Lady Killer (Dead Girls Club #2)

17. Luz

Chapter seventeen

Luz

I f I’d found it difficult to work up the courage to talk to Autumn about what had happened with Alister, what I had done with Everest rendered it downright impossible.

Hey bestie, you know the serial killer for hire that people are too scared to even whisper about on campus?

Yeah, well, I let him dry hump me in my professor’s office after he stopped me from trying to break in there in a fit of rage.

Oh, and he cut the lips off your old frenemies and wrapped them up in a gift box for me .

And instead of freaking out, I’m kind of chuffed that he stood up for me in his own way.

Yeah, that would go down well.

I’d had every intention of telling her about Alister that night we went out to Dos Hermanas in town.

But when she volunteered her own confession, my little orgasm-denial debacle seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Then there was the issue of what had been going on with Simone the night Aaron died.

I was determined to talk to her about it one-on-one. I just needed to set up some reason to meet with her without Autumn around.

It hadn’t been hard to get her number from Autumn.

Simone was a fine arts major with a focus on pottery, so I made up a lie about wanting to talk to her about a paper I was writing on Japanese lacquerware for my class.

“She’s actually more focused on West African pottery. She’s working on this proposal for an independent study project—?”

“Maybe she’ll know someone in her program, or at least where to start researching?”

“Oh sure, here, let me put it in your phone. ”

I handed it over to Autumn and let her add Simone to my contacts. The paper in question had been finished two weeks ago, but she didn’t need to know that.

“What are you up to tonight?” she said, handing my phone back to me.

“Ugh, my required science class.”

SCI135 was one of the softball classes for nonscience majors to fulfill their degree requirements. It was meant to provide all of us lesser students with the highlights of most of the major science programs here at Hollow Oak.

I’d enrolled in the course looking to get my science credit out of the way, thinking I was going to have a rigorous term between ECON202 and STAT202.

Instead, my stats class had turned out to be a fluff course, and SCI135 was even fluffier.

I was further ahead in my classes this semester than I had ever been before, and I was seriously considering seeing if I could get my hands on the course material for the next year’s classes.

“How is that going? I heard it’s, like, the easiest class ever.”

I shouldn’t complain. I had a to-do list a mile long.

But that was part of what drove me nuts about it. I had stuff to do, but instead, I spent every Tuesday night from five to seven in a stuffy lecture hall while a rotating cast of faculty members from the different science departments came to speak about their area of focus.

Unfortunately, attendance was 20 percent of my course mark.

The class was so large I literally had to tap in on a special app that logged my physical presence. And then there were the in-class quizzes that could only be completed on a laptop.

I hated it.

“It’s okay,” I mumbled, trying to juggle my hot coffee cup between my hands.

Fingerless knit gloves seemed cute until I had to hold a burning-hot cup of coffee between the exposed pads of my fingers.

“Last week, we had someone from the geology department come and explain the different types of rocks to us like when we were elementary students. So, that was definitely worth spending two hours on.”

“Yikes, what department is coming by this week?”

“Pharmacology,” I said while trying to blow air down the tiny hole in the lid of the coffee cup, like that was somehow going to cool it down.

“Like, drugs and stuff?”

“More or less. ”

I’d briefly considered pharmacology for a major. It was a good fit given my preferred kill method.

Ultimately, I decided it was too on the nose and risky, in the unlikely case that someone ever caught on to me.

Dosis sola facit venenum…

Only the dose makes the poison. . .

Unlike Locke’s shiny playground, General Sciences took place in a dingy old lecture hall that looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since the late 1980s. The room had been retrofitted with webcam technology during the pandemic, but that was the only aspect that had been updated in recent history.

I took a seat near the end of the aisle, so I could get out of class quickly when it was over, and fired up my laptop.

“Hello, hello, students.” The course coordinator stood at the lectern on the stage, pausing as he waited for the idle chatter to die down.

“Yes, folks, please, it’s time to listen up. Today, we have Dr. Jeffrey Reed and Clayton Royal, his research assistant, here from the pharmacology department to talk to you about an exciting career as a pharmacist, uh . . .” He fumbled, looking down to his laptop to see if he’d gotten it correct. “ . . . amongst other things such a—?”

“Why don’t I jump in, Mr. Thorncraft?”

A handsome young man appeared from seemingly thin air behind the podium, while an older man made his way to one of the seats on the stage and sat down, immediately going to look at his phone.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Clayton,” the course coordinator blubbered, making his way to sit down next to the man who was presumably Dr. Reed.

“Thank you for the introduction. My name is Clayton Royal, and I am a third-year doctoral student in the pharmacology department at Hollow Oak University, where I am also a researcher at the Erstveld Laboratory.”

He was tall and well built, with thick chestnut hair, blinding white teeth, and big blue eyes that I could make out even from where I sat. His Oxford shirt was rolled up to expose a set of forearms that could compete with tradesman, despite the fact that I would bet good money that Clayton Royal had never swung a hammer in his life.

It was February in Connecticut, and the man was wearing boat shoes.

Boat shoes.

The deep freeze had ended, but still, he wasn’t even wearing socks. My feet felt cold for him .

“While pharmacists play an incredibly important role in our health care system, pharmacology is so much more than dispensing medicine . . .”

His voice was deep and polished.

He reminded me of a younger, tamer version of Professor Blackwell for some reason, except where Locke was sharp and steely, this man was smooth and soft.

“Dr. Reed, who is here with us today”—Clayton gestured to the man still seated behind him, who looked up to give a quick wave before returning his attention to his phone—“is one of the world’s foremost experts on anti-arrhythmics. Dr. Reed will be speaking more about his work later on, but first let me . . .”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling my attention from the lecture.

Discreetly, I slid it out and took a look.

UNKNOWN:

I squinted in confusion before swiping on the message to open it.

It was blank.

Scrunching my nose up, I replaced the phone and turned my attention back to Clayton.

Well, as best I could.

After talking about the different subspecialities of pharmacology for over an hour, he finally turned the microphone over to Dr. Reed.

If Clayton reminded me of Locke, then Dr. Reed reminded me of an older Michael, my Japanese TA. Clearly smart and passionate about their subject matter but painfully dry to listen to.

The older man, who looked to be in his late thirties, had ash brown hair and a well-maintained beard.

If Clayton exuded charm and confidence, Dr. Reed looked as though he would rather blend into the walls with his faded herringbone blazer, complete with leather elbow patches.

Eventually, the professor finished his spiel on his research and turned the podium back over to Clayton, who spent the remainder of the class walking us through the requirements to enroll in the pharmacology program.

It was 6:55 when he finally decided to have mercy on us.

“And look at that, you get to sneak out of here five minutes early.” He chuckled, pleased with his own benevolence.

I moved to stuff my belongings into my backpack as fast as possible, but everyone else had the same plan, and I was stuck trying to exit the room at the same time as the other 130 students in the class .

When I made it out of the lecture hall doors, an oddly familiar voice called out my name from the crowd.

“Luz, Luz . . .”

How does Clayton Royal know my name? And why is he calling it out in front of the entire class?

I turned around slowly, not sure what to expect.

Weaving his way through the masses, using his easy smile to beg for forgiveness as he gently pushed students out of his way, Clayton made his way to stand in front of me.

“Sorry, about that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as students were forced to walk around us.

“Can I help you with something?” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Yes, I think. It is Luz, right?” he said, the confident gleam in his eyes belying the tentativeness of his words.

“Yes, it is.” I resisted the urge to ask him if I knew him. He was the one chasing after me.

“I thought it was you.” He smiled. The man had two perfect dimples. “You, ah, probably don’t know me, but we have a mutual friend. You know Melody Thomson, right?”

The air around me suddenly felt hot and staticky.

Melody had finally been reported missing by her parents a couple of weeks ago .

According to the news, her parents had noticed her acting strangely while she was home for the holidays, but they didn’t think much of it when they didn’t hear from her after she returned to school.

But when three weeks later they still couldn't get ahold of her, they sounded the alarm.

Unfortunately for them, their daughter was long dead at that point.

“Yes, uh, I do.”

My tongue felt like leather in my mouth, but the words flowed from me effortlessly as I painted a sympathetic but still confused expression on my face.

Melody’s body had yet to be found. However, given the number of missing girls and bodies turning up, the general consensus was that she had fallen victim to the Virgin Sacrifice Killer.

“It’s terrible what’s happened, isn’t it? I keep hoping it’s all a big mistake and that she’s going to pop her head into the lab any day now,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“Sorry, how did you say you know Melody?” I suppressed the urge to shift back and forth on my feet.

The memory of the sheep from the forest earlier was fresh in my mind. They had been tall and broad shouldered.

Like Clayton Royal .

“I assumed you put two and two together,” he said.

The room was starting to empty around us, the last couple of students making their way from the hall.

“Melly and I are both research assistants to Dr. Reed on the cardiac inhibitors project. She’s an undergrad assistant, of course, but we all work together. That’s part of what makes it such a great opportunity.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Sorry, I forgot. I’m just a bit of a mess with her . . .” I allowed my words to trail off before ducking my head down and biting my lip.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I almost twitched beneath his touch.

I couldn’t feel the familiar sensation of Blackwell eyes on my back, but that didn’t mean one of them wasn’t lurking out of sight.

If it was Everest, Clayton was going to lose a hand.

“It’s okay,” he said, stepping into my space.

The last of the students exited the building, and I tried to calculate how quickly I could make an excuse and leave.

“We all miss her terribly and are praying for her safe return.”

Thoughts and prayers .

“Of course,” I said, looking around me.

Where was a Blackwell when you needed one ?

Clayton released my shoulder, although he didn’t move to give me any more space.

Just then my phone audibly vibrated in my pocket, followed seconds later by Clayton’s.

It was the university emergency alert.

CAMPUS WIDE ALERT:

MISSING:

Cassandra Mortimer/Female/19 years old

Last seen on the southeast end of campus, near Granger Hall.

If you have any information related to the whereabouts of Cassandra Mortimer, Ainsley Phillimore, or Melody Thomson, please contact the Shady Harbor Police Department at 467 – 5269.

Hollow Oak University takes the safety of its students, faculty, and staff seriously. As a reminder, the university curfew is still in effect, with a zero tolerance policy for loitering enforced after 10:00 p.m.

The Virgin Sacrifice Killer had taken another girl.

The blood rushed from my head as I looked up to read Clayton’s reaction.

His face was passive, absolutely relaxed, as he read about Cassandra’s disappearance.

It didn’t mean anything, but . . .

“Well, I’ve got to run,” I started to say, taking a couple of steps backward.

Clayton looked up at me with a frown and stepped forward, closing the gap between us once more.

The lobby of the hall was completely empty, and my heart stuttered. No one was watching me.

“Is everything all right, Luz?” Clayton said, concern written across his face as he reached for me again.

Stop being nice.

I shifted my weight on my feet, prepared to bolt, when the lecture hall doors swung open.

“Clayton, are you coming?”

Saved by Dr. Reed.

“Yes, of course,” Clayton replied before turning to me with a friendly wave, appearing utterly unaware of my state of distress.

“Gotta go, but here’s hoping our girl comes home, right?”

“Fingers crossed,” I said awkwardly, taking another step away from him.

“Take care, Luz.”

I didn’t answer him as I rushed out the doors, power walking until I caught up to a larger group of students headed toward the quad. Tucking myself in behind them, I stayed in their shadow until they dispersed closer to Gabriel College House and from there made the quick dash across the quad by myself.

The sickening sensation of guilt clung to my every step.

I had been trying to taunt the killer. To bait them into coming after me.

Instead, they took another girl.

And now, there was blood on my hands.