I smile, my lips moving in a way they haven’t since fifth grade, when Sylvie pulled me aside, demanding exactly fifty percent of a bestie friendship by offering me a half-heart necklace.
The necklace she was wearing when she OD’d and barely survived.
I don’t think on the curse of my friendship when I kiss Ivy’s temple, the wind blowing our hair back as we stroll through Briarcliff’s pavilion.
All I can think of is my ache for a best friend and the familiar comfort of a kindred soul shining through an open, affectionate face.
Ivy isn’t destroyed on the inside like I am. She’s sunlight, and I’ve been starving for it.
So, I look her in the eye with a bright smile, saying, “Fucking right we are.”
27
Ivy and I spend the rest of the afternoon, and late evening, hanging out and catching up on subjects I’ve woefully fallen behind in.
Nothing pointed out how brutally my priorities had shifted than when I received my quarter-term grades. I listen to Ivy as she helps tutor me in my worst subject (ahem, calculus) and she helps me brainstorm with the ones I’m better at—history, biology, and English. We spend most of our time in a corner of the Wolf’s Den, other seniors also using the quiet afternoon to get work done, with the added benefit of constantly refreshed snacks.
When we first arrived, the Wolf’s Den floor was awash with sunlight streaming through the stained-glass crest above our heads. Students came and went, our breaks were few and far between, and soon, my worries over Addisyn, the societies, Chase, and Piper’s death, slumbered for a while as Ivy focused my thoughts and tested my academic knowledge.
We end up being the last ones in the Den, and Ivy’s in the middle of showing me a trick to finding the value of the integral, when I notice the floors beneath our feet have gone dark with shadow.
“Huh,” I muse, then check the time. “Omigod, Ivy, it’s nearly ten.”
Ivy lifts her head, her pencil pausing on my notebook. “Yikes, is it? We missed dinner!”
I slide a glance to the pastry cart, a spot we’d been plundering every time a staff member came up to restock it. “I doubt our stomachs will mind.”
Ivy straightens in her seat, lifting both hands into the air and turning them. “Look at me, I’m literally throbbing with caffeine.”
I snort, then start packing my books and laptop. “That’s our cue to leave.”
“For sure,” Ivy agrees, and we both clean up our table.
The academy remains well lit, despite the time, with electric wall sconces and the large chandelier in the foyer, but I expect someone from the faculty to come up any second and kick us out, since the school closes at about this time.
With the amount of echoing noise we’re causing by shutting our textbooks and shoving them into our bags, we’re the last ones in the vicinity.
“Thank you,” I say to Ivy when I zip my bag shut. “I really needed this.”
Ivy pats my shoulder. “You didn’t come here to fail, and I don’t want to see it happen.”
“I can’t believe how much I’ve let this place affect me,” I say as we head to the staircase. “I’m usually so good at making schedules and sticking to routines, but I guess, ever since my mom…”
I can’t finish the sentence, and Ivy doesn’t make me.
“It’s easy to get distracted.” Ivy clomps down the stairs behind me. “Outrageously beautiful boys, scandalous teachers, suspicious roommate deaths … you deserve to be a little distracted, ya know?”
I shrug, facing forward. “Not like this. I’ve been—something like this has happened before, and I swore I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Like what?” When I don’t answer, Ivy turns so I face her at the bottom of the stairs. “Callie, what’s going on?”
I hesitate, then scold myself. With everything Ivy’s done for me today, she deserves some honesty. “After my mom died, I kind of … lost it.”
“Well … that’s to be expected.”
“No, I … clinically lost it. My stepdad committed me. And when I was released, I went to every party I could find—college, high school, random, it didn’t matter—looking to score. My friend Sylvie was down for it, so I never questioned my safety when we both went. But soon, I was going by myself, drinking by myself, then … snorting powder by myself.”
I carefully watch Ivy for her reaction, but the only emotion she’s exuding is furrowed brows of concern.
“The drug-use got bad. I, um, I know now it was because I accused my stepdad of murder and …. I kind of fell apart after that.”
Ivy says, “Callie, oh my God. You’ve never—”
“I blamed him,” I blurt. “I’m the one who got him arrested.”
Whenever I think of it, the lump of coal is still there, burning its embers at the base of my throat. I don’t think the guilt of ruining his life will ever go away. It’ll just stay buried in the earth until those rare moments when I dig up the black elements, like now.
I look to Ivy for judgment, then jerk back in surprise at her scoff. “I doubt your word alone sent him to jail, Callie. They must’ve had other evidence to add weight to what you were saying. You know, I’ve noticed something about you from the minute I met you.”
I ask with hesitation, “What’s that?”
“You give everyone else such a free pass in life but wrap your own in chains.”
I stare at her. “I don’t get it.”
Ivy folds her arms. “Do you remember when I ran to your room once I heard Piper was dead? And how Chase waltzed in?”
I grumble at the thought of Chase bursting through the door, his brown eyes blazing with the Earth’s core as he stared me down. “Yes.”
“And when the detectives came, he pointed at you and said you did it.”
I suck on my lower lip as it dawns on me where she’s going with this.
“Did they arrest you on sight?” Ivy asks. “Put you in handcuffs, send you to jail? No. Because they had other facts in play. A list of other suspects, which, I guess, is growing as we speak. The point is, Callie,” she says, pushing me by the shoulder when I instinctually hunch over, “is that his word, as strong as it is around this school, still wasn’t enough to get you in major trouble.” She bops me on the nose, and I wrinkle it in response. “And I’m guessing the same can be said about what happened to your stepdad.”
Heart sinking, I shake my head. “I haven’t told you everything. There was a fight between him and my mom, which I witnessed, and he slapped her, and I told the police…”
“Yeah. More outside facts proving your word. Like I said.”
I frown. “No, I—”
“You’re not going to convince me you’re a bad person, dude. Not when you’re sucking face with Chase in your mind every time he passes by, despite what he tried to do to you.”
A snort of ashamed laughter escapes my nose.
“Which goes to my point,” Ivy says. “Why do you punish yourself so much worse than the people who’ve wronged you?”
Because I was told I was unhinged. Incapable. My opinion drugged and voided.
I peer up at Ivy, who’s studying me kindly, and I can’t give voice to more truth, not when she’s so convinced I’m not that girl.
Maybe she’s right, and I don’t have to keep recalling the old Callie, the one who wanted to hurt her stepdad, the kid who wanted to punish and maim and destroy the world that had destroyed her mother.
I say, cracking a small smile, “I liked you better when you were teaching me about studies and not real life.”
Ivy playfully punches me in the arm. “I only tell it how I see it. C’mon, let’s head back.”
“You go ahead,” I say. “I want to drop some of this stuff in my locker.”
“Want me to come?”
“Nah. I know you have an early morning training tomorrow.” I point to three custodians who are leaving the maintenance room with cleaning carts. “I’ll stick close to these guys.”
Conf
lict crosses Ivy’s face, and I’m sure it’s her worry over my well-being battling with her need to go to bed and catch a few hours rest before her 4 AM wake-up call.
“What else could they do to me?” I ask. I don’t need to say who. “Send me to more clean-up duty? There’s a ton of security now because of Piper and my latest ‘break in.’ I’ll be safe. Promise.”
Ivy chews on the inside of her cheek, but I don’t expect her to argue. Not when I’ve concealed so much from her, including the Virtues attacking me. All she knows is that it was Falyn and her friends who set me up, and I got the cut on my cheek by accidentally breaking a beaker while I fumbled in the dark to read a damaged book. With her firsthand witnessing of me dousing my hand in flames, how could she question my story?
Considering my track record, I’m deeply reluctant to involve her in my real shit.
And … I’m so afraid to lose her.
After a few more seconds of looking me up and down, Ivy gives in. “All right. You’d better.”
“It’s five minutes of dropping off my stuff. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah,” Ivy says, her brows low as she regards me. But she turns on her heel, and I don’t look away until I see her duck through a door politely opened by a security guard passing through the foyer, and disappear into the night.
I do feel safer as I trudge down the East Wing to the locker area, as I pass by five other security guards doing their rounds, and even a grumbling Professor Dawson as he locks up his office, telling me to hurry it up before the school closes.
With this much action on a Saturday night, it’d be difficult for even the Virtues to frame me for some other outrageous spoof.
They’re forming the foundation for your instability, Callie … They have people in play who will break your heart and your mind if you let them. They’re planning your downfall…
I refuse to let Dr. Luke’s words guide me as I turn a corner and find my locker, quickly depositing my things.
All the lights are on. Security and maintenance staff are everywhere. I’m fine.
Until I exit the cubicle of lockers, round the corner, and notice that everyone is gone.
28
The electric sconces lining the hallway flicker until they’re dim, then turn off.
“Shit,” I mutter, but with a lighter bag, I jog down the rest of the hall until the academy’s foyer comes into view.
An additional line of sconces goes black, as well as overhead lights, and in a moment of awareness, I skirt to the edges of the wall, unwilling to be caught running smack in the middle of a darkened corridor.
They’re here.
It’s a visceral realization, felt along all the hairs on my body, but my mind can’t believe it—not when I’ve seen the amount of guards and the cleaning crew scouring the grounds mere minutes ago.
The Virtues couldn’t control them, too, could they?
I itch for Ivy’s soothing company, but it’s for the best that she’s not here. I don’t want her involved in this fuckery. Whatever happens to me, I cannot take another good friend down with me.
Approaching footsteps draw my head up, and I crouch beside the nearest awards case, most of my body obscured by trophies, as whoever it is passes the East Wing and strides into the foyer.
After waiting a few minutes, I creep out, hunched over and using the lightest steps I can.
As I near the foyer, I notice more than one silhouette, outlines of tall bodies, broad shoulders, and short hair cast in a hazy glow from the dimmed chandelier hanging above.
Men. These are men. Or schoolboys.
One belts out a masculine laugh, cementing my theory, then stifles it when hushed. The guys … I’m counting about ten bodies … all form into a single line, until the one in front turns and motions for them to take the stairs.
At this point, I should expect nothing less than a mysterious line of men in the foyer of the academy after hours, but honestly, this shit never gets old.
Crouching, I curl my fingers over the edge of the corridor, ensuring that only an eye and maybe a sliver of cheekbone show as I peer into the lobby.
The men silently ascend, and no one’s talking now. As I watch, my body trembles like a tuning fork. They’re headed into the Wolf’s Den.
For reasons I want to find out.
When the last foot disappears over the top stair, I scuttle forward, ears perked for any additional sounds coming from above. All I catch is the tiniest beep, more shuffling, then silence.
I pause under the indoor balcony, head cocked and braced to run, but I don’t hear so much as a squeak of rubber soles against marble.
They can’t possibly all be standing in the Wolf’s Den saying nothing. Are they watching something on a screen? Meditating? Sleeping?
I can’t bear the mystery of all those guys going upstairs and then doing … nothing, so I creep to the base of the stairs and bend slightly over the railing to see the opening above.
I scan everything up there I can see, from the front of the balcony to the top of the stairs, and there are no shadows, creaks, or exhales—anything to indicate there are people up there.
My brows crash down. Wtf?
Grasping the handrail, I swing to the front of the staircase and tiptoe up, sticking to the shadows, keeping low and quiet, in case I’m inadvertently crashing one of the extra-curricular club’s sleep-ins.
But … I don’t think that’s what this is. It’s much too quiet.
As each step takes me closer, and I can make out outlines of the Wolf’s Den furniture, I don’t notice any accompanying people draped over the chairs or clustered in any corners.
I’m so busy studying the interior, I don’t register that I’ve moved to stand in the middle of the darkened room until I’m directly centered with the coffee table.
With not one person nearby.
I murmur my shock and put my hands on my hips, spinning in place. I’ve never witnessed or been told where Thorne Briar designed secret passageways and hidden rooms, but I’m pretty sure I’ve just discovered one location.
But the question remains: Where the hell did everyone go?
I make my way to the back wall, since the front is a balcony and the two sides are crowded, one with coffee stands and pastry displays, and the other an elevator door beside the staircase leading up.
I start on the left, faced with a half-wall of books, the other half wood paneling. High-top tables and stools take up the middle section, including the table Ivy and I sat at for hours. Were we really gabbing beside a secret entrance the whole time?
The question brings up Chase’s party, and how I acted in his father’s office—so convinced of a concealed chamber behind those books. Instead, I was shot down with the existence of a panic room, standard protocol for the uber-rich, and left questioning my convictions.
Here, though, there is no panic room. Ten bodies did not disappear into the back of a senior lounge where no staircase or elevator exists—those are both in the front.
I skim my fingers along the books’ spines, but none of them, as I tip and pull at the spines, do anything but puff dust mites in my face.
“Damn it,” I curse, tipping my chin up and scanning the top.
What am I missing?
Then, I look down.
The bookshelves take up half the wall. The other half is wood molding, carved in 3D designs often seen in pictures of nineteenth century mansions. Briarcliff decorates with layered rectangles carved vertically, and intricate lace trim in the corners.
I take one step back, studying the wainscoting and trim, but focusing most on the rectangular panels.
Could I … push one?
Shrugging, I figure I’ll have at it, since I haven’t come up with any better ideas.
I end up pushing against all ten panels, bending and using all my strength, but none of them move an inch.
I stare up at the ceiling and sigh, thinking, if only you could see me now, Dad and Headmaster Marron.
<
br /> Then I think, perhaps I’m approaching this wrong. Any student could technically push against the panels by freak accident or just plain curiosity.
If I want to know where those guys went, I have to start thinking like a society member, and not simply a student kicking in walls.
So, I start pushing gently on the corners of each panel, starting again from the left. The first four don’t budge, but undeterred, I keep trying the others.
It’s the ninth one that clicks.
I suck in a sharp breath when the upper right corner presses down, and I’m able to swing open the entire panel.
Omigod omigod omigod.
My heart pounds with the strength of Pegasus wings, and I’m feeling just as high and mythical. What have I found?
Fingers shaking now, I pull the panel all the way to the side and peer in, but my nose hits something hard almost immediately.
Cursing, I lean back, and take stock of a small, metal door with an electronic scanner in the center.
“Dang,” I mutter, disappointment crashing my new wings down to Earth.
For shits and giggles, I use my room card, but of course, get a low beep and a flashing red light indicating WRONG.
Then … I remember.
I have Chase’s card. I was going to use it to search his room but had put that on the back burner.
His key sits in my bag, hidden in my wallet for safekeeping.
What’s the harm in trying it? I’ve made it this far.
And so, I fish out my wallet from my bag, find Chase’s key, and press it against the scanner.
GREEN.
The door unlocks, pushing itself ajar.
“Holy. Shit.”
I straighten, glancing around to see if anyone’s snuck up on me, but I’m alone, crouched in front of a hidden door that I absolutely must explore.
Every fiber making up my brain tells me so.
Fumbling for my phone, I turn on the flashlight and slowly crawl in, my nose instantly assaulted by stale, briny air. The second metal door has opened inward, so I push against it until it hits the wall and I’m all the way inside.
Using the insignificant, white beam of my phone’s lens, I spot a small, stone staircase leading down, the flattened steps so limited, they’re the length of small squares.
Virtue (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 2) Page 18