Ayaz grinned. “I wish. We should make this underwear dance mandatory. Especially now you’re in the club.”
I glared at him. He shrugged. “Sorry. Sometimes my inner Quinn comes out when it’s least appropriate.”
“I resent that,” Quinn quipped, leaving Andre slumped at the table. He leaned over the counter and brushed a finger against my collarbone, smudging a line of mud across my chest. I slapped his hand away before he got too close to my breast. “I’m the height of propriety.”
“Uh-huh.” Wearing gloves, Ayaz filled the reservoir with black ink, unwrapped a liner needle from its case and slotted it into a disposable plastic tube, and then attached the tube to the armature bar. I’d seen Dante do this a hundred times, but it felt strange to see someone else do it, as though Ayaz had stolen something from my memories. “This is ready.”
I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it into the counter. Pain spread across my knuckles. I don’t want this. My first tattoo was supposed to be from Dante. It was going to be one of his beautiful drawings, not some hideous stick symbol of an ancient god.
But Dante was gone. All I had right now was this school and these guys. These three dead bullies who made my heart ache and my body flare with heat.
Why they wanted to protect me after they have done everything they could to destroy me… we hadn’t fully established that bit yet. But I’d just made a deal with a malevolent god. I needed all the protection I could get.
I sighed. “Fine. But only if Greg and Andre get them, too.”
Andre’s eyes widened. Trey and Ayaz exchanged a glance – one of those unspoken conversations that often occurred between them. Ayaz must have won because Trey threw up his hands and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Ayaz sighed. He flicked the switch on the power unit. A loud buzzing filled the room. A deep furrow appeared between Ayaz’s eyes as he pulled my arm across the counter toward him and rolled up my sleeve.
“Don’t you need a stencil?”
“This isn’t a work of art,” Ayaz pointed out, pressing the needle against my flesh.
There was a stray cat that hung out around the tattoo parlor where Dante interned. It would crawl into my lap while I sat in the corner and read, purring like mad. If I ever tried to touch it, it lashed out with sharp claws, tearing chunks out of my skin. The tattoo felt like that – a sharp, tearing sensation. As the needle broke my skin, something dark reared up inside my head, pressing hatred against my skull. The god, lashing out as it felt my pain.
Take that, you fucker.
When it was done, Ayaz wiped the blood away and taped a clear dressing over it. I stared at the design. I hated it. It made me look like a white supremacist, which hit a little too close to home, given the gross racial discrepancies at this school.
“Do Greg next,” I said, tapping the edge of the dressing, my fingers itching to touch it.
Ayaz shook his head. “He’s asleep.”
“I’ll wake him up.”
Ayaz glanced toward Trey’s door. “I don’t know… he did just had an encounter with the god. His mind might not be up to this…”
“If I’m in the club, then so are Greg and Andre. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee their protection. Ms. West may have agreed they can leave this school, but that doesn’t mean Courtney and her cronies won’t keep up their torture, will it?”
From the way Ayaz’s lip curled, I knew I was right. I shoved the last mouthful of Trey’s stew into my mouth and heaved my body off the chair. Just walking across the room made me wobble. I desperately needed sleep. But I had friends to look after first.
I slumped down beside Greg and poked him in the shoulder.
“Greg, Greg… wake up.”
Nothing. Greg’s glassy eyes stared, unblinking. He felt so cold, so clammy. I threaded my fingers in his, casting around for something that would draw him out of the darkness. “Greg, come on… Andrew Lloyd Webber is doing another reality TV show, and they’re casting for young voices for the role of Raoul de Chagny.”
Greg’s eyes flew open. Gotcha. “Hazel… where am I?”
He’s awake.
Overcome with relief, I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. Greg’s eyes widened as he took in the enormous room, the TV that took up an entire wall, the kitchen suite and the cathedral windows overlooking the quad. Behind him, Andre leaned against the door frame, looking completely unimpressed.
“Where… where am I?” Greg whispered again, rubbing his palm against his temple. “Why do I feel like I have a brick inside my head?”
“Do you remember anything?” I squeezed his hand.
“I was walking to the bathroom when… someone hit me from behind…” Greg winced as he touched the back of his head. “I must have passed out because I had these horrible nightmares, the most vivid nightmares about a cavern and a cult and an imprisoned demon that ate stars… but they can’t be real…”
If only you knew the half of it, I thought but didn’t say. I was forbidden from telling Greg anything about the creature. It was better he believed that was only a nightmare. “You’re safe now. Do you feel okay? We were worried you might have hit your head so hard that you…”
…that you were turned mad by the very presence of that god.
“Apart from a killer headache, I’ll be fine, I—I think. What’s going on?” Greg pulled a strand of hair back from my face. “Honey, you look like shit. Your clothes are ripped and you’ve covered in mud.”
“It’s a long, long story,” I whispered. “Let’s just say that things have changed around here.”
“I’ll say. Where are we? Do you have a new wealthy benefactor you’ve been holding out on us?”
“Unlikely. We’re in Trey’s dorm room.”
Greg scrambled up, his eyes wide. I grabbed his hand, squeezing tight. “It’s okay. He’s on our side. Sort of.”
“What…” Greg spied Ayaz on the other side of the room, the machine buzzing as he formed the tattoo on Andre’s skin.
“Motherfucker,” he swore. “Look what those bastards are doing to Andre.”
“It’s for his own good.” I showed him mine. “You’re getting one next.”
“You…” Greg’s face screwed up in confusion.
I tightened my grip on his fingers. “Courtney and the other monarchs nearly killed you tonight. They have this secret club with their parents, you see – the Eldritch Club. It’s like one of those collegiate secret societies where rich bastards dance around in their underwear and make secret deals and outrageous bets. They have it in for you because you’re my friend and I’ve pissed them off. So they knocked you out and left you in this ancient cave on the school grounds. They just left you there. You could have died from the cold or starvation if I hadn’t found you.”
I knew from experience that a lie that was as close to the truth was easier to maintain.
Greg glanced at the dried dirt on his arm. “Is this why I smell like a slaughterhouse?”
I nodded. “Trey and Quinn and Ayaz found me and told me what happened. We located you and carried you back here. You’re so cold. I think if you’d been out there much longer…”
My breath caught. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened to Greg if I hadn’t been there to deal for his life.
“I don’t know that I am okay,” Greg rubbed his head. “I feel all foggy, like something’s been picking around inside my skull. I should see the nurse.”
I pushed him back against the couch. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“How much do you trust me?”
Greg winced again as his head knocked against the sofa arm. “Considering you’re one of my only friends in this place, a whole hell of a lot.”
“Then trust me on this – you don’t want the nurse. The faculty… they’re not in this club, but they’re controlled by it. They do its bidding. I don’t know if that includes Old Waldron, but we can’t take the chance. You know some weird ass sh
it is going down in this school, right? Like, Loretta coming back all strange and being moved upstairs?”
Greg nodded.
“Tonight, I found out what all that shit’s about.” I thought fast, trying to concoct a lie that was close to the truth without breaking my oath. “The rich bastards who run this school deliberately choose scholarship students who are orphans. It’s a centuries-old tradition, where the alumni pretend they’re doing this big favor, pulling all these smart kids out of the gutter and giving them a better chance at life, when really it’s about finding four new victims for the Eldritch Club members to bully.”
Greg’s eyes widened.
“It’s sick, right? Scholarship students have even died and… and…” I tried to say and they’re buried in the cemetery down the back of the school, but my tongue wouldn’t form the words. It froze in my mouth like a piece of dead meat.
It must be some part of my pact with the god, some spell preventing me from breaking our vow. I hope Ms. West has bound herself by the same strict criteria.
“And?” Greg pressed.
“…and other bad stuff,” I finished off. “The senior members of the Eldritch Club – like Vincent Bloomberg – run the world, and they believe they can do anything they like to people like us and there are no consequences.”
“This is some Handmaid’s Tale level chaos,” Greg said, rubbing his eyes.
“Tell me about it,” I said darkly. I hated lying to Greg. Hated it. But the truth was so much worse than the lie I’d told him, and if I had the chance to save his life and give him a future, I would take it. “The guys have agreed to give us this Eldritch Sign—”
“—Elder Sign—” Ayaz corrected, not looking up from his work.
“—whatever. It’s their symbol. It says we’re under their protection and the other students can’t touch us. Which is good, because apparently they were planning some next level shit for all of us this quarter.”
“Do I have to get it tattooed?” Greg whined.
“Quit being a baby. You can get it removed when you’re a rich Broadway director.” I yanked his arm out straight. “Be a good boy and hold still for Ayaz.”
Ayaz changed the needle and tube and came over. Greg kept his eyes closed the whole time. When Ayaz finished, Greg let out a long breath. His face was deathly pale as he settled back into the sofa.
“Don’t scratch it.” I slapped his hand away from his wrist. “You need to sleep.”
“You really believe them?” Greg glanced over at Quinn and Ayaz. Quinn slouched in an overstuffed leather chair, rummaging through Trey’s liquor cabinet. Ayaz packed up the tattoo machine, placing each instrument carefully back into the box. “They’re the bullies.”
I sighed. “It’s complicated. I believe them. I’ve seen too much tonight with my own eyes not to believe them. But I don’t trust them. I don’t think I can ever trust them.”
Andre climbed on the sofa and slumped next to Greg, digging around in his pocket for his pad and pen. Andre scribbled a note and passed it to me.
“They like you,” it read.
I rubbed my lower lip. My skin still buzzed where all three guys had kissed me. I’d never even had a boyfriend before, and tonight I kissed three dead monarchs.
But why? Quinn I understood – sex was his protective shield. He flirted and fucked because it was better than facing his bitter reality. But Ayaz ran so hot and cold, his mind and heart so closed off, that I couldn’t even believe his kiss was real.
And Trey… Trey hated me from the moment I arrived at Derleth Academy. He may have been made into this monster, but he embraced his role as the King of Kings. The kiss in the locker room I could understand… he’d just faced down his father and so desperately wanted comfort, but he was too proud and too mean to ask. It was a moment of weakness and I was the closest victim.
But tonight? What was that about?
They like fucking with me, I wrote, handing the note back. Andre gave me a sly smile as he tucked the pad away.
The clock on the oven read 3:14AM. I could barely keep my eyes open. Quinn went into Trey’s room and a moment later returned, dragging a very naked Trey by the ear.
“Ow. What gives?” Trey complained.
“Hazy gets the bed. We all agreed. Look at her, dude. She needs sleep.”
“It’s my bed,” Trey roared. “She’s got her own, downstairs, with the rats.”
“And she’s not going anywhere near it tonight, not before we’ve dealt with the student body. The two charity cases can sleep on the sofa. You and I are staying awake,” Quinn said.
“It’s fine,” I said, my eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I’ll just stay here with Greg and Andre. Trey doesn’t need to give up his bed—”
Ayaz already had his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. I was too weak to argue. He dumped me unceremoniously on the bed. The door pulled shut behind me, leaving me all alone in Trey’s bedroom.
Trey’s bedroom.
I slid off the bed, exhausted but eager to peek into this private side of Trey and maybe understand him better. But there wasn’t really much to see. An enormous bed mussed up from where he’d been lying only moments ago. A stack of books on the nightstand. A poster of the lacrosse team and some awards and trophies stacked in a glass cabinet along one wall.
I paused in front of the trophies, reading a few of the titles. Player of the Year. Class President. Captain of the Debate Team. All carrying the crest of Miskatonic Prep. All from twenty years ago. Beside them, a row of ribbons with Derleth’s crest, naming him Valedictorian for every subsequent year. Trey had been king of this school in every way, holding on to his crown with an iron fist.
Does he ever get tired of it? Does he ever wonder what’s the point?
Curious now, I flicked through the stack of books. Wuthering Heights, a history textbook, some horror novel called At The Mountains of Madness. In the top drawer of the bedside cabinet I found a mess of condoms, chocolate wrappers, and a college prospectus with dog-eared corners.
I picked up the prospectus and opened it across my knees.
All the faces had been scribbled out in angry red pen. Words scrawled across the page in violent script.
NO FUTURE. NO HOPE. NO TOMORROW.
I ran my hand over the page, feeling the bumps in the paper where he’d pressed the pen so hard he’d scored right through. On that single page, I saw more of the real Trey Bloomberg than I’d seen all quarter.
Imagine being stuck in senior year for two decades.
Trey Bloomberg was rich, beautiful, clever, well-connected. He had everything going for him.
Everything except for a future.
The prospectus weighed heavy in my hands. I replaced it and shoved the drawer shut, wishing I hadn’t snooped. I rubbed my hands together. Bits of dried mud flaked off and fell on the pristine cream carpet. My knee and wrist throbbed with pain. Even though I was struggling to keep my eyes open, I needed to clean up before I crawled between the sheets.
I let myself into Trey’s ensuite – all white marble and black chrome – and turned on the shower. Multiple heads pummeled my body with hot water while I lathered up with Trey’s expensive shampoos, washing away the mud and cold of the caves. But not even fancy-ass bath products could slough away the crawling chaos of the horrors the deity had visited upon my mind.
After I’d showered and dried myself with three of the fluffiest towels ever unleashed upon the world, I lay down in the bed, setting the shard of glass on the corner of the bedside table. I pulled the covers up to my head. Trey’s scent wafted up from the sheets – spring herbs, wild-blossoms, fragrant cypress wood – light and airy and calm.
I closed my eyes, hoping the blissful oblivion of sleep in a non rat-infested room would soon overtake me. Instead, the deity sought me on the edges of my dreams, calling me back to the cavern. Every time I felt myself slipping under, its visions crept through my skull, and my eyes flew open again.
It was a
s if that thing was made of hatred, as if its very constituent parts were the prejudice and rage and thirst for power it had extracted from those it consumed. I wondered what it would extract from me, what power it would draw from my own innermost thoughts.
Or would the things I’d done be too dark even for it to stomach?
Chapter Six
“Rise and shine, Hazy.”
I opened one eye. A disembodied head bobbed on the opposite wall, sandy hair sticking out in all directions and wearing Quinn’s signature smirk. Pain and fire tore through my skull.
The deity beheaded Quinn! It’s possessed his skull and sent it to torment me.
I scrambled up the bed, grabbing for my shard. My feet tangled in the sheets as I tried to escape.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll fuck you up!” I yelled, holding the shard over my wrist, just over the Elder Sign tattoo.
“Hazy, Hazy… it’s just me.” The severed head pushed the door wider, revealing his whole body. His very taut, very naked and tatted body.
My mouth fell open, and my tongue dried on my throat. My arm trembled as I struggled to hold it out. This isn’t how this dream usually goes…
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Quinn flopped down on the bed, his muscled ass pointing to the sky as he took the shard from my hand and set it back on the bedside table. He clasped my hand in his. He felt warm, alive. But I knew that was a lie.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I’m not sure I’ve slept at all. I’ve been having these horrible nightmares…”
“I know. You were screaming in your sleep,” Quinn whispered. “Trey said not to disturb you, that at least you were sleeping. But I couldn’t take it anymore. I came to see if you were okay.”
The dreams flooded back to me – mere snatches of my nightmares that each held unimaginable terror. A black, slimy mass covered in eyes and mouths, a towering giant woman with branches made of flesh protruding from her body, a subterranean city made of shimmering stone and built atop the body of a slumbering god, a eyeless tortoise with a triangular head and two whip-like tails that lumbered across the earth devouring everything in its path, Quinn with his limbs torn off by monstrous tentacles, Ayaz absorbed into a towering pillar of amorphous alien flesh, Trey and Greg and Andre turned to flesh-eating zombies by a red vapor, Dante’s fingers trailing over a naked breast, my mother’s face in the window as the fire tore through the building. Flames consuming the cosmos.
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