9. Alec

9

ALEC

“Ah yes, the first Monday. I can feel the students’ anticipation in the air and yet here you are, a prized professor, in my office and not in your classroom.”

I gave John a withering look, one that made him shift in his seat as he leaned forward to refill my whisky.

“Making them wait is good,” I said. “Will help pick off the weaklings. Besides, this will be brief. I need more specimens.”

The Dean’s eyes widened and he glanced up at the door, even though it was closed and we were both inside his office. Sunlight had graced us this morning, casting rays on all of the plaques and prizes on the wall. It highlighted every silver hair on his ugly head and the hazel around his pupils.

“What happened to the specimen you had? You were supposed to keep it alive.”

“It died,” I said simply.

“By poison?”

I hated the hope in his voice. “No. I stabbed it. It bit me.”

He turned pale and leaned back. “And you’re… unharmed? ”

“I am,” I said. “Demon bites have never been infectious.”

“That we know of,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “We need the poison. We need something that can slaughter these demons, especially with the recent attacks. The good news is that the panic has already passed.”

“Has it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Death is far too common here, unfortunately. And I’ve found replacements rather quickly. I need that poison, Briar. We need it. Think of how kindly our god will smile on us.”

I’d never had interest in his god, but I could play the part. “I know. I’m working on it,” I said.

“ Soon ,” he insisted.

The back of my neck began to heat as I kept my temper at bay. “It takes time to develop such things. This has never been done before that we are aware of. While there are books about monsters, there are no materials that have their weaknesses thoroughly explored.” I kept notes from every experiment I conducted, but I certainly didn’t share them with the Dean.

“We’re running out of time. We need this poison, and soon.”

The panic in his voice made me dig my fingers into my thighs. It seemed that begging, even from a pitiful man, still made my cock hard. I thought of the woman that had wandered into my greenhouse briefly, and then shoved her image away.

She was difficult to ignore, though. I wanted to know more about her. And it was rare that someone piqued my interest, but when they did…

They became an obsession.

I was fighting that very hard with her.

“Find me another monster to play with,” I said. “I’m on the right path with this development, but I just need more to work with. And really, I’d like the monster that killed the professors. The poison left on their bodies could be helpful in developing a toxin.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “We are searching for it. But it’s evasive. To think that it only killed three of us…” He trailed off and it was clear he didn’t want to tell me everything.

“Go on.”

“You know how The Hunt is. I can’t speak about our… doings. Why you won’t join us officially is beyond me.”

“I have no interest in societies,” I said. “And given how your dinner party ended, I’d certainly like to stay far away. Besides, I am hardly tolerant of you.”

He laughed, his cheeks turning red, and I forced a smile, trying not to imagine strapping him down to one of my tables and gutting him.

Wouldn’t that be enjoyable?

There was just something about him that completely grated on me. Perhaps it was his need for power . He was the type of man that wanted it so desperately but couldn’t handle an ounce of it without becoming a fool. I cocked my head and he cleared his throat.

Over the years of me teaching here, there had been many attempts to bring me into their dark circle. The only interest I had was in the fact that I was supplied with monsters to do experiments on. The Dean wanted the poison almost as bad as I did. I believed it was because he wanted to flaunt it over the others within the society, as if he could take credit for my work.

Eventually, things would sour between us. But for now, I benefited from the money and stature, and he benefited from my work.

“I’ll find you another monster to experiment on, Briar. Get me the poison this year. Even if there are student casualties…”

That was the part of him that I liked. The part that had such a cold disregard for life because he wanted all of the power he could get his grubby hands on. That was the part of him I could play with.

I had no interest in using students to experiment on, though. Perhaps I could use them as bait to lure out the monster who killed the professors, but that was too much work. I’d leave that to The Hunt. Besides, we didn’t need another investigation into the university. Last year, we’d been scrutinised for the amount of strange deaths here.

“Get me that monster,” I said as I stood. “And I’ll get you results.”

I headed for the door and stepped out into the waiting area where the receptionist sat typing away. I ignored her look of interest and continued down the hall, heading for the west wing of classrooms. Stained glass windows stretched up high enough to make my head crane back. Dust particles floated through their colourful rays of light. I took a left and made my way past the panicked, lost students fumbling their way to their rooms.

I made it to the west wing and paused when I heard a voice, her voice. I slowed as I came to an open door, glancing inside to see Professor Woulfe at the chalkboard.

“Principles of Psychology,” she said as she turned.

She wore a black turtleneck and a tweed skirt that hugged her waist. Her dark hair was braided back into a bun and a set of spectacles sat on her nose.

She was in her element, that much was clear.

“That is where we begin. That is where all psychologists begin.”

Her voice carried with the same certainty and resoluteness I’d encountered when I met her, but this time, it intrigued me even further. I felt other eyes on me, but I didn’t care as I leaned against the doorframe.

She ignored me.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as she continued, pretending I didn’t exist. And yet you’re completely aware of my presence. Do I make you squirm, Woulfe?

“Psychology is the science of the mind. Functionalism, psychoanalysis, and structuralism are what we will be focusing on.” She drew in a steady breath, her gaze sweeping over her students. “The functionalist approach posits that the mind's primary purpose is to help one adapt to their environment. The psychoanalytic approach posits that people are motivated by power and subconscious thought. The structuralist approach posits thoughts, feelings, and desires are impacted by external stimuli."

Interesting. I could listen to her speak all day, I realised.

"I posit that our basic instincts, our states of consciousness, make us who we are. But is it external stimuli, one's environment, or subconscious drive for power and conflict that lead to deviations in states of consciousness? It is our job to learn how and why people become who they are."

One of the students let out a short laugh. I glanced up and pressed my lips into a thin line. He was the Dean’s son, a pain in the fucking ass. If I could make him a specimen, I would. I wondered if he was included in Dean Andrews' disregard for student lives.

“Something entertaining, Mr…?” Woulfe trailed off.

“I’m the Dean’s son,” he said triumphantly.

“And?”

His cheeks reddened just like his father’s. “You should know my name.”

“I don’t. Nor do I care. And Professor Briar—did you need something? Or are you joining the field?”

More chuckles rang through the room. I shrugged my shoulders. “Just wandering by. I was intrigued. ”

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” Her dark eyes were like daggers.

Once again, I found my imagination going down a path I did not want, one that was full of things that would make the psychologist scream.

“I do. Welcome to St. Thorn, Professor.”

She gave a nod, but her cool demeanour did not wane. I fought another smile. Typically, others cowered before me, and yet she didn’t.

With thoughts of Professor Woulfe on my mind, I left and continued down the west wing until I stepped outside, taking the trail to the greenhouse.

I had ten students this year. While it wasn’t many, I imagined that even that number would dwindle. Last year I had five students that made it through Venom Hall, and only two of them had returned for a second year.

Since Thursday, I’d readied everything for the class, including adding a lock to the tunnel door. I’d gotten rid of the body too. It turned out that monsters made great fertiliser.

Dark brown eyes fluttered through my mind again and I scowled. Maybe it was time I took a trip out of the university. I wouldn’t sleep with a student, although tempting, and Woulfe was off limits even if my mouth watered over the thought of playing with her.

Rustling drew my attention as Professor Brown, the philosophy professor, stepped onto the path. He paused, looking up at me.

“Morning,” he said.

I gave him a curt nod as I passed, when his hand darted up, curling around my upper arm. I halted, my other hand curling into a fist.

“Stay away from Nora,” he whispered. “She’s not yours.”

I held his gaze and then looked down at his throat where I saw The Hunt’s sigil, the one that marked him as one of them . It was a circle with a knot design and a simple line, meant to represent a dagger. Seeing it only frustrated me further. I cocked my head to the side and then threw my fist into his stomach, catching him as he doubled over.

I leaned down. “Don’t ever touch me again or I will make you wish I killed you.”

He gasped for air as I released him. “Fucking bastard. Your time will come.”

I ignored him and continued on. My hackles were raised now. I kept on the path, flexing my hands as I neared the maze. I knew every twist and turn of it by heart. This entrance had a statue of a roaring lion to either side, verdant vines crawling up the stone and wrapping around its body. Shadows stretched longer as the hedge walls of the maze sprung up around me, the earth damp underfoot.

Whatever Professor Brown thought he was doing, he’d done the opposite. Now, I was even more intrigued by Woulfe. Why would he warn me away from her? I’d hardly spoken to him since he started his work here at the university.

“Oh gods!”

I was startled as I rounded the corner and two young people almost threw themselves at my feet.

“I take it you’re here for Venom Hall,” I said sharply.

One of them started babbling and the other just nodded, her eyes wide.

“Follow me. I’m Professor Briar.”

I remained stoic as I led them through the remainder of the maze, coming out to the greenhouse. In the sunlight, it was far less ominous and, if anything, beautiful. Several students stood idly outside the door, one of them clearly irritated by the way he furrowed his brows and tapped his foot against the grass.

“Are you our Professor?” he asked boldly.

“Clearly,” I said as I stormed past him. I pulled a key from my pocket and unlocked the greenhouse, turning to look at all of their faces. “Rules of Venom Hall: You don’t touch the plants. You don’t ingest the plants.”

A couple of their giggles sounded and then quickly died when they realised how serious I was.

“You show up on time every day.”

“But you don’t?” the same student countered.

I looked at him. He had the same haughtiness the Dean’s son had, an ego that I would shred. I took a step closer to him and grabbed his jaw, enjoying the way his eyes widened with fear.

“This is my class. I do what I want, including failing insolent brats. I will fail you on day one, if you’d like. It would certainly be a record.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” I released him and took a step back. “This class is about the natural world and the medicines we are able to make with it. Morphine came from Papaver somniferumm, otherwise known as the poppy plant. Salicin was born from willow bark and has given us aspirin. An exact dose of foxglove is therapeutic and has been proven to treat dropsy. The natural world has a host of benefits and medical miracles waiting for us to discover. This year, you will start with the basics.”

I opened up the door and was greeted by the earthy scent of what I considered to be my home. I stepped inside, leading the others in. Mentally, I ran through all of my preparations, feeling a flash of worry that I hadn’t chopped up the demon enough or hadn’t blocked off the plants that would poison them with a mere touch.

The woes of being a professor.

Butterflies fluttered around as I slid my hands behind my back. “This place is known as Venom Hall for a reason. The knowledge of poisons has a tendency to strike at some minds in a way that is deadly. It gives you ideas. It makes you think you can play the gods. You cannot and will not.”

But someone would try. Someone always did. I looked over their bright young faces, wondering which one it would be. Whose body would I find in a few months, bloated and foaming?

It could really be any of them.

“First, we will start with a tour of the greenhouse and the sections that are off limits for your safety.”

I started down the path I’d gone down countless times. Their footsteps behind me were annoying, but only because I was in no mood to teach now. I went to the right, taking them deeper into the greenhouse.

“This section is open for students. Here, you will find a variety of different plants, fruits, and vegetables. Mushrooms that can get you high or mushrooms that can kill you. I won’t tell you how to distinguish them. You are not allowed to eat from the garden.”

Which one of you will I be dissecting?

We pushed through the brambles of vines and large leafy plants to a series of tables that I had for them.

“Are there any seats?” one of them asked.

“No. You will be standing.”

I ignored their scoff and stepped to the side. “Pick your spots and open your textbooks.”

“We’ll be late to our other classes.”

“Then you better hurry and do as I say.”