by Angel Lawson
It comes back to me in a rush. Bringing him food. Seeing his scars. Feeling his forehead pressed into my belly as he shook, hands clutching my hips. The kiss. Oh god, the fucking kiss. Him telling me that it was a mistake. The stinging plunge of rejection. The relief when he asked me to stay. The bright satisfaction of watching him eat my meal.
Falling asleep on his shoulder.
I blink hazily at the faint line of hair that begins at his belly button and disappears beneath the waist of his pants. It’s two shades lighter than the hair on his head, and never in my life have I wanted to touch something so badly just to see if it feels as soft as it looks.
I’m staring at that line of hair when he shifts, his fingers curling against my back. A jolt of pure electricity runs down my spine. I’m working out how to extract myself from this position when I feel him gently press his nose into my hair. It’s a slow, testing sort of gesture. I know he’s awake. I can feel it in his inhale and the twitch of his fingers against my back. Even so, he doesn’t pull away.
Not until the pounding comes at the door.
Reyn jumps, jostling me as he shoots upright. “It’s almost midnight.” The clock on the wall above the TV confirms this.
The booming door-pound comes again and I lurch to my own feet, knowing instinctively who’s at the door. Reyn must too, because his eyes are sharp and full of dread as they dart around the room.
“Fuck, fuck, where’s my shirt?” He’s pulling at the cushions, face wild.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm him, even though my own heart is pounding almost as loudly as the door. “It’s okay. I’ll explain.”
Reyn doesn’t answer. He’s fixed on his task of finding the shirt, and his movements are growing jerky and panicked, so I help. I find it on the floor behind the couch, all balled up into a sad lump, and he catches it easily when I throw it to him.
He doesn’t look any less scared. “Maybe you can sneak out the back,” he says, wild eyes holding mine.
I shake my head, though. “I’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”
But when I get to the door, Reyn hovering halfway between following me and bolting up the stairs, I’m secretly not feeling so confident.
Especially when the pounding comes again. “Reyn!” Emory calls. “Open up.”
Reyn spits out a low curse, and when I look back at him, his fingers are running agitated circuits through his hair.
“Just let me talk.” I take a calming breath, trying to remember the stillness of the lake, and open the door.
Emory and my mom are both on the porch.
“Oh thank god,” my mother exhales, then lunges forward to pull me into a hug. “We were so worried.”
“We were looking everywhere!” Emory growls, but the spark of terror in his wide eyes belies the anger of his voice. “What the hell, V?!”
“It was my fault.” Reyn’s voice is still thick with sleep as he steps up behind me. “Or I guess, technically Dennis Rodman’s.”
“No,” I state quickly. “It was no one’s fault. It was just a mi—” I start to say mistake, but that excuse isn’t going to work here, not without dredging up a lot of bad memories. “I had extra food from dinner, and I thought maybe Reyn and Mr. McAllister would like some. Reyn was alone when I got here, and we fell asleep on the couch, watching TV. I’m sorry.” I’m relieved to know that Reyn and I both look the part, eyes heavy and squinting against the porch light. He even has a sleep line pressed into his cheek.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Mom says, stroking my hair. Her hands feel needy and possessive. “I got home, and you weren’t in your room and Emory hadn’t seen you. I panicked, but your brother remembered the phone tracker app and it said you were here.”
I try to hide my embarrassed recoil at being lo-jacked. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” I keep my eyes off of Reyn. “I didn’t mean to stay, really. I think it was just a testament to how tired I was.”
My mom frowns. “Are you not getting enough sleep? Should I make an appointment with Doctor Cordell? Maybe he can prescribe you something.”
Emory replies with a sharp, “No!” at the same time I warn, “Mom.” This is exactly why I tell her nothing.
My mother doesn’t catch the censure in Em’s voice, but I do. I’m sure it’s not lost on Reyn, either. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you into bed, then.”
“Wait,” Reyn pipes in, suddenly disappearing. When he returns, he’s holding the empty plate, looking rueful as he extends it to my mom. “Sorry, Mrs. Hall.”
We’re at the driveway when I look back and see Emory having a low conversation with Reyn. This is why I tell him nothing, either.
Once we’re in our yard, Mom says, “That was very generous of you to take the McAllisters dinner. I know things have been strained between the two of you. Understandably.”
“Reyn and I are fine,” I say, adding quickly, “you know, for the limited amount of time we’ve seen one another. It was no big deal. I had a lot of extra lasagna and I know with Mrs. McAllister gone, there have been a lot of delivery cars coming in and out every night.”
“Well, considering everything, I think it’s very generous of you to look out for them like that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
The thing about my parents is that they’d initially rallied for Reyn to be charged. I’m not sure how they went from wanting him locked in juvenile detention to this strange sort of pity they feel toward him now, but I know that it happened after his hearing, three months following the accident. Neither of them would tell me the details.
I follow her into the house, scooping up Firefly on the way. I glance back once more, and my brother is walking back, Reyn standing alone now in the doorway. Our eyes meet for a moment, sending a spark across my nerves, before he steps back into the house and out of sight.
Before I can disappear into my bedroom, Emory catches up to me. “What the hell, V?”
I give him a tired look. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
“Does it matter?” I look at him accusingly. “Apparently I can be tracked anywhere.”
He rolls his eyes. “As if Mom and Dad couldn’t track my phone, too.”
“But they never do!” I storm into my room, heedless of him entering behind me. “You can accidentally fall asleep at a friend’s house and it’d be no big deal. This is exactly what I was talking about.”
“What do you expect? You just walk out, no note, gone ‘til midnight. Do you have any idea—” His voice cuts off with a choked sound. “When it’s the two of us here, I’m responsible for you. I’m always responsible for you.”
If Emory were any other sibling, that might have sounded bitter. Instead, it just sounds sad and exhausting.
I look at his slumped shoulders and drawn face, and can’t help but feel bad. He’s not lying. Our parents put way too much pressure on him to look after me, as if he doesn’t already put enough on himself. “It really was an accident. I thought I’d just be in and out.”
“Just tell me next time,” he pleads.
I flop onto my bed and make the only promise I know I can keep. “I’ll try to be more considerate, okay?”
He’s pacified by this enough to leave, which is good because I can’t put this uncertain feeling into words. This new thing we’re doing…it’s so hard to know what normal even is. Would any other girl tell her brother she’s popping over next door? Would any other girl have to explain why? Would any other girl have to hide that she’d kissed a guy tonight, and that it didn’t matter, because he’d brushed her off.
The kiss.
God, just remembering it makes my insides plummet in equal parts excitement and humiliation. The latter is tempered by the knowledge that he seemed just as into it as I was. That was easily the hottest thing about it, although the feeling of his mouth sliding against mine, those hands holding me to him, is a close second.
That was a mistake. You know why.
> But there are too many reasons hidden behind that truth to grasp at a single one. Was it a mistake because I’m his best friend’s kid sister? Because we have this whole complicated history? Because we’re both too messed up? Because the people around us would never be okay with it?
Or was it a mistake because Reyn doesn’t want me that way?
Reluctantly, I lift myself from the bed and walk toward the window, pulling the curtain aside. Even though I’d been looking for him, I’m still surprised to see Reyn. His window is open and he’s leaning out, elbows resting on the sill, turning his phone over in his hands. He doesn’t see me at first because his head is hanging, face hidden. A full minute passes before he looks up.
He straightens and pauses for a moment, watching me. Then, he lifts his phone, and holds up four fingers. Realizing what he’s doing, I take my own from my pocket and slowly program in the numbers.
I hit the call button.
There’s a few seconds of delay, but Reyn finally picks up, pressing the phone to his ear. I watch his lips move. “Are you in trouble?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. My mom was cool and Em and I hashed it out.”
He resumes his earlier position, forearm propped on the sill. “Sorry.”
“What for? It’s not your fault.” I smile sadly, burning with the question that keeps running through my head. I ask him another one, instead. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” Reyn answers, shrugging. “I think he was just wondering if you were here on Devil business, but couldn’t say because of your mom.”
“I guess it’s just that thing, you know? About me needing to push it sometimes, show them that I want to have a life. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
His eyes dart up to mine and whatever he’s about to say, he looks hesitant about it. “You should be careful, with all these rituals. Having your phone tracked and everything.”
“I know.”
“If you want, I can…” He trails off though, eyes watching my house.
“What?”
After a moment, he answers, “I can show you how to disable it.”
“Oh.” I don’t tell him that I could probably figure that out myself. “Okay.”
He gives a heavy nod, and then looks toward the street. “Well, good night.”
I try not to feel disappointed. “Night, Reyn.”
I watch him hang up and follow suit, and when I close the curtains, I try not to memorize the tired curve of his shoulders.
That night, I want nothing more than to dream of the lake again. I lay in bed and try to remember the glow of fireflies, the calming stillness, the anticipation.
Instead, I dream of the two of us inside that car again. It’s anything but still here, with the wind whipping my hair around. It’s loud and dark, and my stomach feels full of the bad kind of expectation. Reyn looks older again, almost exactly like he did when I’d closed the curtain. There’s something hard and complicated swirling in his eyes. He keeps his gaze on the road, shifting gears every now and then, but doesn’t speak over the roar of the wind.
I keep waiting, but the crash never comes.
Even with the commotion, the deep sleep I got at Reyn’s house makes me more alert than I’ve been in weeks. At least Emory doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge, meeting me at the car with his usual barked, “AIS!”
I meet Sydney before classes start. “Wait, so you’re telling me that you fell asleep at Reyn McAllister’s house? That’s where you were when your mom was calling all over the place?”
Apparently before she remembered the location app, mom made a few desperate phone calls.
“Yes. By accident,” I stress.
“Uh huh.” Her eyes flick over to where I know he’s standing with my brother and the other jocks. Luckily, whatever issue Emory took with me last night didn’t seem to extend to Reynolds. Emory smiles at something Ben says, lobbing a playful smack into Reyn’s shoulder. “Maybe I need to show up at his house with dinner so I can sleep over by accident, too.”
I’m not expecting the vicious stab of jealousy that explodes in my chest. Sydney has zero boundaries. To her, all guys are an opportunity. If she tries to make a move on Reyn…
God, I don’t want to even think about what would happen. I remember the tired curve of his shoulders last night, his stillness and silence and the complicated darkness of his eyes, and it makes me burn. She’d chew him up and spit him out. I think of his scars and how Sydney would see them, like some kind of curiosity. I think of her telling everyone about them, and every fiber of my being screams no.
Luckily, I don’t see Reyn ever being interested in her.
At least, I don’t think so. I don’t even know what kind of girl he likes. Maybe he’d be into that—a one-and-done with a girl like Sydney. But he could get that from plenty of girls here, and he still hasn’t gone out with anyone since he’s been back. In fact, with all the Devil rituals, the one person he seems to be hanging out with the most is me. The thought instantly soothes away the sharp pang in my chest, even though it shouldn’t. Like Reyn had said, kissing me was a mistake.
I just don’t know which mistake he’s scared of making.
It’s so frustrating, not knowing how to approach this new shift between us. When we woke up, he was so soft and sweet. But he pushed me away when we kissed, so does that mean he just wants to be friends? I’ve never been friends with guys before, and I’ve certainly never been more than friends with a guy. How do girls navigate all these nebulous signals?
This is the sort of thing I’m supposed to have Sydney for, but she’s clearly not an option, and not only because of the Devil secrets. She’ll know instantly who I’m asking about, and by the next day, half the school will, too.
These thoughts linger in my mind as I make my way to my locker, but vanish as soon as I open the door. Inside, I discover a new black envelope, my name printed across the front, same wax seal on the back. I don’t get a chance to open it until I’m tucked away in a bathroom stall two periods later. Inside is a card with instructions.
We commend your trust and loyalty, but neither can be wielded without a pledge of permanence.
Meet your partner at Cain’s Ink, Thursday at 4pm.
“The devil’s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?”
Elevatio Infernum
Well, that’s vague.
Inside the envelope is a flimsy slip of paper bearing a Devil’s pitchfork, about the size of a quarter. The paper looks familiar to me, like one of those temporary tattoos we used to get when we were kids.
Cain’s Ink.
Ink. Permanence. Flesh. Blood.
Oh my god, they want me to get a tattoo? On my body? Of a pitchfork?
Emory has lost his damn mind!
I find him outside the science lab talking to Aubrey. “Can I talk to you?”
He shrugs at me before nodding a farewell to Aubrey. He pulls me next to the water fountains and asks, “What?”
“Do you really think I’m going to get a tattoo?” I try to whisper, but it still comes out sounding loud and shrill.
Frowning, he shifts me over and looks around to make sure no one heard. “I think you are if you want to be part of this.”
“A tattoo! That’s, like, insane.”
“It’s the rules, V. If you walk, that’s fine, but know the whole school will find out about your pill addiction.”
I gawk at my brother. My brother who has protected me, always. “You’d seriously release that video.”
“I don’t think you get it.” His hand clenches around my arm. “I’m not in charge of this, Vandy. I don’t even have the video. There are powers that be. I’m a recruit, just like you. Christ, I told you what we were getting into. I told you this is for life. What were you expecting?”
Something about this stuns me. I’d gotten into this to get information, to make a point, to establish myself as a serious writer, but now I’m supposed to permanently brand myself with the symb
ol of this group. Isn’t that a step too far? And using the video to make me compliant and keep my silence—that’s outright blackmail.
“Look, I tried to keep you out of this.” He looks frustrated when he steps away. “But I thought this was what you wanted—to make your own choices.”
“It is,” I weakly insist.
“Well, this is how that works.” His shrug is hapless. “Sometimes, you make a choice and you have to stick with it, even when shit gets dicey.” Before he walks away, he adds, “You better get it somewhere seriously invisible, because if Mom or Dad sees it, they will have an entire herd of cows.”
I’m still stewing over this when I walk into the science wing’s bathroom, later that day. Afton and Elana happen to be at the sink, reapplying makeup. Afton’s eyes catch mine in the mirror reflection. “What’s up with you?”
Even though there’s no one else in the bathroom but the three of us, I’m not really expecting her to speak to me.
“Nothing, just….” I pump soap into my hand. “Well, did you get your envelope?”
Elana says, “Yep,” and Afton nods while coating her lips in a shiny gloss.
“Don’t you think it’s going a little too far?”
Elana shrugs. “I’m putting mine on my hip.” She touches the spot she means.
“I think it’s sexy,” Afton declares, snapping the gloss cap on and dropping it in her purse. She turns and sits on the sink. “Plus, it’ll be nice having a little memento. In ten years, when I’m married to someone disgustingly rich and starting my own designer label, I’ll be able to look at it and remember the glory days. I mean, all of us just broke into rival schools, unnoticed. We’re bad ass, gorg.” She finishes, expression pensive, “Let’s face it, being a Plaything will probably be the most meaningful thing I’ve done at Preston.”
Despite the arrogant elitism of the school, it is involved with some good projects. Habitat, food drives, tutoring in low income communities. The fact a secret society is the most meaningful thing Afton will do here is a little concerning.