Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance

“Damn it, c’mon!” I swiped my card through the reader, only to be greeted by the sixth red beeping light in a row. “C’mon!” Twisting slightly to the left showed that the line of seven other students had already doubled in the last two minutes, all of them wearing irritated and impatient expressions. Humiliation gnawed at me as I swiped the card a seventh time.

Another red beep.

“Here.” An arm reached around me from the other direction, and I turned to see a tall blond guy with bright blue eyes offer a half-smile, as he swiped his card and punched number two on the pad below the card swiper.

A green light followed.

“Thanks,” I said, stuffing my card away, the pressure in my throat settling again.

“Underclassman?”

“Sophomore.”

“Only juniors and seniors are allowed to dine at Darrigan Hall.” The two of us strolled at an easy pace toward the front of the dining hall. “Freshmen and sophomores are restricted to Cavick. Unless we invite a guest.”

Another blast of embarrassment warmed my cheeks. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. It was close to my next class, and I thought I could grab a quick lunch and go.”

“I’m Spencer.” A well-groomed hand prodded my arm as he held it out to me, and I gave it a weak shake. The guy reminded me of Paul Walker, with his boyish charm and the way his eyes naturally held a smile.

“Lilia.”

“Any chance you want to have lunch with me?”

The way my chest instantly tightened when he asked that, one would’ve thought I was allergic to lunch dates. “Oh … um. I was just … I was going to eat in the–”

“Spence!” Kendall, the tour guide from Langmore’s office, sashayed up to him, both of them looking like Ken and Barbie, standing side by side. When her eyes fell on me, smile falling away, I wondered if she thought I was wearing the same outfit as yesterday. I’d chosen another sundress–one with blue flowers—but it was the same jacket and boots. “I see you’ve invited a guest.”

Clearing my throat, I hiked a thumb over my shoulder, which actually had me pointing at the bathrooms behind me. “I’m going to eat in the courtyard.”

Primped brows winged up as she offered a fake smile. “How very boho of you.”

“Mind if I join you?” Spencer tipped his head toward me, and a knot tightened in my stomach. Nothing against the guy–he seemed decent enough. I refused to invite distractions, though. My goal was to remain focused on studies and nothing more.

Besides, what the hell would we even talk about?

“Um …”

“It’s okay if you’d rather not. No pressure.” He shot me a wink, and when I offered a silent nod in response, he strode off with Kendall toward the long table of chafing dishes.

I opted for the cold bag lunches at the opposite side of the room, and it was only when I headed toward the exit, with no cashier in sight, that I realized he’d swiped his card and essentially paid for my lunch.

Ugh. Did you have to be such an asshole?

As I passed one of the tables, I snagged a glimpse of the guy with copper eyes again, the one I’d bumped into the day before, sitting alone and staring down at a book. When those eyes found mine and he caught me staring, I snapped my attention away, and consequently rammed my thigh into the corner of one of the tables. With a quiet grunt, I brushed off what would undoubtedly become a bruise in the next twenty-four hours.

Once out of the building, I took a deep breath, and on spying an empty bench beneath an impressive red oak, I hustled across the lawn toward it. After settling, I tucked into a chicken salad croissant with grape halves and celery, Cape Cod potato chips, and organic apple juice. Even cold lunch at Dracadia was more impressive than anything I’d have scrounged back home—and mine had been only one of about ten different cold bag options.

Lichen-covered statues, chipped and aged with time, stood about the courtyard in front of me–angels, and children with motherly figures who cradled them. I glanced back at the ominous gargoyles perched outside of the engineering building to my rear. How creepily they’d been angled, as if watching the innocent statues play. Across the yard from me, black birds pecked about. The infamous ravens, I guessed. I’d read in the history of the school that because there were so many that had flocked to the island, it was long believed to have been cursed.

They made for pretty peaceful lunchmates, though.

After eating, I headed toward Emeric Hall for my first class of the day. Like every other building on campus, the gorgeous interior had been well-preserved. Thick hardwood gleamed, as I made my way to a set of wooden doors ahead. I opened one of them into a dimly-lit auditorium, where a handful of students had already claimed seats and sat scrolling on their phones. Every one of them had the sleek, black, to-go coffee cups with the purple and gold dragon logo of the local coffee shop, Dragon’s Lair. A pretty popular gathering place, as I understood. They had a few pop up stands in some of the academic buildings, too. Unfortunately, eight bucks for a latte was out of budget for me.

Finding a seat at the opposite side of the room, I sat in the very corner of the second row. Although I’d have ordinarily opted for a rear seat, with this being an advanced class I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Hoping to blend in, I pulled out my phone and spotted a text from Jayda:

How’s anglican life?

Snorting a laugh, I texted back:

Surprisingly uneventful so far. I met a Paul Walker clone.

Met? As in talked to?

He spared me the humiliation of my card being declined. Guess he paid for my lunch, too.

Tell me you didn’t eat alone, Lilia.

I ate alone.

Jesus on a pogo stick, the hell is wrong with you, woman?

I’m not here for men. I’m here for knowledge. I can’t screw this up, you know that.

“Is this seat taken?”

A shock of surprise jerked my muscles, and I looked up to see Spencer standing over me, his brows winged up. Black to-go cup in hand, just like everyone else.

A quick glance around showed a number of open seats he could’ve chosen.

“Sure. I mean, no. It’s not taken.”

“Cool.” It was when he slumped into his chair that I noticed how uncomfortably close we were situated. Enough that if I hadn’t turned my knees the other way, one would’ve surely touched his. “Thought you said you were a sophomore.”

“I am. I was placed in this class.” I pulled my laptop from my bag–an off-brand loaner from the tech department, and a far less fancy machine compared to the MacBook that every other student had out on their desks. From the side of the chair, I tugged the small desktop to unfold it, frowning when it refused to flip up.

“Ah. You’re a smarty pants, then.” Spencer pressed a button I hadn’t noticed, and the desk lifted with ease. Smiling, he tugged out his own laptop from his bag–a Mac, of course.

While I appreciated his playful nature, I felt like every response fumbled inside my mouth. Though undoubtedly attractive, the guy wasn’t my type, so it didn’t make sense that I’d have been so tongue tied. “I do okay, I guess.”

“You missed out on a riveting conversation at lunch. Country clubs and fall fashion and everything I don’t give a shit about.” He chuckled, and I smiled, wondering if he’d said that for my benefit. Perhaps he’d hoped to make me feel more at ease around him, but unfortunately, his comments only left me feeling more like an outcast.

Just as I was on the verge of unzipping my skin and crawling away, a figure strode into the room.

My heart stalled in my chest.

In his black, button-down shirt, black slacks, and black, finger-raked hair, he looked like an ominous shadow moving through the lecture hall with the kind of lethal grace that had undoubtedly obliterated a few hearts. His outfit matched the infamous black, to-go cup clutched in his hand. A tingle at the back of my neck had me scratching there, and when he headed toward the desk and lectern at the front of the hall, instead of one of the audience chairs, I wondered if he might’ve been one of the assistants Dean Langmore had mentioned.

Bright copper eyes scanned the room, and when they fell on me, my heart slammed into motion again.

The girl in the row in front of me lifted her camera, not-so-subtly snapping a picture of him. I stared down to see her posting a caption with a weary face emoji over it:

Why does Doctor Death have to be so fuckable, tho?

Doctor Death.

I nearly choked on my own spit right then.

Bramwell.

Dracadia’s brilliant expert pathologist.

Given his reputation, and the respect he’d gleaned from Professor Wilkins back in Covington, I’d expected him to be sixty years old. The guy couldn’t have been much past thirty.

He certainly dressed the part of death with all that black.

A few more students filed in, as Professor Bramwell stood at his lectern and cracked open a book.

Look away, my head told me, but he was one of those men that effortlessly commanded attention. The kind who went about his business looking utterly fuckable, as the crude brunette in front of me had pointed out. It irritated me how much of a distraction he posed in a class that was apparently one of the more difficult on my schedule.

Once all of the students seemed to be present, Professor Bramwell snapped his book shut on a thunderous crack, and a unison of gasps echoed through the room.

“Let’s get started. I’m Professor Bramwell, and this is my teaching assistant, Ross.” He pointed toward the front row, where a slightly younger guy sat wearing glasses beneath a mop of ungroomed hair that told me he must’ve been a grad student. “The class is Neuroparasitology, and will pick up from the parasitology prereq you should’ve taken last year.”

The deep timber of his voice vibrated in my chest, as I practically swallowed every word out of his mouth. The authority in his tone demanded to be obeyed, and as I glanced around the class, not one student had their face buried in a phone screen.

I placed my phone onto the small folding table, opening up my audio app, and clicked record.

“This is your first Bramwell class?” Spencer whispered beside me.

I gave a sharp nod.

“He doesn’t like to be recorded. Kinda weird, I know, but if he catches you recording, he’ll take your phone. All the notes are available on DracNoti. You can edit as you go.”

“Oh. Shit.” In swiping up my phone, I knocked it off my small desk, sending it to the floor on a clatter.

After retrieving it, I sat up to find those fiery eyes staring at me with such intimidating annoyance, I had to look away, and clearing my throat, I held the phone in my lap.

His eye twitched. “It’s imperative that you keep up and pay attention to the material. There’s a lot to cover, and I’ll be moving at a fast pace.”

Gaze lowered, I prayed hard that the seat would fall out from under me and I’d get sucked into a black hole.

“Is there anyone here who has not taken the Parasitology prereq?”

Oh, God. Just kill me already.

I was the only one in the class who raised a mildly shaky hand.

Again, those eyes fell on me. Hard.

“Name?”

“Lilia. Vespertine. Sir.”

“See me after class, Miss Vespertine.”

My first see-me-after-class since freshman year of high school.

“This class covers topics rooted in ongoing and privately-owned research at this university, meaning you are not permitted to discuss whatever is covered outside of this institution. If anyone feels a sense of opposition?” He pointed to the left of him. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

Jesus, I’d had some abrasive professors before, but this guy took the cake.

“You should’ve all signed the non-disclosure agreement online during orientation. Is there anyone who didn’t?” he asked, once more raising my blood pressure.

Freaking hell, fate must’ve been out to get me, because again, I raised a shaky hand, and his gaze left me feeling like I’d been raked over hot coals. On an obviously frustrated huff, he twisted toward his bag on the desk and pulled out a paper, which he handed off to Ross, who handed it to the brunette in front of me. Wearing a smirk, she handed it over.

At the top of the page, in bold print beneath the Dracadian logo, were the words NON-DISCLOSURE. An entire page of smaller print followed, but I didn’t even bother to read it before I signed it, not with the entire class silent while Bramwell waited with arms crossed.

I handed the paper back to the brunette, who handed it to Ross, who handed it off to Bramwell. I could’ve just signed my soul away to the guy and I didn’t care, so long as the class stopped looking at me like the fly who shat on their birthday cake.

After a look of disapproval, followed by a brief glance at the paper, he placed it on his desk and finally resumed his lecture. “The most important function of a parasite is to secure its transmission to the next host.” The way he paced back and forth across the room, his voice carrying an intense inflection, kept me riveted, as I jotted as many words as I could into a simple Word doc. “Is anyone familiar with mind-hijacking?”

“I thought this was parasitology, not MK-Ultra conspiracies class,” some joker from the back of the room answered, earning a few clipped chuckles.

Bramwell didn’t so much as crack a smile, only offering that deadly gaze for an uncomfortable minute, before he resumed his pacing again. “Paragordius varius, otherwise known as the horsehair worm, is an aquatic parasite that has, to its misfortune, chosen the common cricket as a host. As you may or may not know, crickets, as a general rule, avoid water. However, this clever worm releases a chemical that confuses the cricket, causing it to commit suicide by drowning. Once submerged, the worm makes its escape. If the cricket is lucky enough, it won’t drown before the worm emerges, but often, that is not the case.”

“Jesus,” Spencer muttered beside me. “Doctor Death kicking things off on a morbid note.”

“Another example. The female jewel wasp makes a practical nursery for her young out of a cockroach, by first attacking the roach’s front legs with a toxin. It then attacks the head, leading the senseless roach to its burrow like a lost puppy. There, it lays its eggs and entombs the two of them together. The larvae consume the cockroach from the inside and eventually emerge as adults.” He paused his pacing, hands still clasped behind his back, the stance opening the unbuttoned top of his shirt even wider and allowing just enough of a peek of the deep grooves there. “Parasitic mind control is an emerging science, not yet well understood. It is a complex and fascinating field of study. For the next sixteen weeks, you will be submerged, much like our unwitting cricket, in a wealth of little-known information about various species of parasites. I recommend you pay close attention to the syllabus and keep up with the reading.”

Something in the way he spoke, the passion I could literally feel infused into every word, sent a shudder of excitement through me. The man lived and breathed science–that much I could tell. When the class ended, I found myself looking at the clock in disbelief. An entire hour had slipped by in what felt like minutes, as I’d sat completely enthralled by the man and the ease with which he relayed information, as if he were talking of something so benign as the weather. As the class packed up and exited, my stomach knotted in tight bows of anxiety at the thought of having to talk to him one on one. I’d wanted the opportunity to pick his brain sometime, but something told me he wasn’t happy about my presence in his class.

“Professor Bramwell, you wanted to see me?”

His assistant, Ross, shot me a quick glance as he passed behind him toward the exit, but Bramwell didn’t bother to take those cognac eyes off of me.

And just like that, I was completely alone with the one they called Doctor Death.

“Miss Vespertine, I understand you’re new to Dracadia.”

“Yes, I’m technically a sophomore, but–”

“Allow me to acquaint you with my teaching style, since you managed to skip the prerequisite.” From the top of his collar, a small bit of his skin appeared to be contracted and discolored. A gruesome scar that I guessed must’ve marked the acid attack Mel had told me about. Unless that was just a story she’d made up. “I don’t like interruptions. This isn’t a fuck around class. Know that I’ve failed more students than I’ve passed.”

“With all due respect, I believe that’s the failure of the one teaching.”

His jaw twitched as if he were gnashing my words between his teeth to spit back in my face. “I also don’t appreciate underclassmen with smart mouths.”

“My apologies. Sir.”

“Your being here is a mistake. Let’s not make it an egregious one. Keep up with the reading. Attend the recitations.”

“I will.”

He made a grumbly humph in his throat, like he doubted me, and breaking his staring, he shoved his book and notes into his bag, along with my signed NDA, unavoidably drawing my attention to the map of veins in his forearm where he’d rolled his sleeves up.

And the fact that he didn’t have a wedding band.

Stop, damn it.

I wanted to ask him more about the parasites. Perhaps get on his good side with what small bit of knowledge I had on the one for which he’d been named an expert, but my throat clogged, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

Instead, I exited the auditorium to find Spencer waiting outside. Oddly enough, I felt relieved to see him after such an intense encounter. My lips burned from having bitten the shit out of them the whole time.

“All good?”

I pulled my bag up onto my shoulder. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

“Alone time with Doctor Death? I don’t know.”

I headed in the direction of my next class, seemingly in the same direction Spencer was headed, from the way he kept in step. “You call him that because he was supposedly involved in some other student’s disappearance?”

“Yeah. She dated a buddy of mine. He’s expelled now.”

“Ah. The one who splashed sulfuric acid on him.”

Spencer lips flattened. “You heard the story already.”

“Yeah. I think I found that bit less impressive than the rumor.”

“He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But Jenny’s disappearance fucked with his head.”

I slowed to a stop, just outside of the building of my writing exposition class. “What evidence led everyone to believe Bramwell had anything to do with it?”

Spencer stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Cameras caught her leaving out some back door of his lab, the night she went missing.”

“And you don’t think that makes the boyfriend a suspect?”

“He was pissed, for sure. He always thought there was something going on between them, for some reason. But I talked him down that night.”

I playfully rolled my eyes at that. “So, you’re the campus knight in shining armor.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he smiled in a way that seemed flirtatious. “Something like that.”

I’d been the yolk of nasty rumors my entire high school career. I hated gossip–loathed the way something could spread like a wildfire with no merit, or evidence. No doubt, Professor Bramwell was a bona fide asshole with a cherry on top, but I decided to reserve judgment before flat out calling him a murderer. “Well, look. I appreciate your concern. But I like to give people the benefit of doubt before grabbing the nearest pitchfork.”

“No disrespect. I just felt compelled to give you a heads up, is all.”

“I appreciate it. If you’ll excuse me, I need to head back to my next class.”

With a nod, he stepped aside and headed off in the opposite direction.