“Are you new here?” She slid my latte over to me, tucked her lavender locks behind her ears and set her elbows on the counter, the movement making her dainty necklace dangle forward. My eyes focused on the tiny B before bringing my gaze to her light brown eyes. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“I am. I decided to transfer over for my last year.”
“Oh, where’d you go before?”
“Duke.”
“Not bad.” Her eyebrows hiked up. “What brings you here?”
“It’s kind of a family tradition.” I sipped my latte. “Seemed like I’d be letting down a line of men if I didn’t attend.”
“Wouldn’t want to let down the patriarchy.” Her smile held a slight grimace when she said the words. “I’m Hailey, by the way.”
“Amelia. You can call me Mae.” I set down my mug. “How long have you been working here?”
“A while. My mom owns the place. We’re one of the few original townies. I also work at the bar across the street at night.” She stood up straight and pointed in that direction, my gaze followed and fell upon a place named The Bar. “If you ever want to hear some of these people’s deepest, darkest secrets, I’m your girl.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“I get off in about two minutes. If you want, I can sit with you while you finish your coffee and then I’ll show you around.”
“Actually, I’d like that. I’m afraid I’ve ventured way out of my comfort zone and my phone died.” I wiggled it. “I forgot to charge it last night and I don’t think I can retrace my steps back to my apartment.”
“I’ll take you. I know every single street and alleyway.” She reached behind her waist and pulled her apron off, hanging it up on the wall behind her, walking over to where I was.
“I don’t know why I thought it would be easier to get around here.” I closed the distance to the nearest couch and settled in with my coffee.
“Becca, I’m off the clock,” Hailey shouted.
“Got it,” someone, Becca, I assumed, shouted back. “Deacon is supposed to be here in five minutes.”
“That’s an easy way to get off the clock.” I smiled over my coffee.
“Family business, remember?” Hailey said. “Owned and operated. Deacon is our uncle, but he’s only like five years older than me, so he’s more like an older brother and Becca’s my sister. Half-sister. Same mom, different dads.”
“That’s pretty cool. That’s my dad’s dream, to have all his kids working together in one place.”
Of course, a multi-million-dollar media industry, which included various television networks all over Latin America and the US hardly compared to a coffee shop and bar. In all honesty, I’d take this life over the one my father wanted us to be a part of any day.
“What does he do?” Hailey asked.
“He owns businesses.”
“Hm. You don’t seem thrilled about that.” She looked at me for a long, silent moment.
“I’m not.” I looked at my coffee and focused on that.
“Maybe you’ll end up loving working for your dad. Mine was never around, so I guess you can say I have daddy issues, or abandonment issues, or really any kind of issue therapists try to pin me with.”
“I’m sorry.” I lowered my mug. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I should’ve asked.”
“Yeah, because that’s a totally normal question—hey, did your father abandon you as a kid? Just checking so I don’t bring up my own, loving, doting father.” Hailey let out a forced laugh. “Trust me, it’s totally cool.”
“I never said mine was loving or doting.” I raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, maybe you should start telling me all of those deep, dark secrets now before I put my foot in my mouth again.”
“What do you want to hear about first? The supposed serial killer? The secret societies?”
“Wow.” I didn’t know if I should be hearing about either of those things right now, but I shrugged anyway. “Both, I guess. Is the serial killer related to . . . Lana Ly?”
“No. I don’t think so anyway.” She glanced at me wide-eyed. “I’m surprised you know about her and came anyway.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed despite myself. “If I had a dollar for everyone who said that to me.”
“You’d be the youngest person on the Forbes list this year?”
“Not quite, but on my way there. Let’s talk the secret societies. I’m guessing they’re less dangerous than the serial killers.”
“Depends who you ask.” She laughed at the look on my face. “I’ve been pretty obsessed with them since I was a kid. I know someone in them, well, allegedly, and the idea of them fascinates me.”
“Are you a journalism major?” I perked up in my seat.
“More like, nosey as hell. I’m a psych major, but I want to be a private detective.”
“As a job?”
“Yeah. As a job.” She laughed. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all. I’d just never really heard of a young person say they wanted to do that.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m a journalism major, so I’d love to report on world causes, investigative news, things like that.”
“I would’ve pegged you as a fashion blogger.”
That gave me pause. I looked at her again, really looked at her. “Do you know an Ella Valentine by any chance?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes widened. “She’s my mom.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding, pretty sure she’s my mom.” She let out a nervous laugh.
“Well, this makes sense.”
“What does?”
“You both said similar things to me. About Lana and about the fashion blog thing.”
“Really? Mom said that to you?” She smiled, as if she was trying not to laugh.
“She sure did.”
“When did you meet her?”
“When I went to the paper to try to land an internship there and she interviewed me and then assigned that I be the photographer instead of a writer.”
I tried to keep my voice light, but wondered if I sounded bitchy now. I felt bitchy. Two people had reduced me to a fashion blogger in less than ten minutes of having met me. What the hell? I mean, I loved fashion, loved, and would love blogging about it, sure, but I was trying to be a journalist, for fuck’s sake.
“Well, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t think it would offend you. I mean.” Hailey waved a hand over me as if she was presenting me for sale.
“I know what I’m wearing,” I said. “And I know what I look like. I get it.”
“You’re just really pretty is all. Sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry and she was still obviously trying not to laugh, but I let it go. I was used to dealing with girls like Hailey, though I had to say, normally it was because they were jealous over a boy I was dating. In this case, it appeared, she was jealous of the fact that I was pretty, dressed designer, and had a father. I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“How’d your mom end up with a coffee shop, a bar, and a job at the school newspaper anyway?”
“It was part of her and dad’s agreement when they separated.”
“Oh. That doesn’t sound like a terrible outcome to a bad situation.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her expression told me she didn’t agree, but she shrugged it off.
“It seems like she’s done well for herself.”
“She has.” She smiled. “Anyway, back to my interest in the societies. I’ve heard that one of the groups meets in The Tower. Smack in the middle of campus. Hidden in plain sight.”
“That’s an odd place to meet if you want to be secretive.” I frowned. “What kind of tower is it? What do they talk about in the meetings?”
“Um, hello.” Hailey laughed. “It’s secret.”
“I guess if they’re not bothering anyone, what does it matter?” I shrugged, but in the back of my mind, I remem
bered Ella Valentine talking about how Lana had been investigating them too.
Was that what happened to her? Had she gotten caught up in something with them? Something so sinister that they had to kidnap her? All the crime fiction I’d been reading wasn’t doing me any favors. If I said this to Lincoln, he’d laugh at me and tell me to snap back to reality. If I said this to my ex-boyfriend Travis, he’d roll his eyes and tell me I needed to put my books down and rejoin the real world, as if the real world ever had anything fun and exciting to offer.
“I just think it’s crazy that you have to be invited, and not everyone is. Even royalty has been turned down. It’s that exclusive,” Hailey said. “Organizations like that should be allowed, don’t you think?”
“I guess. What are they called? Does anyone know?”
“Well, we have Quill & Dagger, but they’ve agreed to let the paper publish their names now. I guess the whole secretive thing wasn’t working out for them anymore.”
I remembered hearing my brother George talk about Quill & Dagger. Of course, even if he had been in a society, he wouldn’t have told me. George was thirteen years my senior and the only things we ever spoke about when we saw each other were my grades and babysitting duties when I watched my nieces. My second oldest brother, Edward, didn’t really talk about much at all, and now that he was living in Spain, we rarely communicated outside of Instagram. Lincoln was the only one who would talk to me about these things, and being that he didn’t want to talk about anything pertaining to the school, I knew that was a longshot.
“I’m not sure which one meets in The Tower, but there are two or three on campus and I think I know a few members of the ones with no names.” She slapped her hands on her knees, leaning in to look into my now empty mug. “So, you ready to go?”
“Yup.” I stood up and thanked her as she took my mug and set it over by the counter. We walked outside and headed in the general direction of my apartment. It was difficult to navigate with no phone or GPS to go on.
“Speak of the devil,” Hailey said under her breath.
I glanced forward in time to catch four guys walking in our direction. They were all wearing different variations of dark clothing, black, grey, dark green. All tall with handsome features and don’t fuck with me attitudes. One, in particular, caught my eye—the guy I’d bumped into the other day, the one I was ninety-nine-percent sure had been standing outside my apartment building smoking and probably talking to these three guys. My heart beat faster as we walked past them. I focused on not looking at them, at him specifically, despite being hyper-aware of his presence. A shoulder bumped me, hard, and my gaze snapped up to his.
“Oops. My bad,” he said in a tone that was nothing if not patronizing.
“You should reconsider your shoulders,” I snapped.
“You should reconsider what sidewalks you walk on.”
My eyes narrowed, but I kept walking. I wanted to punch him. Each step I took away from him, with my blood pumping in my ears and my hands shaking in rage, I focused on my breath—in and out, in and out, and tried not to react to him again.
“That guy is such an asshole,” I said loudly to Hailey, hoping he’d hear me.
“Trust me, I know.” She looked over her shoulder. I didn’t bother giving him the satisfaction. “That’s Fitz and he’s an asshole with a capital A. He’s also captain of the hockey team, which two of them play in. The other two play some other sport . . . lacrosse I think? And I think they’re also part of one of the secret societies. They’re very particular about who they socialize with, but I guess that could mean anything. I mean, you know jocks.”
Yeah, I knew jocks, but the ones I knew, like my brother and ex-boyfriend, weren’t self-centered pricks who got off on being mean to the new girl. Finally, despite myself, I looked back and caught him looking right at me. He seemed upset, his jaw clenched tightly as he watched me. It took all of my control not to roll my eyes as I tore my gaze away from his. I guessed in a way he did look like someone who could be hiding some deep, dark secret, but who wasn’t?
On the way to my apartment, Hailey made it a point to tell me all about the buildings we walked in front of.
“This is the beginning of Millionaire’s Row,” she stated as we crossed the street.
“Oh. This is where I live.” I turned around in a full circle. “Let’s just walk the whole thing. Once I see my building, I’ll know. I think I made a left at this light when I left earlier.”
“How’d you come to live here?” She eyed me sideways.
“My dad owns one of these buildings.” I paused, feeling like a privileged asshole again and added, “He bought the land forever ago and built it during the recession.”
“Interesting. So he lets you live here for free? No rent owed or anything?”
“No rent owed. I mean, unless you consider getting a degree in a major I don’t want rent owed.”
“I guess. Still, you’re a lucky girl.” She shrugged a shoulder. “A lot of the hockey players live here too.”
“Do you make it a habit of going to their apartments?” I shot her a wry look.
“No.” She blushed deeply. “I just . . . I’ve seen them around here.” She bit her lip and paused briefly. “I hooked up with one of them. It was a long time ago and honestly, I wanted to hook up with his roommate, not him, but whatever. In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t hook up with the roommate.” She glanced away quickly. “Anyway, the cloaked people meet around here sometimes too.”
“Cloaked people?”
“Yeah, some of the societies walk around wearing cloaks. Some red cloaks, some black cloaks, depending on which you belong to.”
“Isn’t that . . . attention calling?” I frowned. “Another thing that doesn’t seem secretive at all.”
“You don’t get it,” she said. “The fact is, they’re part of this world that nobody is allowed to unless they’re invited. No one is going to look and try to see who’s behind it.”
“I guess.” I slowed down when we got to my apartment building. “You seem to know a lot of information about these secret groups.”
“Like I said, I’m nosey.”
“You want to come up?” I nodded toward my building.
“Um.” She glanced up and down the sidewalk. “Not today.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, raincheck. I should probably make sure all my things are ready for class tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks for walking me.”
“Sure.” She smiled. “And be careful out there. Especially around here. You never know who’s watching you.”
My heart seemed to stop beating as she walked away. Why would she say that? Who would be watching me? The cloaked figures? I thought of Lana and where her investigating may or may not have landed her. A shiver rolled through me. I’d tread carefully in search of truth.
Chapter Four
I was at the library, trying to see what else I could find about Lana, when I decided to search the newspaper archives for my brother’s accident. It took a lot of scrolling, but when I finally found it, it wasn’t front and center, the way I’d expected. It was an article on page two. Page two. The story front and center was of the new hospital that was affiliated with the university and was on the other side of town. On the right of that, there was a small picture you could barely make out, with the words “Mexican Business Man’s Son Involved in Car Wreck”—page 2. They’d reduced both my father’s accomplishments and my brother’s life-altering accident into a short, boring headline and a page two article.
“This is bullshit.”
“Shh.”
My attention whipped to the person beside me. I was full-on ready to tell her to go to hell when I remembered where I was. I cringed and mouthed an I’m sorry instead before going back to the archives. Reading the article with the lack of facts and details made me even more frustrated than I was when I started, so I decided to quit while I was ahead. I’d come back to this tomorrow. For now, I’d promised Haile
y I would swing by The Bar tonight, so I packed my things up and headed there instead.
* * *
“What’s your poison?” Hailey asked from across the bar.
“Honestly? I don’t really have one.”
“Come on, Mae.” She cocked her head, giving me a look. “Even girls that look like Cher from Clueless have a weakness.”
“First of all, I’m brown.” I raised an eyebrow. “So if I had to look like anyone from Clueless, it would be her friend with the braids.”
With a naturally olive complexion and dark features, I was closer to that than Cher. Despite the fact that most of my life I kind of wished I was a blonde girl from the valley, I’d grown to accept my natural tan and almond-shaped eyes and more importantly, be proud of my Mexican roots. My mother was French, but the only thing I seemed to get from her was her height and haughty attitude. Everything else, I got from my handsome father. Most of the Bastón kids did, except for Lincoln, who had my mother’s green eyes and fine features. Features he often broke on the ice playing hockey and off the ice getting into fights.
“I’ll just take something with vodka.” I looked up at Hailey again. “Vodka tonic. Dirty Martini. Whatever.”
“Vodka coming right up.” She winked. “For the record, I wasn’t calling you a bimbo, I just meant that you dress like you belong on the cover of every single fashion magazine out there. That’s what mom and I meant when we said the fashion blogger thing, too, you know.” She smiled. “I’m not trying to box you into being something you don’t want to be.”
I felt myself frown as I looked down at myself. Normally, that statement was warranted, but today I was wearing ripped jeans, a ripped white crop top covered by a black leather jacket, and my Givenchy slides. A far cry from any fashion magazine cover. I glanced back up at her.
Half-Truths: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 3