The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew

by Rebecca Donovan

  “There you are!” Ashton exclaims, hugging me and then Grant. “You have to try this watermelon champagne drink Arden created. It’s divine.”

  “We were going to spend some alone time in my room with the door open,” I tell her with a mischievous gleam.

  She tilts her head back and cackles. “You’re going to have a hard time doing that.”

  I frown, preparing for an answer I don’t want to hear. “Why?”

  “Listen, I’m mad at him too. But don’t kill him when you see him,” she says, swinging her arm around my shoulders. “He’s an ass and fucked up big time. And I’m really sorry he messed up your life.” Then she faces me with her hands gripping my shoulders. “But if he didn’t do the stupid thing he did, you wouldn’t be here. And we wouldn’t be best friends. And you’d still be afraid of love and never have this guy”—she winks at Grant—“in love with you. So … let’s be mad at him. Even hate him for a little while, but we will forgive him. Because we love him.”

  I cross my arms in stubborn defiance. “He told you everything?”

  “Yes, he confessed to all of it. Even the part about him being your brother.” She covers her mouth to keep from laughing, committed to being serious. The scowl on my face helps sober her.

  “You’re thinking of Allie, aren’t you?” she says, leading me into the hall. Grant leans a shoulder against the wall next to us. “That wasn’t him, Lana. You know it. It’s like blaming yourself. Anyway, go in there and hear him out. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but he’s been harassing me every other minute, wondering where you are.”

  I look to Grant, concern creasing his forehead.

  When I enter my room, Brendan spins around from pacing, completely at odds with his casual, unaffected self.

  “What’s going on?” I demand, shutting the door behind us, already breaking the rule.

  “Why don’t you ever check your phone?” he yells in frustration. “I’ve been calling you all day!” He approaches me. “Speaking of which, hand over the Blackwood phone. The other phone is turned off, right?”

  I nod, never having turned it on today. Digging through my tote, I pull it out from underneath my clothes. Brendan takes it and stores both our phones in the bathroom.

  “Who did you tell about the video?” he demands urgently.

  “Uh, Grant,” I say cautiously, not sure where this is going. “Parker and Isaac already knew about it. And Joey. Oh, and Ashton.”

  Brendan throws up his hands. “Why not just tell everyone? Oh, wait, you did! And you forgot to add whoever broke into my room with you!”

  “What’s your problem, Brendan?” I ask impatiently.

  “I was trying to figure out how Vic knows about the video. It’s not on a server, and I never talk about it when a phone’s within earshot.”

  “Oh,” I say, deflating. “Right.”

  He reads my guilty expression easily. “Are you kidding, Lana? Blackwood phones can’t be trusted! Have you not figured that out by now?”

  “Vic has access?” Grant questions skeptically.

  “That’s what his grandfather’s company does! They’re probably the ones who installed their system!” Brendan exclaims in exacerbation. “And half the time, you don’t even know where your phone is! He’s had plenty of opportunities to clone it. With that phone in your room, you might as well be lying next to him in your bed, whispering in his ear.”

  I shudder at the thought.

  “Okay, he knows,” Grant says, attempting to de-escalate Brendan’s ranting. “Which is why he trashed your room. We get it. But he didn’t find it, right?”

  Brendan shakes his head. “He’ll keep looking. In the meantime, he’s gonna try to get rid of whatever evidence he can.” He collapses onto the couch.

  “Oh. This was in your room when I got here.” Brendan reaches into the pocket of his pressed black pants and pulls out an envelope.

  I eye Brendan suspiciously when I take it from him, expecting it to be open. Surprised when it’s still sealed.

  Predictably, a picture’s inside. It’s of Allie, laughing in her pink wig at The Point. I flip it over to read the linear red ink message that’s always written on the back. But this one’s different. Scrawled in messy black marker, it reads:

  “What the hell?” Grant exclaims, taking the photo from my shaking hand. “What kind of sick …”

  “Told you. He’s tying up loose ends, which includes witnesses,” Brendan answers, running his hands through his hair, pulling at his roots. “Before, it was just his word against yours with a witness putting you in the stairwell. But then you started telling people. And he found out about the video because you broke into my room,” Brendan growls loudly, “and had to talk about it within proximity of your phone.”

  I grimace, biting my lip. Guess I wasn’t paranoid enough.

  “Why couldn’t you trust me, Lana? Hell, you don’t fricken trust anyone other than Prince Perfect over here.” He nods toward Grant in annoyance.

  “For good reason,” I quip.

  “Whatever,” he says dismissively. “You let Vic know he has something to worry about. And he and I have a … relationship—or whatever fucked up thing it is. Now he feels vulnerable and exposed. So he’s panicking. He was already reckless. Now he’s a full-out psychopath.”

  I lean against the counter next to my sink, unable to feel my legs. “You’re right. I screwed up.”

  “Oh, it’s worse,” Brendan continues, his jaw tensing and fists clenched. “He’s on the guest list to the Ball.”

  My knees give out. Grant catches me with his arms around my waist before I can hit the floor.

  “Can we come in now?” Ashton hollers from the bathroom.

  “Yeah!” Brendan returns. When Ashton and Arden walk in, he announces, “This concerns all of us.”

  “Why does Lana look like you just killed her hopes and dreams?” Arden asks, bending in front of me, placing a hand on my cheek and peering into my eyes.

  I stare back, my mind racing with thoughts of all the people who will be at this dance … in costume. He could be any one of them.

  “I need your help,” I murmur to Arden.

  “Anything, my love,” she answers soothingly.

  “How do we take down a monster?”

  Arden holds up a finger, her dark eyes scanning the room. She leaves and returns with a strange-looking device. It beeps when she turns it on. Walking around the room, she waves it over every surface, holding up a hand to interrupt Grant when he opens his mouth to speak. The device squeals and shrieks as red lights dance along its surface.

  Brendan watches with an expression of amusement. Ashton takes a sip from her drink, waiting patiently.

  Once Arden’s scanned the entire room, she turns off the device. “You’re clear.”

  “Of what?” Grant asks.

  “Bugs,” Brendan answers for her. “Where’d you get that? I’ve been trying to get my hands on one of those for years.”

  Arden just quirks her brow. “What kind of monster?”

  “One with money,” Ashton says, “and a powerful family.”

  “Who is reckless and potentially deadly,” I add.

  Arden tightens her eyes in contemplation.

  “I have an idea,” Brendan intercepts before Arden can bestow her insight upon us.

  “Your plans suck,” I admonish. “They’re what got us into this mess to begin with.”

  “No,” Brendan counters, “that was our parents.”

  “Whatever,” I huff. “You definitely made it worse.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Enough,” Grant interrupts him. “If you two don’t stop, someone’s going to get hurt.” He looks pointedly at Brendan.

  Ashton laughs. Brendan collapses against the couch with a breath of annoyance. Arden waits patiently to regain our attention.

  “What’s your idea, Brendan?” Arden asks.

  “I have these hi-tech body cams that I can attach to each of our costu
mes.”

  “Great, so we can watch each other die,” I quip.

  “Lana,” Arden says calmly, “let’s hear what he has to say.”

  “He’s going to confront one of us,” he continues, ignoring me. “And if we can get him to confess, I’ll have it on video. As long as we don’t go anywhere alone and stay in the crowd, he won’t be able to hurt us. He’s really not that smart. He’s been lucky and has had help up to this point. We play off his arrogance.”

  “Why can’t we use the video you already have?” I snap, fed up.

  “Because it can easily be disputed,” Brendan answers angrily. “I didn’t use the best equipment—the signal was sketchy, and the image is a step above what they had at the convenience store. It’s not easy to identify him, and it’s pixelated when you zoom in.”

  “But you can see his tattoo!” I argue. “Even if his face isn’t fully in focus, you can still clearly make out the tattoo on his head!”

  “It’s not real,” Brendan says with a heavy sigh.

  “What?” I stare at him, stunned.

  “It was temporary. He had someone draw it with ink, thinking it would throw the police off if he was seen without his hood on. And, well … it was one of the only smart ideas he’s had.”

  I thump my head against Grant’s chest. “So the video is useless?” I want to cry. Maybe I will cry. Seems to be the only thing I can do lately.

  “I don’t know,” Brendan says. “But it’s not indisputable. And if we’re going to get him charged, it has to stick.”

  “How do you plan to get him to confess?” Arden asks, redirecting the conversation.

  “Provoke him,” Brendan suggests offhandedly like he hasn’t given this part much thought.

  “This is why your plans suck,” I chide.

  “He believes he’s untouchable,” Arden says, looking pensively at the ceiling. “That he is above any consequence. And someone will protect him to save his family name.”

  We stare at her, waiting for her to return from her trance.

  “I know how to trap your monster,” Arden says, blinking back from wherever she went.

  The bathroom door bursts open.

  Joey stumbles in, panting, his phone in his hand. “Allie’s awake!”

  The mirror doesn’t lie. Nor does it reflect life. I haven’t been alive since that terrible night.

  The morning of the Ball, the dining hall is noisier than ever, especially now that the rest of the students are back for fall term. But it’s also because everyone’s excited for tonight. Everyone, except me.

  Ashton scares some lower classmen out of our seats when we arrive at our usual corner table. “Yvette’s team is arriving at noon,” she informs me, setting down her tray of pancakes topped with whipped cream, scrambled eggs and a side of bacon.

  “Who?” I ask, sitting across from her with my breakfast burrito and strawberries.

  “She’s my stylist.”

  “She needs a team? I didn’t know dressing for a dance was a sporting event,” I note with sarcasm.

  “Two for hair, two for makeup and one for nails,” she explains, ignoring my tone. “So be in my room in a robe by two. You won’t need as much time as I do.”

  “That’s still five hours,” I calculate, completely baffled. “I told you, I can do my own—”

  “No, you won’t,” Ashton scolds as Arden and Lance join us. “You’re going to have the full experience if I have to drag you to my room and strap you down.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there,” I reply unenthusiastically. I direct my attention to Arden, curious if everyone needs as much time as Ashton claims we do. “What time are you getting ready?”

  “Six thirty,” Lance answers, earning an eye roll and a gasp from the two girls.

  “Noon,” Arden replies, still shaking her head at Lance. “But they’re arriving now to set up the equipment.”

  “Equipment?” I question, wondering why everyone’s going crazy over this one night.

  “Body paint,” she explains simply.

  Arden directs her gaze over my shoulder as Brendan approaches and sits next to me with a plate of smoked salmon, capers and a bagel with cream cheese. I scrunch my nose, fighting not to lose my appetite. How is it possible we’re related?

  “Is everyone all set with the plan?”

  We all nod.

  “I told Lily to meet you in Lana’s room at six,” Lance says. “And Parker will be in Brendan’s room then too.”

  “And why is Lily part of this again?” I ask, wishing I could keep her out of everything.

  The more distance I get from the night of the dinner at the lake house, the more bitter I become. They claim time heals. In this instance, time deepens the wound. I can’t help wondering if Lily’s fingerprints are on some of the little unsolved events that have occurred—the door to the study room shutting, my dead Blackwood phone while I was lost in the Court and Blackwood knowing I wasn’t at the country club that night with Grant. Was that Lily too? Or maybe the still-unknown person who’s been sending the notes and pictures?

  What bothers me the most is, like her father, I believed her. I thought she was a friend. And I hate being deceived more than anything.

  “Because she’s basically a Harrison,” Brendan explains, “which means she has a target on her back like the rest of us.”

  “So?” I mutter.

  Ashton gives me a questioning slant of her head. I focus on my food, recognizing I’m being a brat.

  “Do we know who the monster’s date is yet?” Arden asks.

  “No,” Brendan replies. “I’m still working on it.” He leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “But … I did find out something that’s weird.”

  We all stare at him, waiting for him to continue.

  He sets an old-fashioned lunchbox lined with aluminum foil on the table. “Phones.”

  After our phones are sealed in the Star Wars lunchbox, Brendan darts his eyes around before looking directly at me. “Thorne Industries has a bunch of shell companies. Don’t ask me why, but a little over a year ago, one of them bought the house you’re living in.”

  I sit back in my seat, not sure how to react. That seems to be a thing with me today. I’m a ball of discombobulated emotions, not knowing what to think or feel about anything. It’s like I’m at war with myself. Angry one minute. Nervous and anxious the next. And now, maybe surprised. But am I really? I don’t feel like anything should shock me anymore.

  The entire table stares at me, anticipating a reaction that doesn’t come.

  “Does anyone have a theory why—other than to have access to me and my mother?”

  “But they bought it before the night at The Point,” Ashton notes. “Way before any of this happened to you.”

  “Something special happen a little over a year ago?” Lance asks, trying to connect the dots.

  I meet Brendan’s gaze. Two things happened around that time … Morgan Wolfe was murdered. And Julia Thorne died, having written me into her will.

  Brendan doesn’t say either of these, although I know he’s thinking them. “Maybe they want to tear it down, build condos. Gentrify the neighborhood. And why not start with the home of the woman who knows a secret that involves their family?”

  “What secret?” Lance asks, enthralled, like he’s listening to a grueling fairytale.

  “That is the question,” Brendan replies dramatically.

  I sigh and reach for the lunchbox, removing my phone to effectively end the conversation. It buzzes as soon as I lift it out, making us all jump. A message appears on the screen.

  I look around the table uncertainly. “Uh, there’s someone in the admin building for me.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Arden declares. Before I can protest, she adds, “No one should go anywhere alone today, remember?”

  “It’s my brother,” Lance says. “Joey just messaged. I’ll go. He has something for me too.”

  I walk toward the entrance while Lance shovels his omelet i
nto his mouth and almost collide with Sawyer on his way to our table.

  “Lana,” he says like he’s been expecting to see me.

  “Sawyer. Hey,” I say, having completely forgotten he was starting at Blackwood. “I heard you were transferring here. How have you been since … that night? Grant said you were okay, but …”

  “Grant? Oh, he’s the guy who brings out that beautiful smile,” Sawyer says with a slight tilt of his mouth. I shrug in affirmation, pressing my lips together to keep them from bursting into that same ridiculous smile that the thought of Grant tends to ignite. “The next day … sucked. But I’m okay.”

  “Guess you have a dark side after all if this was their choice for you,” I tease.

  “Honestly, my parents like this place for the security. And there isn’t a school that will tell them no.” Sawyer looks around the dining hall, inspecting who he’ll be stuck with for the upcoming school year. “How bad can you guys be? Although … I have been asked to wear a camera to the dance tonight.” He laughs in that infectious opened-mouth way he does, like the odd request is amusing.

  “What? Who asked you?” I ask, glancing back at our table.

  Lance is chugging his orange juice, holding up a finger to indicate he’ll be another second.

  “Brendan,” Sawyer says, nodding toward the group. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” He leans in. “My parents … they’re kind of big into surveillance anyway.”

  “What are they, spies?” I am kidding. But Sawyer presses his lips together in subtle confirmation. “Are you serious?”

  “Ready?” Lance asks, coming up beside me. “Hey, you’re Sawyer, right? I’m Lance.”

  “Howdy, Lance,” Sawyer says in greeting with a tip of his head as if he were wearing a cowboy hat. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear, “FBI.”

  I shoot my brows up in a no-shit expression.

  “My dad,” he confirms with a nod. “See you tonight, Lana.”

  Once we’re outside on the paved driveway, Lance asks, “Are you nervous … about tonight?”

  “I’m not sure if it’s nervousness exactly. I just want to get it over with. You know? This has become my whole life, and I don’t want it to have control over me anymore.”