A Poised Nuisance (Lithe Book 1)

by Iris RIvers

  After walking to the thermostat in her living room, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to bed, so she roamed her apartment. To an outsider, she must’ve appeared to live like a ghost—no attachments; no color. Her walls were plain—no pictures of her mother or father. Her furniture too was plain. Everything about this place was plain, and she hated it. Her mother found this place—paid her rent. It was another thing she controlled. Another part of Lara’s life that felt more like a prison than a luxury. She wouldn’t be surprised if her mother’s eyes were hidden behind the wall, watching Lara’s every move. Seo-Yun could do anything she wanted—including the impossible.

  Lara stopped when she got to a small bell resting on her coffee table. It was old, rusted—a gift from her grandmother when she’d won first place at some dance competition. Lara picked it up, feeling its color stain her fingers. She remembered asking her grandmother Why? Why a bell is what she meant. Her grandmother had only smiled and said, voice soft, You will see, Lara.

  She hadn’t been able to see; she hadn’t been able to understand. But standing there, the antique in her hand, she found herself thinking of Juilliard’s bell tower. Of Lithe’s meeting spot. They had a meeting tonight, and some horrible part of her wanted to attend. The moral part of her screamed at her, telling her No, they are murderers—cruel murderers with nothing but tainted truths and miserable lies. Yet, as Lara stared into the copper of the bell, she thought about the times her own mind had slipped into brutality; the times she’d dreamed of blood and revenge. There are dark parts to my mind, she thought, deprived parts.

  She wondered if that was why Evelyn had told her she belonged with them—that they needed her. Maybe she was just as monstrous as the girls of Lithe. Maybe she was worse.

  Lara hated that she felt a pull toward the girls hidden in the bell tower, like they had wrapped a tightrope around her, tethering her soul to them for eternity. She realized that no matter what—even if she decided not to join their insidious cult—they would never be erased from her mind. They would never be forgotten.

  So, maybe, if that was the case—if her mind would forevermore be affected by their whispers and their stares—why not join them? Why not give in to her urges?

  Lara had two options to choose from: she could either go back to bed and crave the sleep she would never get, or she could surrender to her most villainous temptations.

  She chose the latter.

  THE TOWER LOOMED OVER her like a threatening catastrophe, yet Lara felt anything but threatened. Its intimidating façade comforted her, strangely. She felt like she was walking home after years away; like she was seeing her worn childhood home for the first time since she’d moved. It felt like coming home.

  She did not knock, simply pushed the door with her shoulder. It opened on her command—like it had her name written all over its decaying wood. Lara could hear whispers from above, low and intoxicating. They sounded like prayers. She neared the crumbling staircase with her fists clenched. She was trembling, shaking with a feeling she couldn’t describe. It wasn’t fear but something else—something that was awakening from within her, pounding against her ribcage like a prisoner begging for freedom. Was it affiliation?

  Was it liberty? Familiarity?

  I belong here, she told herself as she took her first step. If not here then where else?

  Lara took another step. Then another. And another. And, suddenly, she was at the bell’s floor. She sucked in a breath when all heads turned to her—like they’d been waiting for her; like they knew she would come.

  “Called it!” someone shouted from the floor—Irene, Lara realized. She smiled at Lara as one would smile at a puppy. Lara parted her lips in confusion.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Evelyn said, walking over to her. She looked less tired than the last time they’d seen each other—less fragile.

  “We all are,” said Sana, smiling from her comfortable position on the wooden floor. Her legs were out—covered by white painter’s pants—and she leaned against her tanned arms.

  “I just need to know what this is,” Lara said, moving with Evelyn to the center of the room. Lara reluctantly sat as Evelyn took her place in a chair up front. “I need to know why you want me here.”

  “So, you want us to pitch this to you?” asked Violet, laughing loudly. Brutally. “This isn’t a business conference. This isn’t a game. You’re either in or you’re out. Period.”

  “I know this isn’t a game,” Lara snapped, mirroring Violet’s tone. “I’m not here to play.”

  “You’re here to win,” another voice said. Ana.

  Lara turned to look at her. She was still as beautiful as the first time Lara had seen her—perhaps even more so. She was intimidating—scary, even—but Lara would never admit that.

  Lara’s blood thrummed at Ana’s word. Win. That was all Lara wanted in life: to win. That was why she hated Kai, wasn’t it? He won, and she didn’t. He received all of the attention, the praise, and she didn’t. Him. Him. Him. It was always him.

  Would it ever be her?

  “Lara, I told you once,” said Evelyn, her blonde hair messy, “you belong here—with us.”

  “Do you understand how ridiculous that sounds?” Lara asked, despite the part of her that believed it.

  “It may now,” said Evelyn, “but it won’t for long.”

  “Enough of the sentiments,” interjected Ana. “She needs to know the rules and what needs to be done.”

  “Initiation.” Lilah smirked, rubbing her hands together like they were all in some evil lair. Lara supposed they were.

  “Or is her mind too dense to understand?” Violet asked. Lowri stifled a laugh, covering her thin lips.

  “She’ll be fine,” said Ana. “But thank you for the concern, Violet.”

  Violet scoffed.

  “You must know what we do,” said Evelyn. “We explained a bit last time.”

  “I do know,” Lara said. “You murder people.”

  “Yes, but there’s a history behind it,” she said. “A long history that some of us are only beginning to understand.”

  “Here,” someone said over Lara’s shoulder. It was Mia, and she was handing her a book. Lara took it into her hands. It was old—so old that the cover nearly fell from its tattered spine.

  “What is this?” Lara asked, leaning forward to blow the dust off the front. Sage, who sat in front of her, coughed dramatically. Lara’s finger traced the title.

  The Official Enchiridion of Lithe. Underneath, it read: Published in 1929.

  “1929? Is that when this—Lithe I mean—was created?”

  “Yes,” answered Lilah. “Go on—open the book.”

  “Excited?” Orion joked.

  Lilah turned to her, looked into her eyes, then looked down immediately after—like she was afraid of what she’d find in there; afraid of the truth that lay within. “This hasn’t happened in a while. I’m enjoying it.” She shrugged.

  “A while?” Lara asked. They were making no sense.

  “The last member,” Sienna started, “just graduated. We’ve been looking for someone new.”

  Lara carefully opened the book. Inside were various chapters with different titles. “A rule book,” Lara realized.

  “Mhm,” Renee said, who’d been silent the whole time. “Most are basic, really. You can’t tell anyone—that’s obvious, I hope. You have to be an active member. You have to kill a boy to stay. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Wait, what?” Lara asked. “I have to kill someone to stay? You’re kidding.”

  “No,” said Violet, her voice devoid of all emotion, “we’re not.”

  “What did you think initiation was?” Irene asked, laughing at her innocence.

  “I don’t know,” Lara answered truthfully. Of course she had to kill a boy to stay. What else would she do? Watch them kill a boy? This was what she was meant to do all along. “I’ve never killed someone before,” she said. In a room full of relentless murderers, Lara realized how
naïve she sounded.

  “We’ll help you. Show you all the tips and tricks,” Sana said. She said tips and tricks like they were playing a game of cards—not a game of life and death.

  Lara gently let go of the book. “I’m not sure if I can do this,” she said, surprised at her own honesty.

  “We all thought that,” said Sage—who’d been pacing near the window nervously, her dreadlocks moving across her torso, something torturing her mind. “I didn’t like it—most of us didn’t—but it was what needed to be done. For Lithe.”

  “For the three girls who started this,” said Ana. “For the three girls who had a vision. Who’d been hurt.”

  “The three girls... They started this?”

  “Anabelle, Lillian, and Elizabeth,” said Lilah. “They created Lithe.”

  Lara looked back down to the book on the floor, only then seeing the small print at the very bottom—three signatures done in blood.

  Mia watched as Lara’s dainty finger touched their uniting signature. “They loved each other very much,” she said. Lara looked up at her, pulling her finger away.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Elizabeth was hurt by a man she loved,” answered Ana, “so Lillian and Anabelle found it fitting to take revenge. They cared for her too much, one might say. We believe they did just the right thing though. An abusive man deserves to rot in a puddle of his own blood.” The other girls nodded in agreement. Lara nodded as well—almost in compulsion. She didn’t stop herself.

  She’d never been hurt that way by someone—other than the few catcalls and butt-grabs by old men on the street—but she could understand the pain. The grief.

  It had become so normalized. So accepted. Men were able to get away with nearly everything—anyone could see it in the news, in the streets. It was repulsive—unfair.

  It was time for women to reclaim their wounded power. It was time for Lara—broken and battered—to reclaim her own dignity.

  “So, what do you say?” asked Lilah, like this was an easy decision. Like she could simply tell them, Yes, of course, I’ll join your killer cult. It would be an honor.

  Lara rose from the ground, suddenly feeling hot and uneasy. All of the girls looked to her with expectation, waiting for her next words. She turned from their hopeful gazes and walked toward the large bell. She hadn’t seen it up close before—not really.

  “Solitudine cum execratione maledicta congessit,” Evelyn whispered as she faced the bell. Lara wasn’t sure she had heard her at first, then she realized there was a cursive print on the very bottom of the bell—so small one may have had to squint to read it. Solitudine cum execratione maledicta congessit, it read. The same words Evelyn had spoken just a few seconds before.

  The words danced across her arms; they crawled into her mind and dug around, looking for something specific. Looking like they already knew it was there—like it’d been there all along. Lara turned back to the girls.

  “Solitude is a curse,” translated Violet, the girl who had been abrasive to Lara. Before, her eyes had been laced with something venomous—something cruel. But now? Now Violet looked at her as though she wanted her to stay.

  Lara had spent her entire life in solitude. Her parents had never loved her—not truly; not like parents should—and despite her own cold, uncaring disposition, it had gotten to her. It had consumed her whole—destroyed her entire being. She’d become so comfortable in it—the void, the isolation—that, after a while, she began to embrace it. Welcomed it with open arms. Solitude is a curse. It was, she realized. A curse.

  It plagued her attitude, her view on the miserable world. Every time a person had done something kind for her—no strings attached—Lara would wait for the part when they took it all back, told her I can’t believe you fell for that and Why would I do anything for you?

  Lara had always believed she was alone in the world. That she’d spend her life dancing—pleasing her mother—and that was it. She wouldn’t find friends, a partner. She’d accepted her fate.

  But then, as she turned back to the twelve girls scattered across the old bell tower, she felt it: the exquisite feeling of possibility, of hope.

  She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable—so known. She supposed that, in a room of strangers, one would feel quite the opposite. There was something about them though. There was something about the way they looked to her, an array of emotions filling their eyes: understanding, compassion, expectation. Lara felt their sentiments light up inside of her—she felt them soothing her boiling blood and whispering to her crooked heart.

  She knew, then, that she couldn’t walk out of here. A part of her knew that this was only the beginning.

  “What happens now?” said Lara finally.

  She looked to Ana, seeing a smile already filling her face.

  “Now we wait.”

  “For what?”

  “A boy,” said Lilah, smiling as well.

  “For me to kill?” Lara asked.

  “Now you’re getting it,” said Violet, an incredibly small smile forming on her face—the smile of someone who didn’t know how to smile.

  “So,” said Lilah, “are you in? Officially?”

  Lara drew in a breath. She knew the next words were coming, knew they had to be said, but she still feared them. They would tie her down to something, and Lara didn’t like that—being committed. But maybe it was what she needed. Reliability. Fidelity.

  Lara gave as best of an answer as she could. “I guess.”

  Sana jumped up off the ground, theatrically clapping her hands. “Group hug,” she shouted, looking to everyone else still on the floor.

  “No, no,” said Lara. “I don’t do hugs.”

  “Neither do I,” agreed Violet, scowling.

  “I don’t care,” said Sana, standing in front of Lara. “We’re all doing this.”

  And then Sana was hugging her. Tightly. All of the other girls came over at their own pace—Evelyn being the first and Violet the very last. Lara shut her eyes against the overwhelming embrace.

  Finally, they all drifted away, moving into smaller clusters to discuss amongst themselves. Lara stood alone by the stairs and watched in perplexity. She noticed Evelyn walking toward her.

  “So...” said Lara. “I mean—I better get going. It’s late.” She wasn’t sure why she felt so odd—different. Evelyn laughed.

  “I’ll walk you out,” she said.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Lara told her, but Evelyn was already moving past her. They walked down the stairs in silence, the only sounds coming from the steps of their shoes against the moldering rock and the energetic conversations from above. When they reached the bottom, Lara felt like she was standing on the edge of something new—of something discoverable.

  She shoved her hands into her pockets, her fingers catching on a chain. It was the locket Evelyn had given her, she realized as she pulled it out. She had almost forgotten that she had it.

  “Here,” Lara said, passing the locket to Evelyn.

  Evelyn pushed her hand away. “Keep it.”

  “Why? I don’t need it.”

  Evelyn shrugged. The blonde surrounding her face glowed in the pale moonlight from outside, the halo of a fallen angel. “Keep it until you stop feeling afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Lara remarked.

  “Fine. Keep it until you stop feeling lost.”

  She stared at Evelyn like she’d said something offensive. Am I really that readable? The gold felt like water against her skin; it fell between her fingers like the heavy stream of a waterfall. Lara slipped the locket back into her pocket. Wordlessly, Evelyn headed back up the stairs. Lara waited until she couldn’t see her back; waited until the stairs ceased to creak.

  What Evelyn doesn’t know, Lara thought, turning to the door, is that I will never be found.

  She ran into the night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier t
han ink.” ––Patrick Rothfuss

  1929

  Elizabeth Brown found herself running home—completely alone—at midnight. There were no stars in the sky, and the moon was barely visible behind the darkened clouds. Her tied-up hair had been pulled from its clips, her curls bouncing around her face as she ran. She knew she must’ve looked deranged—with smeared red lipstick and torn white dress—but she continued to run, ignoring the stares of young men and women alike.

  She arrived at her old, brick-lined apartment a few minutes later, hopeful that Anabelle and Lillian would be there. Her hands shook as she pulled the small key from her handbag.

  “Elizabeth,” said Anabelle as she stepped inside, “what are you doing home so early?”

  It took all Elizabeth had to not break down to the floor—to not begin to sob uncontrollably, her eyes pink and inflamed. Her bottom lip began to shake as she restrained herself.

  “What happened?’ asked Lillian, moving to grab Elizabeth’s hand. She noticed her friend’s smeared make-up and pulled hair with an incredible amount of concern. Elizabeth shook her head, unsure if she would be able to say the words aloud—unsure of her own strength.

  “You can tell us anything, Elizabeth,” said Anabelle.

  They stood in a slight circle before the door, all around the same height, all incredibly beautiful. The three looked like girls made of moonlight—girls with glass skin and paper hair. Incredibly surreal yet impossibly tangible.

  “Charles...” said Elizabeth, her shaky breaths stabs to both Anabelle and Lillian’s beating hearts. “He forced me to... to—”

  Anabelle pulled Elizabeth into a suffocating embrace, and then—only then—did Elizabeth begin to cry. She felt the tears trail down her cheeks in a sort of miserable agony—burning streaks into her pale skin and pulling an indescribable pain from her blue eyes. Elizabeth’s sobs echoed in the apartment, against the bricks. She felt Lillian stroke her arm softly.

  “You need not say any more,” whispered Anabelle into Elizabeth’s blonde hair. “We understand.”