Page 84 of Suspicions on the Stage
“I’m the department chair and have been for years now,” I point out, though the title means exactly nothing in the real world.
“Head of the department is not enough for a Briarton,” he counters. “When I was your age?—”
“Yeah, you’d already taken over the consortium, I know.” I don’t mean for it to sound mocking, but it does.
His way of taking over would earn someone jail time now and he has no qualms about ignoring that fact.
“Your mother is worried,” he says. That’s a lie—she’s never worried about anything since she dove into pleasure magic and bondage clubs after he started having affairs. “She thinks you’re getting soft.”
I almost laugh. “If by ‘soft’ you mean not willing to engage in blood feuds with the rest of the board, then sure.”
He ignores the jab. “What do you want, Ignatius? I have a meeting with the Dutch investors in five minutes, and arguing with you was not on my schedule. It’s a waste of energy, as always.”
I stall for a moment as I consider how to put this. “There was a murder on campus.”
Another pause, as he’s listening now, eyes narrowing somewhere in a house full of oil portraits. “One besides the first? Interesting. Go on.”
I give him the short version, and a few facts I know he’ll appreciate so he stays curious, then hit him with what I want. “Do you know anything about the Beauregards I should be aware of?” I ask.
My father laughs, and it’s the kind of sound that makes your spine shrink. “Everyone knows the dirt on the Beauregards. They’re old money with the usual flaws. Their men never could keep their baser instincts under control.”
I jot down a note. “You think this could have been because of family rivalries?”
“I think everything ties into business and old grudges at our level, son,” he says. “The matriarch is still alive, while her husband is not, yes?”
“Allegedly,” I say. “She’s kept herself out of the news since the last lawsuit. From what I gather, the heirs handle most things now.”
“If she’s in play, your little problem will escalate quickly.” He lowers his voice, a trick he uses to make you lean in, even over the phone. “If I were you, I’d keep your head down. Or, betteryet, use this as an opportunity to get close to the new dean—that’s how you rise.”
I want to tell him that I’m already closer to Morgana than he can imagine, that she’s probably reading my mind right now, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “She’s not easy to impress.”
“Then you’ll have to work harder,” he says, and I can hear the sneer in his voice. “Don’t embarrass me, Ignatius.”
Before I can reply, he disconnects. A click, then silence, like the world is done with me for the day.
I put my phone down, and breathe for a moment. My office smells like magic and all the accoutrements, which is soothing. Out the window, I hear students in pea coats laughing as though no one’s ever died within ten miles of this place. I can taste bitterness on my tongue, which is nothing new after a call with him. I see the screen of my laptop with bright colors. The leather of my chair is soft and comfortable, as I sit quietly.
All five senses are engaged and my anxiety can melt away if I just breathe.
I text Morgana the bare minimum, so she knows I’ve been working on what I promised.
Magic Man: Beauregard family info is thin, but I will add to the files.
Lady M: Don’t do anything that will cause you harm, but press for more if you can.
I delete the thread, then close my eyes and try to will myself into a better version of the day.
It doesn’t work, but I pretend it does.
ice queen
MORGANA
If I don’t make this phone call, they’ll eat me alive at the next Board of Regents meeting. Worse, the damn Society jerks who put me here could decide I’m not living up to my sentence and yank me back. Either way, my skull ends up on a stick, and it’s all because Ireallydon’t want to speak to the woman that everyone seems to be scared of.
Not because I’m afraid, mind; I’m worried I’ll jump her ass if she pulls typically wealthy old lady shit on me.
I twist the neck of the bourbon bottle—a good one Channing brought in as a present from Jackson—and pour a slug into the fancy glass from the bar set. It’s almost noon here, and not a soul in this state would judge me for drinking their favorite liquor before I beard this dragon lady.
