Page 45 of Sinful Storms

Exam prep officially began today, and those of us with upcoming A-level final exams had been given use of the main hall in which to study, supervised by several of our teachers. We had independent study periods scheduled in our new, temporary timetables, but these supervised sessions had been scheduled for every year thirteen student, in two-hour blocks every day until our exams began. I guessed they didn’t really trust us to study completely on our own.

The cavernous hall with its vaulted ceilings and tall pillars was filled with soft conversation, pages turning, pens scratching across paper, and fingers tapping on keyboards. The pews had been rearranged to create study spaces, and tables had been brought in, so there was plenty of room to spread out and work either individually or in small groups.

“Aria!” Elena grabbed my arm as I entered the hall. “What am I supposed to do here?”

I smiled at my friend. Most of the time, I forgot that all of this was still new to her, how some of the traditions we had at Hatherley Hall probably seemed unusual for anyone not brought up in our insular little world. “It’s just a supervised study thing,really. You find a space in the hall and revise whatever you need to for your exams. Most of our course teachers will be wandering around, too, if you need them for anything.”

She nodded. “Okay. That makes sense, and that’s more or less what I thought. I just wanted to make sure.”

I glanced towards the centre of the room, where Katy and Will were waving madly, clearly trying to get Elena’s attention. Nudging Elena with my elbow, I nodded in their direction. “Looks like you’re going to be revising for your music exams.”

A smile curved over her lips. “Thanks. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. Have fun. Or…as much fun as you can have in this situation.”

She laughed softly, squeezing my arm before she moved away. “You too.”

Personally, I revised best alone without distractions from others, so when she’d gone, I scanned the room, finding a free space to set up my own private corner to study for my upcoming politics exam. As I flipped through a past paper on political ideas, I came to a question that stumped me. Glancing around the hall, I saw Professor Watkins pacing up and down in front of one of the huge windows. I rose from my seat, scooping up the paper, a pen, and my phone, and then made my way over to him.

“Sir, I wondered if I could speak to you about one of the questions on this past paper.”

He nodded, giving me a brief smile. “Of course. Which question are you having trouble with?”

“This one.” I pointed to the relevant page, tapping the question with my pen.

“Ah, yes. That seems to be tripping a few of you up. I have a book you may find useful, if you’d like to borrow it for the remainder of the study session. Chapters four and five should be particularly relevant.” Striding over to a small table in the cornerof the hall, he sifted through a pile of textbooks and then handed me a small, thin tome. “Here.”

“Thank you, sir.” I hesitated, clasping the book before I made a split-second decision. “I-I wanted to say I’m sorry for what you went through when you were a student here.”

He blanched, his hand coming down to grip the edge of the table, steadying himself. “Explain yourself, Miss Harper,” he commanded in a low voice.

Tristan had warned me not to speak of what his grandfather had told him, but Professor Watkins had been involved with it all. We knew that, thanks to the names in the notebook. He already knew what had happened.

“The secret society and my great-uncle.” Taking a deep breath, I continued. “I’m sorry. I-I know everyone wants to keep it in the past, but I wanted to apologise for mentioning anything to you in the first place. I shouldn’t have; it was inappropriate.”

Gaping at me, he clutched at the desk like a lifeline. His knuckles whitened with his tight grip. “You know,” he whispered. “Oh, Miss Harper. No. No, no, no. I’m the one who should apologise. If only I had tried harder to stop John from making that climb. I was there with him at the bottom of the tower. I should have stopped him. The-the storm, and that rope…it wasn’t safe. It hadn’t been tied properly. My regrets are few, but that…the events of that night will stay with me forever.”

I blinked, my mind running over what Tristan had told me. Then I shook my head firmly. “Sir. You can’t blame yourself. Tristan’s grandfather was my great-uncle’s friend, and he didn’t say anything, either. It was no one’s fault. No one could have known what would happen. It was a tragic accident.”

He stared at me, his bushy brows pulling together. “Tristan’s grandfather? I’m sorry, Aria, but you must be mistaken. Your great-uncle was no friend of his. I left a note for Tristan to warn him not to investigate the situation. I was extremely concernedwhen he asked me about the society. Those of us who were involved in the Brotherhood…we agreed to never speak of it again after the tragedy that occurred.”

“Tristan’s grandfather wasn’t my great-uncle’s friend? B-but I thought he tutored my great-uncle, and they became friends? And…and he was there at the bottom of the tower that night?”

Professor Watkins’ frown deepened, and the grave expression on his face sent chills down my spine. “No, Aria. I was the one whom John tutored. I was his friend. I was the one who pushed for him to join our society. Tristan’s grandfather was always against it.” He exhaled shakily and then continued. “That night, he was inside the tower when John attempted the climb. As far as I know, he was the one who tied the rope.”

23

ARIA

After Professor Watkins’ revelations, celebrating was the last thing on my mind. The party was tradition, though. Officially known as the Study Sessions, it was always held on the first day that A-level exam prep officially began. The reason it was held on that particular day, other than to mark the beginning of our study period and upcoming exams, was because day two of study prep always began after lunch, so we had the morning to sleep off our hangovers. As it was a school tradition, the staff generally turned a blind eye to any shenanigans, as long as the students didn’t go completely wild.

This year, the party was being held next to the lake where our school water events took place. A large marquee had been set up by the spectator stands with refreshments, seating, and a temporary dance floor complete with a DJ booth. Right now, though, most of the students seemed to be milling about on the grass, enjoying the last rays of the sun before it got dark.

I picked my way down the path to the lake shore, tucking my hair behind my ear to stop the strands from tickling my face in the soft breeze. A bottle of raspberry vodka dangled from my fingers—my contribution to tonight’s event. After what myprofessor had told me earlier, all I wanted to do was to drink until I forgot all about towers and secret societies and lies, upon lies, upon lies.

Taking a seat on the grass, I leaned back on my elbows and tilted my head to the sky, watching as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. I had no idea who was telling the truth. Tristan trusted his grandfather, that much was clear. It could be that Professor Watkins was lying, trying to frame himself in a good light. But why would he?

“I don’t want to have to talk to fucking Tristan,” I muttered to myself, uncapping the vodka and gulping down a generous mouthful. I did my best to breathe through the sudden coughing fit. Ugh. That was stronger than I thought it would be. Raspberry-flavoured petrol. Did people really drink this stuff without a mixer?

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