Page 19 of Endless Anger
Yet the evidence of some strange, deadly plot is damning.
Mortui vivos docent.
The school’s motto, plastered at the top of their site’s homepage and on the garish iron gates leading onto and off campus.
The dead teach the living.
Is that their goal? Did the school have a hand in the attempt on my life, and that’s why it was never reported?
Do they intend to kill people because of something that supposedly happened centuries ago and use them as a lesson for future generations?
To stave off some ridiculous idea of a curse?
If that’s the case, then I should steer clear of it entirely. I’ve no desire to go somewhere I’m not wanted, much less where I’m threatened.
Still…
Lucy’sconvincedthis place will be her reckoning, her shot at greatness, because of how Quincy’s hyped it up over the years.
But no one’s told Lucy about how the Andersons tie in.
She doesn’tknowit’s dangerous for us, and I’m not sure I should tell her.
I stare at the ceiling after everyone’s gone to bed, with Keats curled up in my lap over the comforter, and wish the Asphodel would collapse on top of me so I didn’t have to make the decision.
If I don’t go, Lucy will hate me.
But if I do go, it sounds like I won’t come out the same person. If I come out of it at all.
5
LUCY
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
“This school fitsLulu’s personality perfectly,” my younger sister, Logan, mutters under her breath, leaning over the dining room table to study the brochure. “Look how creepy and dark it is! Why are we still debating where she’ll end up?”
Our mom gently guides a brown Chiweenie foster dog off her lap, then scoots her chair in. Her blue hair is pulled back into a low bun, and the tattoos covering her arms are fully displayed in the Aplana Animal Society T-shirt she has on.
At her side, our father, with his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, suspenders, and the slicked-back black hair with gray peeking over his ears, feels like a massive contrast.
He’s smooth edges and she’s a messy canvas, yet somehow they work.
Mom takes a sip of her water, giving my sister a look. “No one is debating anything, Logan. Where Lucy goes is entirely up to her.”
I glance at Dad, whose jaw tightens as he dutifully stares at his phone. She looks at him too, then shoves her elbow into his side.
“Right, Alistair?”
“Of course,m’ eudail,” Dad says in his English accent, putting hisphone down next to his dinner plate. His icy blue eyes find hers, and he leans in to flick her nose. “You needn’t worry about me. I said I would respect Lucy’s decision, and I meant it.”
My gaze narrows. “Is that why my Avernia pamphlets keep magically finding their way to the garage trash? Or in the pool? Or why they’re usually shredded and unusable by the time I find them?”
He blinks at me, the picture of innocence. “How can you possibly accuse your doting father of such things when we have a house full of rabid beasts?”
“It’s not like your room is clean and a dog wouldn’t be able to grab something,” Lachlan adds, always coming to Dad’s defense. His shaggy black hair obscures his brownish-gold irises as he digs into the steak in front of him, but I can practically see him salivating for the older man’s approval.
“Don’t blame the dogs,” Mom replies, glaring over her water. “I’ve worked very hard with the current lot to scale back their destructive tendencies.”
