Initiated

by Steffanie Holmes

  Even in sleep, I couldn’t escape the horror of this school and its secret.

  “I’m not okay,” I whispered. My nails dug into his arm. Quinn’s here. He feels so alive.

  “Me neither.”

  Quinn’s lips sought mine, hot and needy. This wasn’t anything like Quinn’s other kisses; this one was full of secret parts of himself he hid from the world. This was the Quinn buried down deep, the scared boy who just wanted to be held.

  The dead boy who wanted to live.

  We faced down our fears in each other’s arms. Quinn tried to force out the darkness in me, and I tried to swallow his pain.

  Quinn’s hand brushed across my breasts, his touch light, searching, but tinged with need. His finger brushed my nipple, which hardened under his touch.

  In the wall behind my head, I heard the faintest scritch-scritch. A warning.

  I froze.

  “Hazy?” Quinn’s voice was husky, breathless. He froze too, his muscles tensed.

  I scrambled out from under him. “Get out of this bed.”

  “As you wish.” Quinn wrapped his arm around my waist and threw me over his shoulder, sheets and all. “We’re out of bed.”

  “Quinn, you bastard, let me down.” I grabbed hold of the doorframe. He sighed dramatically, set me down, and adjusted the sheet in my hands so that his fingers brushed just above my breast, sending a flush of heat through my body…

  I shoved him out the door and slammed it behind me. My heart hammered in my chest. Fuck, that was close.

  I’d never heard the rats on these upper stories before, but it was just as well I did. Those tiny claws scratching against the wall had stopped me before I did something really stupid with Quinn.

  I scrambled around the bed, searching for the clothes I’d tossed aside last night. What’s the time? I’ll have to race downstairs to get some fresh clothes. I hope I’ll make it to breakfast before the dining hall closes… hang on, why can’t I find any of my clothes? This better not be another of Quinn’s jokes…

  …or a new torture…

  I imagined walking into the living room wearing just the sheet, Trey tearing it from my body while Quinn snapped a hundred photographs, which they plastered all over school with a horse’s face Photoshopped over my head. It’d be a good Photoshop job, too – Ayaz had a rare artistic talent.

  I never should have trusted them. My knees trembled. I slumped down in a chair in the corner, knocking over a stack of fresh clothing. My clothing. Someone had collected a fresh set of jeans, Dante’s old basketball tank, and fresh socks and underwear from my room. I ran my hand over the edge of my black bra, feeling a rush of heat at the idea that one of them had touched it.

  What is wrong with me?

  I pulled on the clothes and ran Trey’s hairbrush through my hair, trying to clear all the confused thoughts from my head. I wanted to trust the guys, because fuck knows I needed allies at this school if I was going to defeat a cosmic god. I wanted their kisses, their touch… earlier, in bed, I didn’t want Quinn to stop. But after everything they’d done to me last quarter, being close to them made me feel untethered, like I couldn’t even trust myself.

  And that wasn’t even taking into account I’d seen their graves last night, that they were walking ghosts or zombies or edimmu, and that there were three of them. Even if I wanted them – which I didn’t, it wasn’t possible – I couldn’t have them all. I had to choose, and how could I choose the best of three shitty options when they were all locked into a competition with me as the prize?

  Why did it have to be them? Why couldn’t I have feelings for Greg… well, not Greg, since he was gay, but Andre? Someone else? Anyone else? Why did I always fall for the worst possible guys?

  I am so screwed up.

  I walked into the living room to find the weirdest sight – Greg and Andre sitting on Trey’s enormous couch, elbowing each other with glee as they played some dungeon-crawling game on Trey’s Playstation. Ayaz pottered around the kitchen with an apron looped over his broad shoulders, cracking eggs into bowls, while Trey leaned against the wall, drinking orange juice like he was a judge at some orange-juice drinking competition as he surveyed the room with cool detachment.

  “This is awesome,” Greg held up his controller and grinned at Trey. “I can’t believe you still have this game. It’s like twenty years old.”

  Trey grunted.

  Andre’s eyes followed me as I headed to the kitchen. I could practically hear the cogs in his head turning. Greg may have believed my story about the monarchs, but I wasn’t sure Andre did.

  In the kitchen, I peered over Ayaz’s shoulder as he stirred eggs in a pan. He was shirtless under the apron, his skin glowing under the lights. Wow, he’s cut. My throat dried up and the tips of my fingers sizzled. I had to clamp my hands behind my back so I didn’t reach up and touch him.

  He might’ve kissed you in that cave to satisfy some sort of honor, but he’s sleeping with the headmistress. That is a) gross and b) untrustworthy. Even if he is cooking breakfast for you—

  An amazing smell hit my nostrils – eggs, peppers, tomatoes, a hint of chili. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s called menemen,” he said, adding a handful of chopped herbs to the pan. “My mother used to make this every weekend for brunch, with homemade bread, of course.”

  “It smells amazing.” I held up a plate so he could scoop out a generous helping. On the table was a stack of warm bread, some chopped vegetables, and a container of thick, creamy yogurt.

  “You made all this?”

  “Yes.” Ayaz didn’t look up from the pan. “Not all of it today. I made this batch of yogurt a few days ago.”

  “You know this school has a dining hall that serves three meals a day precisely so you rich kids can get used to being waited on hand and foot?” I lowered my voice. “You also know you’re supposed to be dead, right? Why do you need to eat?”

  “We don’t need to,” Ayaz said. “I just like it.”

  “Can you taste the food?”

  “Kind of.” He ran his finger along the rim of the pan and licked it. Heat pooled between my legs as I thought about those lips around a part of me. Ayaz picked up a plate and started dishing up some of the eggs. “I get the aroma and the faintest ghost of the taste on my tongue, but I never have the sensation of being full. I—”

  Ayaz snapped his mouth shut. He shoved the plate into my hands and turned back to the stove. Over his shoulder, I noticed Andre leaning over the counter, watching us with a thoughtful expression.

  “Ayaz made breakfast,” I held out a plate to him. “You want some?”

  Andre took the plate, but he kept staring at me, his eyes searching my face. How much did he hear?

  It doesn’t matter if he heard, he’s not going to guess the truth.

  Ayaz shoved a second plate into my hands without looking at me. Andre’s eyebrow lifted.

  “Ayaz was just telling me about his food allergies,” I said, spooning a generous dollop of yogurt on top of my breakfast.

  Andre just kept staring at me.

  “Is he dumb?” Trey came up behind us, grabbing the plate out of Andre’s hands. “He never talks.”

  I spun around to face Trey. “Don’t talk about Andre like he’s not here. He’s mute.”

  “Same thing.” Trey shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and sauntered off.

  I turned back to Andre, fuming on his behalf. He shrugged his shoulders and accepted another plate from Ayaz. Trey’s comment rolled off him because he’d heard it so many times throughout his whole life, and that was wrong.

  One way or another, I’m going to make these guys see Greg and Andre as people in their own right, I vowed. As if I didn’t already have enough impossible tasks to achieve this year.

  Quinn walked out of Trey’s bathroom, a towel wrapped around his torso. I noticed Greg’s eyes following him across the room. Quinn leaned across the counter, plucking a cherry tomato out of a bowl and pushing it between his
lips. I bent my head to my breakfast, trying not to think about Quinn’s lips on mine only a few minutes ago. There’s far too much naked testosterone in this kitchen. “So, what are our plans for the day?”

  Today was Saturday, the first official day of the end-of-quarter break. We had a week off school before second quarter started. Somehow I didn’t think I’d be getting much of a vacation.

  “If we’re throwing ideas around, I’d love to stay here and keep playing this game,” Greg piped up.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll play with you.” Quinn flopped down on the sofa and grabbed the second controller.

  “Hazel and I need to do some studying,” Ayaz said, throwing extra chili on his breakfast. “We’ve got that very important project we need to start on.” He meant, of course, finding a way to defeat the god.

  “Your history project?” Greg asked. “I thought you were already halfway done with that.”

  “No, this is something else,” I said quickly. “And we should probably get started, so—”

  “No, you don’t,” Trey said. “I need to study with Hazel.”

  The two of them stared each other down. Finally, Ayaz stepped back. “Fine. But I get her when you’re done.”

  “If there’s anything left of me by then,” I muttered. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was spend a single second longer with Trey Bloomberg. He confused me way too much as it was. “What do we have to work on, anyway? We’re only in two classes together and we don’t have any assignments—”

  “You asked for my help for physics,” Trey nodded at me. “Well, I’m offering my assistance, but that offer is only good for today. Get your stuff. I want to get to the library before someone takes my table.”

  As if anyone would dare to sit at the monarchs’ favorite table – the one under the giant cathedral window overlooking the athletic fields. I searched Trey’s face for some inkling of what this was about – I was kicking his ass in physics class, and he knew it, so this wasn’t about studying – but he was impossible to read. “Let me finish my breakfast first,” I shoveled another forkful in my mouth. “We’ll have to go to my room for my books.”

  “No need.” Trey practically shoved me out the door. Heads turned in the dormitory hall as we made our way down the marble staircase and across the atrium. Whispers followed me as I trailed behind Trey. I caught snatches of the familiar ‘gutter whore,’ but no one was brave enough to yell anything around Trey.

  In the library, every table was empty except for the one under the window. A group of freshman had spread out their books and were laughing and swapping snacks they’d nicked from the dining hall. Trey glared at them and nodded toward the doors. “Go.”

  The entire table scrambled to collect their books and bags. They fled for the exit with such haste that one of them left behind their slice of brownie.

  Trey picked up the slice and took a bite, somehow avoiding getting any crumbs on his pristine clothing. We sat down on opposite sides of his table. He pulled his physics book out of his bag and flipped it open.

  “Are we really going to sit here and study?” I demanded. “Because this is ridiculous.”

  Trey slid the brownie across the table to me. “Take it. Unlike Ayaz, I’ve no interest in food.”

  I shoved it aside. “Why are we here? I should be with Ayaz, trying to figure out how to get your life back.”

  Trey steepled his fingers. “I’m trying to prepare you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For being a monarch. You’re wearing the Elder Sign now. That means you're under my protection, but only as far as everyone agrees that it does. I'm the King of this school, and what I say is law. But hatred for you runs deep… deep enough that my word might not be enough, not unless they believe that you’re one of us. And that starts by being seen with me.”

  “That’s stupid. And not necessary. I made a pact—”

  “The only agreement you’ve made is that you and the other two charity cases make it to the end of the year alive. Anything else is fair game. For someone so clever, you’re shit at making deals. Technically, they wouldn’t be in violation of the agreement if they cut off all your limbs. Don’t think the headmistress won’t consider it. She’s quite creative.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. A cold fear shuddered down my spine. “Is she going to cut off my limbs?”

  “She might,” Trey shrugged. “If she thought it would give her an answer. I don’t think she’ll touch you until she understands why your pain hurts the god, but she’s not the one you have to worry about now.”

  “You mean Courtney? You said she was going to do something to me last night. That’s why Ayaz came to my room.”

  Trey’s jaw tightened. “Courtney has a new boyfriend.”

  “What’s that got to do with—”

  “His name is John Hyde-Jones.”

  “I know him.” John was a hulking guy with a thick neck in my Ancient History class. He sat in the back with the monarchs, making lewd remarks about the Greco-Roman mosaics in his textbook and slapping every girl’s ass who walked by his desk. He had an intellect to rival a gardening hose, but his father was a senator and he exuded an aura of danger. I always gave him a wide berth.

  John + Courtney = a match made in hell.

  “Courtney gave John your room key. He and a couple of his buddies were going to wait until you were asleep and—” Trey shook his head. His eyes flashed with danger, but this time I didn’t think it was directed at me.

  I didn’t need him to fill in the words. A cold fist curled around my heart. I stared down at the desk, unfolding my arms and letting my hands flop against the wood. My fingers curled over to touch the scar on my wrist, peeling off the dressing on my new tattoo – the ink that was supposed to protect me but might’ve put me in the firing line.

  Neither of us spoke for what felt like forever. Trey’s unspoken words hung in the air between us.

  No one would have heard me scream. No one would have helped me.

  I forced my mind back from the precipice – I was already dealing with too much horror, I didn’t need to imagine what would have happened if Ayaz hadn’t come for me first.

  Finally, I raised my head and met Trey’s icicle eyes with my defiant ones. You may have tried to break me, Courtney Haynes, but I have more allies than you know. “They hate me that much?”

  “You’ve been systematically tearing this school and all its institutions apart ever since you arrived. Of course they hate you. They’re not used to a gutter whore having a voice. They want to silence you, Hazel.” Trey flipped a page in his textbook. “That’s why you shouldn’t go back to your room until we can get the lock changed.”

  “But the teachers… were they in on this, too?”

  Trey shook his head. “When the guys found your room empty, Courtney alerted the headmistress. Ms. West thought you were making a run for it, so she had everyone out looking for you. It would be much harder to find you if you left the boundaries of the school, since none of us can cross the sigils on the barrier. It’s like butting up against a brick wall. But a scholarship student could, and an escaped student would threaten the entire system – that’s why they only choose orphans, so no one will come looking for them and they have nowhere to run to. If you’d got in that boat, you’d be safe in Arkham by now, telling your story to a police officer who thinks you’re high.”

  “And Greg and Andre would be doomed.”

  Trey shrugged. “We’re all doomed.”

  My fingers slid from the burn across to the tattoo, shooting a jolt of pain down my arm that also caused a fire to flicker in my head as the god felt it, too. Interesting that I now seem to be able to sense the god’s pain as well as my own. “Tell me about the fire,” I whispered.

  “Quid pro quo, Hazy,” Trey flashed me a smile that was completely devoid of mirth. “I show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want
to know about the fire that killed your mother.”

  No.

  “You already know everything,” I hissed. “You read about it in my file.”

  “Not everything. I don’t know how you got that scar you keep touching.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as heat flared in my hands. The scar glowed so hot I tore my finger away. When I opened my eyes again, the corner of Trey’s textbook had caught on fire. He yelped in surprise and smothered the flame with his sleeve.

  I shoved out my chair and stood up, my whole body shaking. “This study session is over.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m ready,” I said to Ayaz, rolling up my sleeves. “Show me the book.”

  It was Sunday, the day of rest. Only I would never rest again. Yesterday, after I left Trey in the library, he remained there for the rest of the day. I went back to his room and played Playstation with Greg and Andre and Quinn in an effort to avoid having to talk about Trey’s book’s spontaneous combustion. Ayaz baked lahmacun (flatbread spread with minced beef, salad, and lemon juice) and set out homemade baba ganoush and tzatziki that tasted divine.

  It felt weird to act like a proper teenager for once, hanging out and eating snacks and trash-talking each other, even if it was on a sofa which probably cost more than my mother ever earned in a year while eating food from a country I’d never be able to visit.

  Today, the charade was over, for me at least. Greg and Andre were playing air hockey in Quinn’s room – they must’ve made an impression on him, since he’d allowed them free rein in his man cave for the week. Trey and Quinn left for ‘break’ – in order to keep up appearances for the scholarship students that everything was fine and dandy, most of the Miskatonic students needed to pretend to be off on ski vacations or in Paris with their families. In reality, they were shepherded into a series of luxury cabins deeper in the woods, where a week-long party raged.