Wicked Games

by Wood, Vivian

  8

  Emily

  I wake up facedown on my desk, surrounded by a pile of my own books and papers. My crappy old cell phone is ringing. As I reach for it, I check the time on my desk clock. It’s three in the afternoon; I must have fallen asleep after lunch.

  Glancing at the screen of my cell phone, I see it reads Ella.

  “Hello?” I answer groggily.

  “H’lo?” Ella says. Wherever she is, there is a lot of background noise. I imagine Ella as I often saw her: dressed in loose fitting jeans and an old tee shirt, her bulky form hunched over a countertop as she leans on it, trying to support her bad back. “What are you doing asleep on a Wednesday afternoon?”

  My cheeks warm. “I’ll admit, I was asleep. This math homework I’ve been working on keeps making me drowsy.”

  Ella laughs, her distinctive chuckle as loud and startling as ever. Nothing about Ella is subtle, least of all her amusement. “Hah! Well, at least that hasn’t changed since you left Prineville.”

  I have to smile at that. Sitting back in my chair, I concede her point. “No, it hasn’t. What’s new across the country?”

  I hear a muffled voice. Ella sighs. “I’m on my break at Target. Can you hold on a second?”

  Of course I agree. Ella puts the phone down and I can hear her voice in the background. “What do you want?” she asks, her interrogation full on from the get go.

  My eyes mist over a little bit. I didn’t realize how much I have missed her until just now. Prineville does seem to be a world away from the lush greenery of Campbell College and I don’t miss it for a second. With not even so much as a traffic light, it’s more of a place to stop for gas off highway 26 than it is a town. Ella has to drive forty minutes each way to the closest Target to work. And I had to be bussed further than that to Snell High, the closest school with a graduating class of thirty kids.

  Still, I have missed Ella. She was really good to me, taking me in as at the age of ten. I could do a lot worse than to have someone like Ella caring for me.

  “I’m back,” she wheezes, sniffling. “Fucking manager. New kid, thinks he’s fucking god or whatever.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you get your inhalers?”

  Ella struggles with asthma. Most months she can afford her inhalers, but sounds like she hasn’t had her alberterol today.

  She plays it off. “Don't worry about me. I’m calling to check on you, Ms. Fancy Ivy League. How are your classes?”

  Frowning, I stand up and start to pace. “They’re good. Well… there okay. Campbell is not what I expected, honestly.”

  Another wheeze comes through the line. “It would be hard for anyplace to live up to how much you idealized that college.”

  She’s right, of course. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  “Are you making any friends?”

  I make a face. “It’s still early. I mean, I have met a few people…”

  “Any of them boys?”

  Flushing a little, I sit down on my bed. “A few.”

  “Hah!” Ella laughs. “You always were so private. Do me a favor? Call me before you get married, will you?”

  I grin. “I’ll try. Are you fostering any new kids?”

  There is a moment of hesitation before Ella answers. “I just got two new kids last week. Brothers, aged twelve and fifteen. They are in pretty rough shape, but I’m working on them.”

  I blink. Ella isn’t one to play up physical complaints. If anything, she is the opposite. So for her to say something is pretty bad… those kids must have seen some serious shit.

  “I’m glad that they have you,” I blurt out. “I mean… you know, their situation sucks, but I’m glad that they landed on your plate. I know that they will feel the same too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Ella, I just want to say thank you again… it’s not just anyone that would do what you did for me. When I said I wanted to go to Campbell, you pushed and pushed until you made it happen.”

  “Hah!” Ella says. “Listen, kid. I hardly did anything. You did most of the work.”

  I roll my eyes but I’m smiling. “We’ll call it a draw.”

  There is a garbled sound on her end of the line. “My break is almost over. I just wanted to call and check on you, make sure you’re liking it okay over there on the east coast.”

  “I am. I promise.” I pick at a loose thread on my comforter cover. “Thanks for calling, Ella.”

  She wheezes. I wonder if the fact that she has two new kids has anything to do with the fact that she doesn’t seem to have her inhaler. Cutting out something vital for her would be in line with Ella’s modus operandi.

  “No problem. Be good, okay?” she asks.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon,” I sigh.

  She clicks off and I’m left with the vague worry that everything is not fine for her. What can I do, though?

  Groaning, I heave myself up and return to my mind-fulling math homework.

  9

  Emily

  The experience with Dr. Nefflinger was unique as far as my Campbell classes go, thank god. Other than biochemistry, I signed myself up for freshman level classics, an introduction to non-fiction writing, and a finite mathematics class. My writing class seems tough and my math class seems easy.

  My classics course though… on the first day, Dr. Brooke Napier introduced herself and then led us outside to sit in the grass. While the pixieish doctor talked about the importance of the classics, the class reclined on the quad and tried to soak up some of the sun. When Dr. Napier extolled the virtues of reading Homer in Greek, I started to see her as more relatable. Though she might be only in her mid-thirties, her comfort with and excitement about Ovid and Hesiod made her seem approachable. Besides, she dresses like Amelia Earheart, which for some reason really resonates with me.

  Not to mention that Cassandra is in that class with me, which instantly puts it at the top of my list. Thursday after class gets out, Cassandra skips right up to me and links arms with me as if we’ve known each other for ages. As we head across campus toward the dining hall she leans her head against mine.

  It’s easy, this budding friendship between the two of us. She just treats me as if I’m some long lost friend. And I… I’m enjoying it, admittedly.

  “Em!” she says gleefully. Apparently we are good enough friends now to call each other Em and Cass. I’m just along for the rue as far as that goes. “Tell me you don’t have any plans for tonight.”

  I lift my tote bag onto my shoulder, pausing. “Well, I have to study, but—”

  “Great!” she crows. “Because I just got these.”

  She pulls four black oversized cards out of her purse and hands them to me. Made of heavy card stock, they are embossed in gold with a tarot-card stamp. I recognize it a little from when my foster mom went through a tarot phase of her life. It’s the Death card, the image of a cloaked skeleton carrying a scythe, the word D E A T H emblazoned above it.

  At the bottom of each tarot card, three lines are stamped in silver. I read them under my breath.

  Et Charonis Unum

  Rose House — 9 pm

  Admit One Guest

  I look up at Cassandra. Handing the cards back to her, I surmise from what I remember. “Rose House? That’s where Wolf hangs out, right?”

  Cassandra rolls her eyes and grins. “Among other things, yeah. Tonight is the first big party of the year for the Skulls and Thorns. Last year ended on kind of a sad note for them…”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “One of their classmates died.” She pulls a face. “He was kind of a prick, not to speak ill of the dead or anything. Anyway, the circumstances were totally mysterious. But it was all hushed up. I swear, if you ask about him now, the entirety of Rose House just goes silent.”

  “Whoa! That sounds juicy.”

  “It is. Or was. Which brings me back to my original point. The ticket. Mathilde already got a ticket, so I’m inviting you.”

  She w
iggles her eyebrows at me in a way that makes me laugh. I shake my head at her.

  “I don’t know. I mean, tonight I am supposed to work out what my study routine will be…”

  She heaves a sigh. “Emily. Em. My friend. Put your books down and party with us tonight. Celebrate your new life at Campbell.” She flutters her lashes at me, which makes me groan.

  “I’ll think about it.” Going to a party sounds sort of fun, but I’m at Campbell to study and excel in my classes, not screw around and get C grades.

  That kind of behavior might be fine from someone like Cassandra, who carries around cards with her name on them like she’s already somebody. It won’t do for me, though.

  We climb the steps of the dining hall together.

  “You know what you need?” she announces as we enter the front of the hall and get in line to scan our badges. “You need a reading.”

  I arch my brows. “Like a tarot reading?”

  “Yeah!” She leans her head close to mine, her eyes sparkling. “It’s kind of like… my thing.”

  Then the line moves forward. I scan my identification card successfully, which is amazing. Forced to make some quick decisions about food, I end up with a grilled cheese and a plate of cucumbers drizzled with balsamic vinegar. It’s not salad per se, but it’s close enough.

  I exit the food area at almost the same time as Cassandra. She nods to an empty table. “How about there?”

  My heart swells. I didn’t have the easiest life back in Prineville. And I certainly didn’t have anyone to sit with at lunch. The fact that Cassandra leads me over to the table and we sit down without another word almost makes me tear up.

  Cassandra pushes her tray to the side and rummages around in her purse. I bite my lip. She probably doesn’t need to know that I totally don’t believe in the tarot cards she draws out of a black velvet pouch.

  She looks up as she lays the stack of cards on the table. “Are you ready?”

  Though I’m skeptical about the process, I nod. I don’t want to disappoint her by telling her I don’t believe in them just the same way that I don’t believe in ghosts or aliens or ouija boards. She smiles at me.

  “Focus on a question. Hold it in your mind. Then cut the deck.”

  It’s a fight for me to keep my expression neutral instead of rolling my eyes. The only question I can think of is whether I should go to the party tonight, so that’s what I loosely focus on as I cut the cards once.

  With a practiced ease Cassandra takes up the deck and flips the first card down, face up. It’s the Knight of Cups. Then she lays down a second card. The Nine of Swords. And then the third and final card. The Wheel of Fortune.

  She looks up at me, arching one of her slim brows.

  “This is quite a spread. The Knight of Cups here represents creativity, romance, and charm. The Nine of Swords represents anxiety, worry, and fear. And the Wheel of Fortune… that represents your life cycle. It’s basically saying you have good karma.”

  Pursing my lips, I squint at her. “I asked if I should go to the party.”

  “Clearly,” she says.

  “Well… I am going over to Rose House before then. I have a plan to see Max--”

  “Wait, you know Max?” she asks, perplexed.

  My cheeks color. “A little. We have a class together. He suggested that we get together so I’m supposed to go meet him this afternoon.”

  Cassandra picks up the tarot cards in a smooth movement, eyeing me.

  “I mean, you have to go now. Your Knight of Cups means you will meet someone interesting tonight. The Nine of Swords is about your current state. It’s saying that you’re too tense. And the Wheel… the Wheel says that your endeavor will be blessed. Plus, I say you should go.”

  She gives me a wink. I’m so nervous about going to some fancy party at a house for rich boys, but she’s right. I should go. That way if I don’t like it, I have a definite reason and a good excuse for the future.

  “Alright.”

  “Yay! We’re gonna have so much fun!” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. Then she pauses, looking thoughtful. “You like gin or vodka?”

  I pull a face. “Neither.”

  Cassandra grins. “We’ll see about that.”

  Then she digs into her giant pile of mashed potatoes, leaving me to worry about how I’m supposed to dress for tonight’s party.

  10

  Wolf

  It shouldn’t be this difficult, getting a girl like Emily off my mind.

  It’s not like I’m going to admit that when I saw her walk into that biochemistry class, my pulse went into overdrive. And every time I open this damn book I see her again. We sit next to each other at the same table, less than two feet between us. I could reach out and touch her any time, but I don’t.

  Her hair is just the shade of a seashell I had as a child, deep dark brown verging on almost black. She shoves her fingers into her mane when she’s digesting something in her textbook. Her nails are painted bright pink, which makes me wonder what color her panties are.

  Are those pink, too?

  It makes no sense that these details about her would be fascinating in any way. She doesn’t have money. I knew that the moment I saw her at orientation. Someone with money would know their way around that group of people, and she didn’t—she had to wind up before she got the courage to push her way through the crowd and get the keys to her room. She’s not someone who would fit in at an Astor family function.

  And that is something I’ve never cared about, not once in my life. The women I’ve met and slept with—and there have been many of them—are not in my bed for the purpose of meeting my mother.

  Even the stray thought of it makes my lip curl. I’m willing to play my part as a son of my father’s legacy, but the farther they stay from my life, the better.

  Especially in light of the circumstances.

  I flip back a few pages in the biochem book. I’ve read this section ten times over and I still haven’t absorbed a word.

  The den at Rose House is usually a good place to study. Two of the walls are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, which lends it an air of solemnity, at least during the day.

  A loud knock at the door shatters the silence. “Come get a drink,” booms Carter from the other side.

  “It’s fucking Tuesday,” I call back.

  “So what?” he shouts, pounding harder against the antique wood. The doorknob turns and the door swings open, revealing him standing there centered in the frame in a wide stance. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” I lean back in my chair and gesture to the book. “I’m studying.”

  He purses his lips. “Studying. Are you going to waste our entire senior year on studying?”

  “Yes, Carter. In fact I do plan to spend a marginal amount of time getting the degree we came here for.”

  “You’re going to be in a shitty mood for the girls.”

  “What girls?”

  “The girls at Fall Harvest.” He burps, then raises a fist to his chest and knocks it a few times.

  “I’ve got time.” I eye Carter. Maybe I should consider reining things in at Rose House. If I can’t keep the house under control, how am I supposed to keep a Fortune 500 company under control? Even if my father let me split off my into own division, or if I used some of my trust fund as seed money, the sight of Carter, buzzed on a Tuesday afternoon, doesn’t bode well for my future success.

  Or his.

  And if you can’t get your friends under control, you’ll never find out what happened to Asher.

  Another cold breeze sweeps across the back of my neck.

  “What’s wrong with you, dude? You’re staring.” Carter puffs out his chest. “You like what you see?”

  “Go away.” I give him a grim look.

  Rolling his eyes, he goes.

  I look back down at the biochemistry book.

  Various factors influence the acceleration of decay. The first of these is the inte
rference of other organisms...

  How long did Asher have to decay before Ellis and Carter brought him back to settle at the bottom of the stairs in Rose House? By the time they made it look like an accident and wiped the rest of the smudges from his face, the process had already started. The acceleration of decay.

  This textbook has nothing to do with Ash, but the acceleration of decay seeps into my mind. Rotting leaves beneath my feet, left over from a winter under the snow. The hard layer of frost against soil that was already coming alive with the spring. Ash, already decaying, his death accelerated by the fact that somebody lied. Somebody knows something. They still do.

  Locking eyes with the book does nothing but remind me of sitting next to Emily.

  The doorbell at the front of Rose House rings, a loud and obnoxious chime, and I slam the book shut. “I’m trying to study,” I say to the empty room, and open the book again.

  Another chime.

  “Is someone going to get that or are you all a bunch of miscreants?”

  The quiet stretches out a bit longer.

  I read the paragraph again. The acceleration of decay...

  Chime.

  “Fine.” I slap the book shut a final time and go to the front door. It’s a heavy thing, solid wood as old as the house, but it slides easily on its hinges. It’s halfway open when my body responds to the person standing outside.

  “Emily Danes.”

  It’s easy to smile at her, but grinning like an idiot is not part of my personal brand, so I slide the expression into something more subdued.

  “Hey, Wolf.” She reaches up and tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. She’s a natural brunette, her dark hair untouched by dye. Keeping track of whether women dye their hair is a useless pastime. Keeping track of whether they’re constantly mired in scandal is another.

  Some women with scandals are still fuckable, but I’ll never put a ring on it. My family wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to.

  To look at her, Emily wouldn’t know a scandal if it bent her over the bed and smacked her ass.