The Grave Shadows

3. Coincidence

Through the heavy wooden doors, a boastful brown desk posted in the middle of the dean's office. Simon Watts slouched in a lavish leather chair with both hands kneading his temples. He had seen the ghost, too. His fine gold hair drenched in sweat, his blue eyes a little red, his beautiful face wrinkling. Occasionally, Simon reminded Everett of one disheartened word—half-brothers.

Bill Watts's first wife was Eleanor, and she gave him the first four sons: Hector, David, William, and Simon. Her Nordic blood graced the older Watts boys with blond hairs and eyes in various shades of Baltic sea.

Mary, the second wife, was all American, and she was responsible for the soft brown hair and burnt umber eyes on Everett and Luke. Simon was seven when Everett was born, and Mary loved all Bill Watts's sons like her own. Therefore, the term half-brothers was bitter on the Watts boys' tongues.

Simon shook his head as Everett and Luke flopped on the chairs in front of him. "Don't ask." He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back. "Cyan Adrian Cooper." A file fell onto the sleek surface of his desk.

Everett scattered the documents, and Luke grabbed each paper to skim the details.

"Cyan..." Luke whimpered. A piece of paper fluttered in his shaky fingers. "More like Indigo."

"You're telling me you don't know about this?" Everett screwed up his face.

"I'm the dean, not an office lady." Simon hardened his eyes. Even with the sour expression, he could become Miss USA. "I don't spend my days reading records." He rose to his feet and glared at Everett. "She walked in and..." He drifted to the large panes where he monitored his little kingdom. But right now, his gaze was beyond the boundary.

"Freaky," Luke murmured. "I'm slipping into the weirdest episode of..." He considered something which he refused to pronounce. "Mesmerizing," he said instead, staring at a picture on the paper, "but she can't be real, right?"

"Why not? It's just a frigging coincidence. No big deal." Everett crossed his legs on the desk and cast a glance around the room.

The musky scent of wooden furniture and some ancient elegance reminded Everett of the Watts family library. A portrait of Rosalind Watts was on a big wall above all the rigged trophies. Colt's picture was missing because Simon loathed Constantine Watts smirking at him every working day.

Simon swiveled around. "Feet down. It's a 400-year-old oak." Grimacing, he clasped his wrist behind him.

Everett rolled his eyes and tapped his boots onto the precious desk before dropping his legs. Snobbery was a singular character that hinted at the dean's real age. Everett often thought Simon was a year older than him.

Like their father, the Watts boys appeared younger than their real ages—Hector thirty-four, David thirty-two, William twenty-nine, Simon twenty-seven, Everett twenty, Luke a forever infant. Universally referred to as the Watts boys, they were young-looking and reckless like spoiled children. The Watts boys stopped aging when they were strongest. If the theory were correct, it explained Simon's inclination to make the first move.

"Look, it's more complicated than that. She has a full scholarship, and it directly flows from the Board." Simon blew the air out of his cheeks.

Colt was as tough as a fort to get in except for the locals. This institute was the Watts Clan's world. There were three ways to get in: born in Colt, endorsed by the Watts Clan, or donating any seven-figure amount.

"So, Father knew." Luke frowned.

"It's his signature on the paper," Simon said.

"That's crazy." Luke grinned, his cheeks turning pink. "I call dibs!" He giggled, unable to keep the devious thirst at bay for two seconds. And this unappeasable tendency luxuriantly labeled men in the Watts Clan as boys.

But a ghost? A frigging ghost! Sunrise would have been a safer choice.

"Heck, no!" Simon crossed his arms, glaring at Luke. "She's off-limits!"

"Why?" Everett squinted.

Simon looked over his shoulders, words disappearing from his lips. He was hurt as it should. Every Watts boy should feel that twinge of discomfort gazing at that girl. Simon had been through worse—he talked to her.

"Don't be idiots!" said Simon. "Father got her here. Clearly, there's an agenda. She's not a typical case. You boys can't see that? If you mess things up, it won't end well for any of us."

"You think he's trying to get David home?" Luke let out a harsh breath.

David or Van Gogh, as the brothers called him, was a high-risk volcano, the second-born, and a rare sight. People thought he was a free spirit—a strange beauty—calling him Dark Prince of Modern Art. The brothers knew him as Lunatic. David hardly set foot in Colt. When the Watts boys went to see him in Los Angeles, he took no notice of their sojourn. His mind swam in the unhinged world and his face in the glossy gossip magazines. The tabloids claimed the pair of his alluring, shuttered blue eyes was the best seller right now.

"I thought about that, too," Simon said, "so I've just got off the phone with that lunatic." He strutted back to the chair and rested a hand on it. "And as usual, he breathed nonsense about his neighbor's cat or something. The guy is clueless." He stared at the mess on his desk.

"Did you tell him?" Luke pouted.

Simon waved his hand. Luke's question nauseated him. "And you boys shouldn't say anything to him either. It's Bill Watts's business. Just stay out of it. Understand?"

"Are you going to stay out of it, beautiful?" Everett grilled Simon back. "Are you going to stay away from her?"

None of the Watts boys could sit out this round. Everett knew what Simon and Luke were thinking, and he had some curiosities of his own. Cyan Cooper was special. She was a ghost in the Watts Mansion no one should acknowledge, like the fact that the Watts boys were ignoble, the truth that they were nothing, and a reality that they were all hurt and craven and crazy—like the Watts family library. Like all the lies.