyone except for us: scholarship students.

It’d been only a few hours, and of course the nepo babies had already formed their circle. One that was sanctioned by the university. Groups of faculty wove in and out of the clusters of first-year students. They were dressed in formal Westfield robes and drank from tall champagne flutes as they spoke to freshmen who trickled in and out of the main building.

For a moment, I thought of turning back. But I’d always known what I’d be getting into coming here. I just had to pretend like I was one of them. I closed my eyes, forced a smile on my face, and then walked the path toward the main lawn.

The first thing people did when they saw me was glance at my blazer and then look back at me in confusion. Which, again, I’d expected. I was used to those looks from rich assholes. But I’d hoped wearing the lily-embroidered Westfield blazer would help me fit in. I wasn’t even the only first-year donning the navy-and-green plaid jacket. Actually, there were a handful of other freshmen wearing it.

But instead of Westfield University’s lily symbol, some of the freshmen’s jackets had emblems of their specific dorms; most with an ivy, others a rose. I was sure the campus store sold blazers with a poppy emblem, but wearing one signifying Poppy House likely didn’t have much cachet. It’s probably why most of the Poppies like Vivian wore blazers with the lily emblem instead; as the university-wide symbol, it tied them to Westfield without singling out that they were scholarship students.