I'm already shaking my head even before he's finished speaking. "Have you forgotten? I saw you with Isabella—-"
The professor cuts me off with a caustic sound of disgust. "Are you an idiot?"
All thoughts of keeping my chill threaten to fly away at the words. "Excuse me?"
"What you saw that time," he bites out, "is Sub Rosa business. Isabella is part of our god's order, and that's why we were together that night."
Isabella...is part of the order?
Does that mean the god's lips have also touched her skin?
Pain, both vicious and abrupt, stabs me at the mere thought of Isabella and my god having any kind of moment together.
That...that...DAMN god!
How many other secrets is he keeping from me?
Oh, you just wait...you, you beast!
I look at the professor, and for the first time ever, I actually find myself immune to his gorgeousness. "Can you please let me go?"
The professor's jaw clench, but just as his fingers loosen its hold, I also hear him say, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that—-"
"Uh..." I quickly back away before he can physically restrain me again. "Yes, I so can—-"
"Because he's the one who wants you here."
"Who do you mean—-" Wait. "Are you talking about my god—-"
"No, actually, I'm talking about Santa Fucking Clause," the professor cuts me off sarcastically.
Ouch.
"Of course I'm talking about your god! And just to be clear, sweetheart - he isn't actually your god alone. He's our god. Do you get that, Ms. Mariposa? You can wish and dream he's yours alone, but he's not. He's our god," the professor says with a curl of his lip, "and he's the reason I asked you to come to my office."
Even though his slightly scathing tone makes me fidget, it still doesn't make me any less wary. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
The professor walks around his desk and angrily pulls out a drawer open. "Why do you think I've had access to your file from the start?" he demands. "Who do you think ordered me to call in my contacts in law enforcement to help you out? Like it or not, your past has come back not just to haunt you, but to kill you as well." The professor pushes a stapled set of documents towards me across the desk, and my heart drops when I see the girl in the photo, and the one-word caption under it.
Myrrha...is dead.
"Her body was found in an empty lot a few miles away from her home. She was last seen in the company of a male who fits the description of your attacker."
Shit.
"That's not all," the professor says curtly. "The other girl involved in your case—-"
"Cen?"
"Her parents have filed a missing report on her a day or so after Myrrha's corpse was found. However, we have several eyewitnesses saying that a man who also fits the description of your attacker was seen leaving the girl's house several times...in broad daylight."
Shit, shit, SHIT!
Everything about the past used to be black and white, but now I no longer want to think. "What does that make him then?" I ask jerkily. "Is he their accomplice? Their blackmailer?"
"It doesn't matter either way. What you should give a fuck about is that he's started killing again, and you can be the next one on his list. That's why our god asked me to take over—-"
I shake my head, unable to believe that my god - okay, our god - is asking him of all people to help me out. "But you're just a professor—-"
"Is that your way of showing concern, Ms. Mariposa?"
"I don't want anyone else to die—-"
"Who says anything about me dying?" the professor asks with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "As long as we can get you to retrieve your memories, I'll kill that son of a bitch for you."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
The world is bouncing again, and my heart shoots up to my throat even though I know this isn't really happening.
The real me is back in the professor's office, hopefully without any drool on my face even though I've been magicked into a trance that would help me retrieve my memories.
Because all of this is just that.
Memories.
And so even though the world continues to bounce and everything looks the same—-
Even though everything feels terrifyingly accurate—-
None of this real, I whisper fiercely to myself. None of it is real. None of it!
I say the words over and over until I lose track of time, and I would've gone on saying it endlessly except...
The professor told me that I'd feel it when it happens. Know it when happens.
And I think he's right.
Because I think it is already happening, and when I slowly open my eyes, it's all I can do not to cry in sheer relief...because it's just like the professor said.
Exactly like the professor said.