by Lindsey Iler
“We aren’t going to do anything right now. We’re going to go to this thing tonight, act as if everything is normal, keep our ears to the ground, and see if someone slips up. If there’s something happening on campus, someone has to know.”
“Marek would know,” Delaney says blatantly.
“You think I haven’t thought of that?” I button my coat, locking the door behind us.
Thoughts of Marek being involved loom over my head like a dark storm cloud the whole way across campus.
A larger-than-life bonfire is visible from hundreds of feet away. In the opening of the main courtyard, groups are gathered, and students mill around as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Careless and free is what they are. That’s the rich and elite for you. They’re completely unaware or troubled by things they believe will never touch them. I’m proof that’s not true.
A freshman girl stands at the entrance, flanked by two large planters of black dahlias. Glass Heart Academy is nothing if not theatrical and dramatic. Her silver mask is beautifully detailed with gems and enough sparkle to startle a blind man.
She hands Delaney and me a glass heart. “May you rid your soul of what troubles you.” The girl gestures for us to put our masks in place.
I drag my best friend forward. She tries her hardest to stifle the laugh she and I both know is coming. “Jesus! Is it just me, or do you feel like we’re being led to our slaughter?”
“It’s not funny.” Except it kind of is.
I tie the silk ribbon of my black mask behind my head. It was Reed’s from last year. She’d said she’d fallen in love with the shimmery, detailed stitching, which is invisible to most unless experienced up close. She never got the chance to wear it. It only seemed right that I would this year. Any link to make me believe she’s still here.
“So, what are we writing this year?” She taps the heart in my hand. “I’ve got to tell you, it’s been three years of this, and none of mine have worked, so this feels like a real crock of shit at this point.”
“I’m not sure yet.” I sit down on one of the many seats scattered in the area.
These things are the same. Every year a staff member, usually a beloved teacher, steps in front of us, gives the same tireless speech, and then the festivities begin. We go by class, seniors first, followed by the succession of the others. By the end, almost everyone has cleared out to their respected destinations.
Crowds of beautiful people continue to filter in, each wearing unique masks, hiding their identities. At close to eleven o’clock, a prickling sound rings from the speakers hidden around the garden, catching everyone off guard and silencing the conversations.
“Good evening, Glass Heart Academy students.”
A shiver runs up my spine at Byron’s voice. I shift in my seat, avoiding looking up at the stage.
“We are so happy to have you here tonight to celebrate The Festival of Beginnings.” The tone of his voice is inviting and has me curious enough to turn my stare to him.
His full mask covers most of his face. It’s silver, adorned in the same details as mine, but the swirls are spun with metallic black thread, making them easy to see. I swallow the lump in my throat when his piercing brown eyes melt into mine. His words halt, leaving him standing in front of a microphone with nothing to say. The crowd is forgiving, watching as he crafts something in his mind worthy of speaking.
“Tonight, we will embark on a new journey. Ending all evil we hold in our hearts and minds. Whatever is keeping your spirit hostage, let it go. Whoever has done you wrong, release them.”
This is some real rich shit coming from Byron.
“The glass heart you hold in your hand is your means of escape. Choose your words wisely. Choose the story you wish to tell the world. Once your heart meets the flames, there is no going back.” Byron’s golden specks flicker from the flames of the fire, pulling me in. “You will live these words.”
The last part sounds more like a threat, and less an encouragement for a brighter future.
His spine straightens, and there’s a physical shift in everyone’s demeanor. The mood of the crowd changes. Low whispers dance like leaves around the yard. Knowing damn well no one cares about anything I do, I turn in my seat to see what has caught their attention.
Large, warm hands settle on my shoulders, holding me in place. I look at Delaney. Her eyes widen as she stares behind me.
Byron drones on, but his words don’t register. I’m too consumed with the hands on me.
Delaney leans in to me. “All of their masks match yours,” she whispers.
“What?” I lean my head back, and sure enough, their masks are identical to Byron’s, the male counterpart of my own. Reed’s.
“Step in line. Announce your word and declaration,” Byron declares, raising his hands in the air like some sort of emperor to his people.
“You first, Palmer.” Marek’s hands skim up the sides of my neck before they leave my body.
I hate admitting how much safer I feel with them there, and yet, when I turn, I know my reality is quite the opposite. I’m not safe under his watch, and he hates it.
Delaney walks in front of me, her steps uncertain. “They’re seriously psychopaths.”
Maybe so, but there’s something in each of them, a collective reaction when any of the four look my way. There’s no way to explain it, my response or theirs, but it’s there for us to try to unwind and figure out.
Fear and understanding. Honesty and hatred. Everything we experience feels natural for us. They consume me. I’m not anything special, though.
I walk down the path to the bonfire. On the opposite side of where we stand, a couple of steps lead to a short platform. One by one, those in front of us make the trip to the top, holding tight to their heart. Their words don’t reach us, muffled and hidden by the crackling fire.
Delaney moves up, accepting Byron’s hand. He helps her up the steps. She yanks her hand away when he doesn’t immediately drop hers.
She faces the flames, her gaze searching the crowd, dancing from face-to-face, until they catch Breaker’s. His mouth turns up in a devious smile, his tongue popping his cheek out as he watches her take the marker from Byron and scribble something on the heart.
“Trust,” she says out loud. “Because I’ve learned it can’t be given freely. Thanks for that, Breaker.” Boldly, and with a confidence none of us should possess, Delaney holds up the glass heart, the contents on the front in her delicate handwriting shining in the flames.
She tosses it into the pit, carelessly, much like Breaker has handled her own. Embers flutter towards the heavens from the impact. The crowd stands stunned, some snickering at Breaker’s expense. Surprising, since the student body tends to keep a strong back for these boys.
Breaker pushes through the crowd, shoving his way to Delaney at the bottom of the steps. He presses his lips to her ear, gripping her right above her elbow. Over her shoulder, his eyes pierce into my soul. I suck in a breath when his tongue peeks out to run the length of her ear. There’s no need to see her face to know the satisfaction Delaney is getting from being possessed by Breaker.
I’ve been captivated by his kind, his mirror image in Marek, and right now, she’ll believe any words he dares to whisper. Lost souls get swept up by the rip current of other lost souls.
“What’s it going to be, Miss Weston?” Byron taps the red marker against his open palm, challenging me, daring me to overstep like Delaney has.
I yank the pen from him and rip the lid off, tossing it against Byron’s chest. My hand trembles as I write my word.
“Patience.” I hold up my heart, speaking directly to Marek. “Because I’m officially done waiting around for someone to come along to save me, to put my heart at ease. I’ll do it all on my own”—I turn to the crowd and find Marek’s ice blue eyes watching me— “even if it kills me.”
I purposefully scan the crowd for each of the boys. Dixon swallows harshly, his neck bobbing from the pressure. Breaker settles
in next to Marek, and at the same time, they take off their masks, watching me, curious at what I’m getting at.
My glass heart flies into the flames, and I turn to escape this night. It was a bad idea to come here, to face them outside of the classroom. At least there, I feel safe. Here, I’m exposed to them.
Byron wraps his hand around my bicep, discreetly enough not to bring attention to himself. I wince, huffing in a breath from the initial pain.
“We want the same thing,” Byron whispers, releasing the pressure on my arm by shoving me forward.
I stumble down the stairs, and when my feet hit the bottom, I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, and as predictable as my period every month, Byron stands, looming down at me.
His expression darkens. He makes room for Dixon who’s walking onto the small platform. They lower their masks, intimidating grins plastered on their beautiful faces. Dixon moves in my direction.
Unwilling to be the brunt of whatever they have planned, I push through the crowd, ready to flee this place and get as far away from the Glass House Boys as I can. I cut between two of the buildings and mask myself in darkness. Snow falls, blanketing the grass and forcing a chill through my body.
Halfway to the opening, I glance up and freeze.
A large figure blocks my exit. Dark clothes and a hidden face seal my fate. It’s happening again. There’s no doubt now I’m being targeted.
“What do you want?” I scream, taking a small step back. Any distance I can put between me and this psycho will help me in the end.
The streetlamp shines above his head, illuminating his certifiable head tilt, the one that warns victims that whatever their attacker has planned is going to hurt. Even though I haven’t stopped moving, the gap between us is getting smaller. For each step I take, he takes three.
With my last step, the back of my legs hit something hard and sharp. Taking my eyes off this guy isn’t smart, but there’s a tug on my coat when I try to sidestep the old, rusted bench. The sound of ripping fabric echoes through the nighttime air. My eyes shift to him.
He’s closing in on me, grinning when he notices me struggling with my coat. It’s caught on a broken edge of the bench.
“I have money,” I cry, a sad plea to survive as I tug and jerk on the wool. If it’s money he wants, I have plenty. If it’s my body, then he’ll have a fight on his hands.
“It isn’t your money we’re after. You have something that’s worth far more,” the man says quietly.
We’re?
This isn’t a solo game. They’ve come here for something, and they won’t leave without it.
Me.
Stunned and afraid aren’t adequate descriptions of everything coursing through me. The blood rushes to my head, whooshing through my ears. This coat will be the one thing that allows this guy to get his hands around my throat. With no other choice, I pluck the buttons one at a time, until I’m nearly free. My trembling hands make the process much more difficult than it should be.
Whoever this is, they have access to our campus. What they don’t have is knowledge of every hiding place, every nook and cranny my sister showed me freshman year.
The tall man lurches forward, and as the last button snaps off and hits the snow, I make a choice.
Run.
The coat slips from my body, freeing me. I kick off my shoes, leaving them behind. My feet pound the ground, and my arms push back and forth, carrying me away from the threat. Loud thuds from his boots hitting the pavement, ring out behind me, but I don’t look back. Looking back will slow me down. Right now, I have one goal. Find safety in my dorm so I can call the police and convince them that this can’t possibly be a coincidence. I’m not a girl who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, twice within a couple of weeks.
I’m prey.
Turning the corner, I spot my dorm building. With every bit of energy and muscle in my body, I push harder. This is where I’ll die if his hands get on me. I’m certain of it.
The snow burns my soles, and my lungs beg for air. I rush to the pin pad and punch in my code. Nothing. No whirring lock. No click granting access. I’m locked out, and a frantic glance over my shoulder proves I don’t have time to try again.
I take off in a sprint, racing into the woods, and stoop down behind a huge tree. Each inhalation is a harsh wheeze, and I cup my hands over my mouth, hoping to muffle the sound. The sharp knife in my side eases to a dull throb. The hard thump in my chest slows enough for me to catch a deep breath.
Seconds later, the man stops at the edge of the forest, causing my heart to race again.
“We’ll see you soon, Palmer Weston.” His voice is ominous and certain, and he looks directly where I’m hiding before running in the direction we’d come from.
My stomach rolls when my name leaves his mouth. Everything threatens to climb my throat and to make its way out of my body. I touch my forehead, cold sweat on my fingers when I pull them back. I jolt at the sound of a twig snapping.
Whatever scared him away is still out here. There’s no way he’s given up on me this easily. I race further into the forest, ducking behind anything larger than my body. My black dress makes it easier to hide in the shadows and dense foliage. When my legs are too tired to carry me another foot, I rest my head against the trunk of a large pine. My heavy breath is hard to control. I close my eyes for a few minutes, or maybe more. With the amount of fear bogging my mind, I can’t be certain.
“This was easier than I thought it would be.” The faint voice is somewhere off in the distance, yet close enough to slither around my lungs and squeeze, stealing what little breath I have left.
I open my eyes, startled to recognize the voice. Relief never comes. Marek is no knight in shining armor. If he’s out in these woods, it’s not to save me. He’s here to ruin me. I push myself as far back against the tree as I can, willing myself to be smaller than I’ll ever become. Survival is my only goal.
Sticks snap, and leaves tussle around me. The footsteps are moving closer, removing the safety net these woods have given me. It seems the guy in the hood has herded me here for a reason, right into the jaws of a predator hungry for his prey.
Marek is a cruel son of a bitch, but I’ve never taken him as homicidal. My instinct says it’s a coincidence that he’s here moments after the guy in the hood abandoned chasing me. Do I trust my instincts enough to trust Marek?
A few yards away, a tall, lean body circles a monstrous tree and moves into a small, moon-lit clearing. Against the blanket of snow, his black pants and black shirt stand out like a caricature’s silhouette. His mask matches mine. I lift my hand to run my fingers over the delicate detail. Where I expect to feel the soft fabric, I’m met with nothing but skin. I check the ground around me as if the mask matters. Reed isn’t here anymore to miss it.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Marek whispers in the space between us. His steps are slow as he approaches me.
There has never been a time I’ve thought Marek capable of hurting me.
Until now.
He stares through me as if I’m nothing. I’ve known all along that he is dead inside, yet I’ve refused to acknowledge it. Every touch has been a set-up, and now I’m certain my willing body has led me into his blood seeking hands.
“It was you,” I say low and stoic, trying my hardest to pretend the walls aren’t closing in on me. “The attacks, the breath nipping at my neck, it’s been you all along.”
Marek’s attention breaks to the side, snapping his eyes from me as I try to distract him and buy me more time to devise a plan.
“All of it was a lie!” I shout, startling both of us.
“I warned you, Palmer. I told you I was no good for you, told you to not let me in.” Marek closes the gap between us, pressing his chest into me, pinning me against the tree. My breath grows heavier, and my body contorts to give me more space, but he’s too strong.
His hand skims up my bare thigh to my center. His touch disgusts me, but I don’t fight,
knowing it will do me no good. He buries his nose in the hair behind my ear, inhaling my perfume.
“One thing I’ll miss is this body.” His hands roam over me, taking inches of flesh that don’t belong to him. “How about one last time, Palmer, for old time’s sake?”
“You’re a demented piece of shit, Marek, if you think for a second, I’m ever going to let you inside of me again.”
At my threat, he spins me, pressing my chest to the bark. I hold on for dear life, preparing for the worst to happen. My body shakes with fear, adrenaline kicking in.
“Oh, baby!” Marek’s fingers swoop into my hair, tugging my head back. “I don’t take what isn’t given freely.”
“Please, let me go,” I plead.
“Now, you know I can’t do that. A part of me thinks this tight body of yours is still yearning for more from me.” It’s not. He skims up the back of my thighs to under my dress. His movements are slow, daring me to say no.
And yet, I don’t. Marek has this ability of forcing me out of my comfort zone, pushing me to my limits. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m certain Marek came out here for one thing.
To hurt me, or worse, kill me.
Maybe a part of me has always known. Ever since I found Reed’s dorm covered in pools of blood, I think I’ve known the Glass House Boys are responsible for whatever happened to my sister. I’ve chosen to ignore it, letting myself be pulled into their orbit, and allowing them to become human, if only in my mind.
“That’s my girl,” Marek whispers the moment I relax.
Sensing my cooperation, he turns me around again, our noses jutting against each other. His eyes fall to my lips as they part, inviting him forward. The kiss is manic, made of parts that make no sense, and still, I melt into him, loving the way his tongue feels against my bottom lip.
“Do your worst, Marek,” I challenge.
Ever put your hand over a flame and inch closer, seeing how far you can push yourself? My body is the hand, and Marek is the flame, enticing me, pulling me in, to test my ability to withstand severe pain.