Page 4 of Nothing to Fear
“I’m going to head to my room and study, especially now that life just got that much harder with my course change. Meet up for dinner in a bit?”
“Sounds good. Later,” Parker replies as he collapses onto our couch.
I drop my backpack by my bedroom door and pull out mylaptop, wanting to get an hour of work in before needing to get food.
Attending Corvus College has been a dream of mine since I was a kid. When I was seven, a postcard came in the mail with a photo of large iron gates in front of a long dirt road, and massive trees leading to what looked like a castle. I don’t remember much else about the card, why we got it, or what it was for, but from that moment on, I wanted to attend. A feeling of wholeness filled my chest any time I looked at the card; it felt like it came to me for a reason, that I was supposed to be here. There was never another option.
The college is a hidden gem concealed deep in middle-of-nowhere, Massachusetts. It boasts extremely selective admissions, academic prestige, and a rich history. It’s one of the first colleges created in America—even if the history books hardly recognize it.
While Harvard was created by the Massachusetts Bay Colony, Corvus was created by a group of five families that are rumored to have been a part of a secret society. Crimson Keep was the first structure built here, and it’s believed that their blood sacrifices happened right under where I’m sitting now.
I’ve read the stories myself, but most choose to believe the texts were ramblings of old men who had long lost their minds—fictional stories fabricated to entice the reader into believing something nefarious or dark happened here. I choose to believe there’s truth hidden between the lines; the reader just has to look hard enough to see it. Secret societies have existed forever; why would this one be any different?
My email notification chimes as I’m browsing my notes from today, so I pull up the browser, surprised to see an email from my new professor. While this course was originally going to be my easiest, the change in administration has left me witha feeling of intense dread, as if this change is going to derail my path completely.
Asher Ambrose,
Please come to my office by the end of the day.
Straightforward and to the point, exactly what I’d expect from him. Rumors about Professor Thorne have plagued Corvus for as long as I can remember. Everything from whispers that he’s a eunuch, having dedicated his life to the school, and his lack of sex life is responsible for his brooding persona, to the more sinister: that he’s as old as the school itself and feeds on the innocent souls of students. Wherever the truth lies, the flickering candle that sits in his office window never goes out, even in the dead of night.
“Jesus. Is he going to meet with all of us before class?” I mutter under my breath, exasperated by the entire situation. I can’t help but feel like this change was a catalyst for something bigger, something that is going to change the course of my life here at Corvus, and maybe long after. Questions wrack my brain as I stare at the words in front of me before submitting to the summons and standing to leave.
I find Parker exactly where I left him, except now he’s powered completely down for a nap. Shaking my head at my best friend, I slip back into my shoes and head out the door. I’m hit with a blast of October wind the moment I’m outside, but this time I’m prepared—my scarf tucked tightly into my leather jacket. I make my way across campus, taking in the atmosphere just as I always do.
Wild ivy climbs up the sides of brick Gothic architecture,weaving across the mullions and tracery, hiding the stained glass behind them. Large spires adorn the top of most buildings, with stone gargoyles and grotesques perched high above us. Majestic white oak trees stand watch around campus, their vibrant orange, yellow, and red leaves brightening an otherwise fairly dreary, muted landscape.
As I round the corner of the quad, the forest spans as far as the eye can see, and hidden just inside is the Corvus Cemetery, which is guarded by thick iron gates and is off-limits to students. I’ve always wanted to explore it, but the narrow gates are too tall to squeeze through or climb over. There are whispers of a secret tunnel in the catacombs beneath the school that leads to a mausoleum inside the cemetery, but I haven’t been able to find it, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
I quickly reach the lecture hall, a deep sense of dread and foreboding creeping down my spine. An unkindness of ravens perches silently on the edge of the ornate archway, watching silently with large, beady eyes.Harbingers.Nothing good will come from this meeting. As if my intuition wasn’t enough to fear what’s to come, their presence affirms it.
Eerie silence fills the stone chamber, the only noise from the rhythmic clap-clap-clap of my shoes on the stone floor as I walk through Thorne Hall. I’ve never been past the lecture hall of this building, never having needed to meet with my previous professor outside of class.
Rich leather and sage engulf my senses as I take a single step up to his office. A large, black, ornate frame hangs next to it on the stone wall, a portrait of the five founders—three males and two females—looking back at me. Their eyes are hollow, their stares blank. Each of them is dressed in robes, standing together in front of what’s now Crimson Keep. In tiny script in the bottom right corner are the words:veritas latet.
“Creepy,” I whisper under my breath, as a gust of cool airsweeps through the long, empty hallway as if ushering me forward.
I shake my head briefly, placing a single knock on the door. A deep, smooth voice greets me in turn, sending a cool shiver down my spine. Straightening my shoulders, I brace for whatever’s to come.
“Come in.”
“Hi, Professor. You wanted to see me?”
Professor Thorne sits behind a massive, ornately built wooden desk. The only light in the room emanates from a small lamp that sits at the top of it. His head is downcast as his eyes peruse papers in front of him. Light illuminates his features, dark black hair, similar to my own, tied back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, a sharp jaw, and his nose straight as an arrow. A scar runs down his cheek, alarming and brutal. His expression is severe and serious, lacking warmth or comfort. As if I wasn’t already on edge, I’m even more so now.
“Yes, come in . . .” He shuffles through papers, clearly looking for the roster, before scanning it until he’s found what he’s looking for. “Asher Ambrose?” My name falls from his lips as his eyes finally look up. They’re quick to meet mine, and I’m shocked by the intensity I see reflected in them. His entire demeanor is stiff, and . . .dark. There’s no doubt that he’s ruthless, cunning, and harsh. His stare cuts through me like a blade against tissue paper, and it makes me feel exposed. Professor Thorne looks at me like he’s seen a ghost and isn’t happy about it. No wrinkles or lines mar his face, as if he were frozen in time, or more likely, that he hasn’t smiled in decades.
Despite my knees feeling weak in his presence, I keep my level head, focusing on one thing at a time.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Ambrose, and I’ll get to the point of this impromptu meeting. I’ve got a lot of settling in to do with thismaddening change to the schedule, but President Blackwood noted that this was to take precedence.”
My eyebrow arches in confusion as nerves skate down my spine, a feeling of wicked foreboding scattering through my veins. I’m at the top of my class and have been since my freshman year at Corvus. I’ve never been in the position of sitting nervously in front of one of my professors. Unlike most of the kids who come from wealthy families, I’ve been working my entire life for my place here, and I’m on one of five scholarships—one for each house—that the school offers. I don’t have any fallbacks. No safety nets. I don’t have the luxury of not doing well here. This is a new feeling, and I don’t like it.
“As I’m sure you’ve put together, I have replaced Professor Mortwood after her untimely departure from her position. That also means I am the new head of the Literature Studies Department. I’ve been told you are the head of your class. Well done, you have been personally selected by President Blackwood to tutor one of my students.” He shuffles through his papers again, my eyes squinting together, waiting with confusion. “Silas Blackwood. His son? Nephew? I don’t pay much attention to names, especially when their academic ability is so insignificant.” Professor Thorne looks up at me, waiting for clarification, while I blink slowly at him, shocked by both his proclamation and openness about how he views certain students. As if my world was suddenly sucked into another dimension, I’m flipped completely upside down, unprepared for the severity his words hold.
“Mr. Ambrose? Are you alright?” His tone holds no sympathy or concern, a rather bleak statement spoken as if he’s learned common societal courtesies and is reciting them from memory.
