Page 40 of Endless Anger
“Well, most Avernia students trip over themselves when they talk to me,” she replies, reaching for a glass that someone sends her way. “Half the campus won’t dare look in the eyes of the Curators’ electoral body.”
“The Curators?”
“Student organization,” she tells me. “Kind of like Avernia’s version of Greek life. There are four orgs: the Curators, the Daughters of Persephone, Death’s Teeth, and Visio Aternae—but their name is incorrect. The founders came up with it, though, so for the sake of tradition it remains.”
“I see.”
“The Curators are by far the most prestigious. They’re invite-only, have the most alumni donors on their side, and the best networking groups. Kind of stuffy compared to the others, but great for your résumé. Visio Aternae is comparative, butwayeasier to get into. They focus more on philanthropy and school programs.”
“And the others?” I ask.
“The Daughters of Persephone was created just a few years back by two students who felt some voices on campus were being suppressed. The administration doesnotlike them.” She hesitates. “Death’s Teeth… Well, no one really knows what they do or who they are. Some say they’re anonymous vigilantes, other say it’s some kind of sex cult. Mostly they just seem to vandalize university property, which is why they’re not officially recognized by the dean or higher-ups.”
Interesting.
“But really, the only one that matters much is the Curators. They’re top dogs on campus for sure.”
“Hence the lack of eye contact.”
She points a long finger at me. “Exactly. Now, who was it you were looking for?”
“Lucy Wolfe.”
Muna’s dark eyes go round for a fraction of a second. I reach up, twisting the stud in my left nostril, and wait for her to recompose herself.
“I’ll take it you’re familiar with her?”
Snorting, Muna nods. “Oh yeah. No organization will take her because she’s always clashing with the administration or because her grades are subpar. They don’t really mesh well with difficult students around here. Avernia likes order.”
My heart skitters to a halt.
Fuck.
So much for a clean slate.
“Oh, I’ve only met her once though,” Muna continues, leaning over the bar. “So take my account with a grain of salt. She’s nice but not really…”
“Approachable?”
“Right.” Her gaze narrows, surveying me once more. “Kinda hard to believe you’re a friend of hers.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, she hates everyone except that blond fashion design major. If you even try to recruit her for something she hasn’t organized herself, she’ll bite your head off.”
That sounds like Lucy, but I’m not really interested in spending my time in Fury Hill talkingabouther. I want to see her. “Any chance you know where she might be tonight?”
“I don’t think she usually comes to this kind of place,” Muna answers. “I can’t tell you how many Curator parties she’s turned down just since I’ve been VP. As the first freshman to win that slot, I try to invite even the outcasts—makes the org look better to the sponsors, y’know?”
My stare must turn hollow, because Muna shrugs and pulls away.
Instead of sitting around and wasting more time, I shoulder back the way I came, then set off for the bathrooms. The rear hallway splits in multiple directions, no more illuminated than the front area itself, and I pick the one on my right just so I don’t have to keep waiting.
Music pulses in my skeleton as I shove past couples making out and people standing in line to piss.
There’s a skinny door at the very end of the hall markedExit, and I make a beeline for it, my annoyance causing me to twist the knob harder than necessary. It swings open, the handle getting caught in the plaster with the sudden force, and instead of an exit, I’m practically shoved into another room.
Inside is a single leather sofa, a standing lamp in the corner, and a coffee table with several half-smoked joints on top. Two people sit on the couch—one the blue-eyed siren who’s haunted my dreams since she left town.
