9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The Stronger Student

My heart hammers in my chest as I walk into the lecture hall.

I’m supposed to act normal, though I’m not even sure what that would be. Angry? Sad? I definitely shouldn’t look as if I made love to William Stratford only hours ago.

I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact as I make my way to my usual seat in the back. I’m exhausted, my body still humming from last night. My skin tingles with the memory of his touch, his kiss, his body moving against mine. I can still feel him, still taste him, still hear his voice whispering filthy words.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing the pleasure away.

I can’t think about that now.

Not here, not with Thorne watching.

Professor Thorne speaks as she begins class. I can’t focus. I’m too aware of my own body, of the way my clothes rub against my skin, of the way my heartbeat echoes in my ears. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, my body aching in places that make my cheeks flush.

Thorne’s looking at me, her expression inscrutable.

Does she know? Can she tell? Of course not.

But I look away, my heart pounding even harder.

I force myself to scratch out words with my pencil, mindlessly taking notes as she delivers her lecture. I write about deception, about betrayal, about the destructive power of unchecked ambition.

She pulls out a stack of papers. “Your assignments,” she says.

The entire room sits up a little straighter.

I already know what’s coming. She will dismiss most of the class as being beneath her notice. She’ll praise her protégé, Matteo, who so conveniently happens to be the son of Andini. At least he doesn’t seem to be preening. Instead he seems almost sad.

Then, she’ll probably rip mine apart.

“I tasked you with exploring the theme of reality versus illusion in Macbeth . Some of you”—she pauses, her gaze landing on a few unlucky souls—“failed to grasp even the basic concept.”

She drops a few papers onto the podium.

“Others showed a modicum of understanding, but lacked the insight to truly delve into the theme.”

More pages join the discard pile.

“However,” she says, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “there was one student who not only understood the theme but explored it with such depth, such insight, that it was a brilliant piece of literary analysis.”

Instead of looking at Matteo, she glances at me.

“The witches are often dismissed as plot devices, inciting incidents for Macbeth’s ambitions. This student argued that they are not the cause but the effect, that they are illusions created by grandiosity. They allow him to justify his actions, actions he would have taken anyway. It’s a compelling argument.”

What the hell?

Why would Thorne praise me?

The idea that I wrote something interesting doesn’t qualify as a reason. Not for someone like her. I force myself to mouth the words “thank you.”

Let her believe that I’m grateful for her approval.

She nods and continues her lecture, her voice echoing through the hall as she dissects the second act of Macbeth . What is she planning? The class ticks by, each minute stretching into an eternity. I’m hyperaware of every sound, every movement, every breath. The scratch of pens on paper, the rustle of notebooks, the hum of the fluorescent lights—it’s all amplified, overwhelming.

Finally, the class draws to a close.

Thorne wraps up her lecture, her voice fading away as the students around me begin to pack up their things.

As I stand up, her voice cuts through the noise.

“Ms. Hill,” she says, her tone pleasant, almost friendly. She smiles, a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “A moment, please.”

I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Of course, Professor,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. I make my way down to the podium, my steps slow, measured. Instead of speaking to me there, she has me follow her into the office.

This is Professor Stratford’s office.

Except it’s not, of course.

He doesn’t have one, considering he’s supposedly dead.

It’s her office now. She’s made changes. It’s painted something darker. Gone are the many tomes that probably came with the room. Now the shelves are filled with award plaques, framed certificates, and photographs of Thorne herself standing in front of notable places. I recognize the thatched roof of the house where Shakespeare was born, the funerary monument erected after his death.

One photo shows her standing on the stage of the Globe Theatre, surrounded by the cast of Macbeth , still in character. That one hurts. It’s my dream to visit there, even though that will most likely never happen. And if it did, I would be a tourist, someone with a regular ticket, not a VIP like she clearly is.

“You have a real talent for analysis,” she says. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” I say, because we’re both playing parts as surely as if we walked the boards of the Globe. I just have to wait for what she wants.

“I also wanted to talk to you about something else,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The book you had the other day. I know why you tried to hide it from me.”

My heart stops. She does?

“You are a smart girl, so you understood how important it is. So you wanted to keep it for yourself.”

I try not to show my relief.

“I think you and I could work together,” she says, her voice soft, persuasive. “I think we could collaborate, explore the themes in that book, delve into the mysteries it contains. And when we publish, your name could go on the piece.”

Not likely. I don’t want my name anywhere near it. Not that she has any intention of following through with such a promise. “I don’t know.”

“Of course,” she says, her understanding voice belied by the predatory gleam in her eyes. “You are concerned about loyalty, but Stratford wouldn’t want you to squander this. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day.”

I grip the strap of my bag tighter, my knuckles turning white. I want to shove her offer in her face, want to tell her that I’d rather eat glass than work with her. She’s probably only asking me this because she needs to know more about the provenance of the book, but I can use that. If I get closer to her, if I learn her secrets, maybe I can find a way to bring her down.

It seems unlikely, but it also feels like it’s worth a chance.

“I...I don’t know,” I stammer, letting my nerves show. I look down, my eyes fixed on the worn wooden floor of the lecture hall. “I mean, Professor Stratford told me I’m supposed to keep it a secret.”

Thorne’s nostrils flare in excitement. Her voice comes out soft, like she’s coaxing a small animal from its burrow. “Precisely. It must be handled very carefully. He understood that. That’s why we won’t tell anyone that we’re working on this. If they ask, we’ll simply tell them that I’m giving you tutoring. There are so few prominent women in the field, I had to help.”

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I can do this. I can play her game. I look up, my eyes meeting hers. “I think maybe that’s why it hurt so much when you picked Matteo to work with.”

She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The only reason I did that is because of my connection with Andini. You are the stronger student, the more promising scholar. I see a spark that reminds me of myself when I was your age. I want to nurture that, to help you succeed.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. She’s playing right into my hands. I let my shoulders relax, let my breath come a little easier. I look up at her, my eyes wide, eager. “You’re right, Professor Thorne. I can’t...I can’t pass up this opportunity. I want to learn from you. I want to work with you.”

Thorne’s smile returns, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Excellent,” she says, her voice brisk, businesslike. “We’ll start right away. I want you to come to my office tomorrow afternoon. Bring all of your notes that you took regarding the book, anything that relates to its origins, to where he found it. I also want to know if he’s discussed the book with anyone else.”

Of course she wants to know that, considering she plans to steal his work. I nod, trying to look eager. “I won’t let you down.”

She smiles, her eyes gleaming. “I know you won’t.”

As I walk out of the office, my heart pounding, my mind racing, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a deal with the devil. It’s too late to turn back now. I have to hope that I can come out on top, that I can take Thorne down before she takes me down with her.