NOVEL NEXT Chapter 33: Vice
She stared at the book, willing herself to focus, but her mind slipped away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself back.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against the open book as if she could trap her wandering mind between its pages. But he was still there, like a flash of light behind her eyes—stubborn and unshakable.
It wasn’t the memory of his words that lingered—he rarely said much. It was the way he had been so calm and unassuming, as though he wasn’t trying to pick her apart or demand answers. It unsettled her, this feeling. Not because it was heavy, but because it wasn’t.
She opened her eyes and stared out the window, where the moonlight filtered through the leaves. She told herself she didn’t know why she wanted him here, but that wasn’t entirely true. The thought of his presence felt like the weight of a feather.
The realization startled her, and she sat up straight, her heart suddenly too big for her chest. She reached for her pen and the paper that waited for her notes, but her hand hovered over the page. The words she needed wouldn’t come.
She set the pen down and closed her book with a quiet thud. There was no point in pretending anymore. Nicholas Vials wasn’t a problem she could solve, a thought she could chase away. He was simply there, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
Her chin rested in her hand as her gaze drifted far beyond the street below. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but still, her heart jumped at every passing shadow, every flicker of movement. She wished that he would pass by.
Even if it was just a glimpse—a fleeting sight of him walking by the window—it would be enough. Enough to know where he was. Enough to remind her that he wasn’t some phantom her mind had made to haunt her.
She told herself the thought of him was dangerous. It was like handling glass with bare hands, knowing it could cut but being unable to let it go. She craved nothing more than to hear his voice again, to feel the weight of his words as they explained the world in ways she hadn’t considered before.
He had this way of talking—half mystery, half truth—that made her feel as though he carried the answers to questions she didn’t even know she wanted to ask.
Come around, she thought. Not aloud, never aloud. Just come around. Tell me everything. She wanted to never see the sergeant’s face again; her peace had been disturbed more than it needed to be.
She turned from the window and buried her face in her hands, as though that might somehow stop the tide of worries rushing through her mind.
“Is something wrong?” Elena asked, watching over Emberline as she shuffled between her book and pen, her eyes wandering from window to book.
“Do you happen to know anything about Nicholas Vials?” Emberline asked, unable to hide her thoughts. She wanted to just discuss it in hopes of letting it go.
“Have you met him?” Elena asked, her enthusiasm evident.
“I had a brush with him here and there.”
“Best to not get too close.”
“What?” Emberline was confused, but it took no time to understand what she meant.
“Have I not told you? Or did I forget to tell you about that bundle of trouble. He's Eva's nephew, the son of Sheldon Vials? Ring a bell?”
“No, I remember. Just—I’m... just confirming,” she said, turning away to face the window again, the same impatience dawning on her once more. She was scared to ask for more.
...
Nicholas stood still, his hands wrapped tightly around his head as if to keep his thoughts from spilling out. He should have been angry—should have been livid, really. Anyone else would have sent his temper flaring. His space was his sanctuary, his belongings were sacred, and yet here he was, letting it all slide. For her. He rationalized with himself, standing to reason with his judgment on behalf of Emberline.
“She won’t do it again,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and almost pleading, though he wasn’t sure to whom. “She’d know better next time.” He nodded slightly, as though agreeing with the judgment he’d already handed down.
And yet, unease settled deep in his chest like an unwelcome guest. Why wasn’t he angry? The calmness she left in her wake unsettled him more than rage ever could. Each word she spoke to him made him put his mind at ease.
For the first time in what felt like years, Nicholas found himself content—no, more than that. He was joyful. But joy was a dangerous thing, he knew. It crept in quietly, loosening the walls he’d built stone by stone.
Maybe that’s why he couldn’t be mad at her. Emberline wasn’t just a visitor in his world; she was a threat to the fears he’d lived with for so long. And somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
...
Sometimes Nicholas thought about not bothering Eva. She was an old woman, in her late fifties. She should have been at home with a hoard of servants a call away, but instead, she worked away at the hospital, where she would study diseases and teach them to the outgoing batch of doctors at the St. Augustine Memorial Medical School. She was excellent at her job as a physician.
She also had a habit of taking everyone’s faults and troubles on her own shoulders. She would allow Nicholas to stay away for months on end but never keep him out of sight. She would vouch for him, care for him whenever he did stay at the institute, and allow him study material whenever exams neared. She was kind and caring, but Nicholas knew it was all pretend.
She strutted to and fro across her office, her hands in the air as she let out her frustration at Nicholas. "I've had to lie to so many people, so many! I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that you are doing well in your studies either. Do you know at what position you lie in your class?—do you even care?" she shouted, her words smushed together to form an incoherent sentence he could not quite grasp.
It was a well-known fact that Eva had been a relative of Nicholas. But it was a little-known fact that she was also related to Professor Charles Orson. The former fact was better known because of how well Nicholas took advantage of it.
He was silent, and it sent Eva into a frenzy. She began complaining once more before being abruptly stopped by Nicholas.
"When did Charles’s wife die?" he asked as he stood from his chair and turned around at her desk.
"What?" Eva asked, confused by his question.
Nicholas leaned against the edge of the desk. “What happened to her?” he asked, his voice low but insistent.
Eva stiffened, her hands pausing mid-motion. She didn’t look at him, not right away. Instead, she squared her shoulders, her posture growing rigid, defensive. “What are you talking about?” she asked, though her tone betrayed the fact that she already knew.
“The professor’s wife,” Nicholas pressed, refusing to back down. “What happened to her? Why doesn’t anyone talk about it?”
Eva’s head snapped up then, her eyes blazing. “Because, Nicholas—,” she hissed, her words cutting through the room like a blade. “That’s none of your business.”
He flinched at the force of her reply but didn’t retreat. “I just think—”
“You think too much, Nicholas,” she interrupted, her voice cold and biting. “Not everything needs to be discussed. Some things are better left buried. Now drop it.”
She turned away from him, her movements stiff, but her hands trembled slightly as she resumed her rampage. "You don’t listen to me! All you do is ask me these silly questions, stupid!" she shouted. For a moment, Nicholas thought about pushing further, about demanding answers. But the look in her eyes had been enough—a flash of something raw and unguarded, a warning he wasn’t sure he was ready to ignore.
“Fine,” he muttered, stepping back. But like a splinter one couldn’t quite pull free, the question remained in his mind, loud and nagging. It was obviously not going to be something he could obtain from a lighthearted conversation.
Nicholas Vials had done many wrongs. He wasn’t going to question whether it was right to break into someone’s house, just for a view.