Page 46 of Endless Anger
PRESENT DAY—TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD
The scentof incense and musty, stale books is overpowering as I exit the Obeliskos.
I time my propulsion through the revolving glass door efficiently, holding my breath in case I miscalculate and a foot gets caught. But I don’t pause—justmove through.
If you hesitate at this hour, you’ll get stuck. Something about the way the night air changes. The old building’s heating system is unable to keep up with the demand from the outside, causing the doors to swell.
Some say it’s ghosts. That the biggest library on Avernia College’s campus is rife with supernatural activity, and we shouldn’t go there at all.
I say that’s a load of fucking horseshit and continue to give the building my patronage anyway. The thirteenth floor—with bookshelves stretching out as far as you can see and all the way up to the domed ceiling with gorgeous, vibrant murals painted on it—is the only place I can get any sort of peace and quiet.
No one cares much about the city archives and encyclopedias except the library staff, who don’t allow checkouts of thirteenth-floor items. Some of the books even have to be handled with gloves and face guards.
Since my Landscape Ecology class insisted on sourcing firsthandaccounts of Fury Hill’s predeveloped environment, I’ve spent my entire Friday hiding out there.
Well, I was hiding out to do the assignment at first, but that quickly morphed into me completely losing track of time by switching between archives with town lore and trashy reality television. My project was all but abandoned a few hours in.
It doesn’t help, I guess, that I was trying to escape thoughts about my earlier meeting with the dean and that trashy reality shows are the easiest way to push things from my mind. Otherwise, I just fixate on them until my brain feels like it’s going to explode—and wind up losing track of time, anyway.
But it’s why I’m now rushing, hurriedly shoving papers into my backpack as I jog past the big clock tower in front of the building.
In seconds, the deafening chimes will signal midnight. No one wants to be next to it when that happens.
My skin prickles, goose bumps sprouting along my arms. A gust of freezing air washes over me as I approach the Lyceum and its courtyard at the center of campus.
Awareness sits high on my back, digging its claws into my neck. I hate walking alone this late, but since I’m running behind, I have no choice.
Once I’m beyond the Lyceum—the main academic building—the clock rings out, echoing in the cool night air. I startle at the sudden noise even though I’m expecting it, quickly scanning the immediate vicinity. Multistory, French Gothic–inspired buildings loom like the backdrop to a bad film noir. Their ornate peaks seem to scratch the clouds hanging low in the sky, and the clock tower fully blocks the moon from sight.
A few lampposts decorate the paved walkways, occasionally punctuated by those call boxes meant for people in distress.
My fingers itch, and I curl one hand around the strap of my backpack, eyeing the blue lights.
No movement occurs in my peripheral vision, and it doesn’t appear that anyone else is around. Not in this spot at least.
Altercations aren’t unheard of, even somewhere as small and prestigious as Avernia. I suppose not even a billion-dollar endowment can eradicate evil.
Might even lure it in.
It’s a short walk from center campus to the Elysian Dorms, where four gray-stone buildings house the majority of the student body. Normies like me who aren’t in any of the official organizations and the lowerclassmen who haven’t been given the opportunity to join their ranks and reside there.
Past that, it’s an extra thirty minutes to the Primordial Forest that encircles the school grounds, cutting it off from the White Mountains and the rest of Fury Hill.
Technically, the forest is off-limits to students, but no one really seems to give a fuck.
Legend says—and by legend, I mean Pythia, the anonymous editor ofThe Delphic Pages, our school’s online newsletter—the best parties are thrown out there, where the admin staff rarely wander.
Not that I care about anything that bitch Pythia says. All she does is spew gossip most of the time anyway.
I don’t stop at my room to drop off my backpack, although once I hear the bass thumping from the quarry, regret starts to seep into my bones. I’m sure no one else has their fucking school stuff with them, since it’s a Friday night, and they’re all able to shut it off for the weekend.
Jimmying open the broken wrought-iron gate leading into the woods, I’m engulfed by massive trees within seconds, most older than the school itself and protected by the town’s historical and conservation societies.
Probably the only reason Fury Hill hasn’t torn them down and sold the land to greedy developers.
A worn dirt path twists through the trees, carved into the earth by the thousands of students defying authority before me. It disappears in the distance, but I’ve come this way enough times that I can practically trace the steps with my eyes closed.
The air starts to shift the closer I get to the quarry, growing cooler yet thicker somehow. Wind picks up, blowing through each strand of my hair, and I doubly wish I’d stopped at my room now. My oversize cardigan and tights do very little to protect me from the mountain breeze.
