Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1)

by Ketley Allison

  “You didn’t let me finish,” I say, wrestling against his tight grip. The pulse at the base of my neck pounds. “I managed to define that anger into seeking justice. I’m determined to meet her killer before I die.”

  Chase’s fingers loosen on my cheeks, but his grim stare keeps its focus.

  “It hasn’t made it easier,” I continue. “My anger just means I have all this love for a person no longer here, with nowhere for that love to go.”

  Chase lifts his upper lip, but it’s not a sneer. It’s an indicator of the inner battle he’s waging upon himself.

  Chase leans in. “Don’t take me for a drunken fool. I’ve recognized my anger, too. I know where it needs to go. What if I told you I don’t think Piper’s fall was an accident or that she jumped?”

  My surprised inhale causes a sharp whistle between my scrunched cheeks. For the briefest of moments, Chase's attention strays to my lips. It stays there, his penetrating gaze seeming to plump my sensitive skin all on its own. His tongue strokes across his lower lip, as if in thought, before he releases me abruptly, twists back to the lake, and tips his beer back until he finishes the whole bottle.

  “Neither do I,” I whisper.

  Chase stills with the rim to his lips.

  “I’ve had a bad feeling ever since I was told she died,” I admit.

  Chase whips his head around. “Why?”

  The question is sharp and accusatory, giving life to the dull-eyed stare he aims my way.

  “You have every reason to hate Piper,” he continues.

  “And what about you?” I dare to ask. My heart leaps into my throat, conscious of prodding the devil with his own pitchfork. “Why would you want her gone?”

  Instead of the reddened fury I expect, Chase chuckles as he stares at the water. “Sweet possum, I did not hurt one of the few genuine friends I have in this school, I promise you that.”

  The way he says my deplorable nickname, prefacing it with a sugared compliment, shouldn’t have me wanting to savor it, but it does.

  I say, adding flint to my voice, “I have a passion for the truth. I’ll always search for it.”

  “That’s fucking fairy-tale thinking,” he mutters, then lifts his legs and swings them onto the dock.

  As he rises, Chase offers me his hand. I hesitate at the unexpected chivalry.

  Chase crooks his fingers. “Chill. I’m not about to toss you into the lake.”

  The sarcasm doesn’t ring true, and Chase's expression crumbles for the barest of seconds at his comparison of a body and water so soon after hearing about Piper.

  It gives me faith that he’s more human than demon, even in his own kingdom.

  I fold my hand into his own, and he pulls me up with graceful ease, the strength of his rower’s arms obvious with how weightless I become in his one-handed pull.

  It’s enough strength to fling a girl over a cliff’s edge.

  I’m appalled at the thought. Two hours ago, Detective Haskins all but concluded Piper jumped or fell. And what, all it takes to flip the switch is Chase’s unbacked but passionate theory to make me question it? I’m better than that. I come from cop stock.

  But, my subconscious whispers, no one’s explained Piper’s reason to want to die.

  Piper isn’t someone I got to know well, and her expressions and attitude were merciless and mocking. But the vibrancy with which she directed her malice forces me to admit that above all else, she was alive and determined to leave her mark on whoever crossed her path.

  That is not the attitude of a person who wants to die.

  Was she drunk enough to fall? Piper’s familiar with Lover’s Leap. She’d know where the edge was, even while sauced. Wouldn’t she? And would she really wait for the party to end to linger near a cliff face?

  The answer to my question clicks into place twelve hours too late. I gasp.

  “You coming?” Chase asks.

  His glowering form has moved closer to the boathouse. During my space-out, he also rolled down the legs of his pants and pulled his shoes on.

  “Piper died the same night as Rose Briar. September tenth,” I blurt.

  Chase goes quiet. He licks his lips. Then, he asks, “And that’s supposed to be relevant to me how?”

  “Whose idea was it to hang out at Lover’s Leap last night?”

  His stare narrows. “Piper’s. Why?”

  I spur forward. “She was was hyper-focused on our history project. Piper fell in love with Rose’s story. I just … the timing doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “We’re always at the cliffs, so her idea to go there last night isn’t a new one. But, Briarcliff history is a fucked up one, that much is true.”

  “Why do people keep saying that, but don’t give examples? Rose’s husband, this Thorne guy, he and his brothers founded the school. That part, at least, seems innocent enough.”

  Chase says nothing, choosing to regard me in that eerie, unmoving way of his instead.

  I notch my chin up. “I’m going to look into it. With or without your support.”

  Chase's lashes twitch, but he keeps his tone bland when he responds. “Do whatever you want.”

  Despite all the beers, Chase’s gait is steady when he turns. He stalks down the dock, and I follow a few steps behind. When he halts at the base of the path to the academy, I slow my pace.

  “Tell me what you find,” he says without looking back.

  I don’t respond, since I doubt it’s a question, and when he resumes walking, I do, too. But I stop short of catching up to him. Whatever shaky alliance this is, it’s bound to crumble as easily as the soil beneath Chase’s shoes.

  25

  With assembly over, some students go to class while others take the opportunity to skip afternoon subjects in order to “grieve.”

  Their reasoning is dubious, since the halls I pass through are cluttered with students whispering about taking off to go to the emptiest vacation home. As soon as they catch sight of me, though, hands get tighter around mouths, and lips get closer to another’s ear.

  I’m antsy at the silent, targeted attention, but try to walk it off and focus on my classes. It kind of makes me sad, the way Piper’s death is being used as an excuse to gossip or get drunk, and I think maybe she wasn’t as revered by her pupils as I’d initially thought. When I pass by Falyn and Willow with their heads together in discussion, my pity is confirmed. Falyn’s vouching that her parents are still in Boston and her lake house is free.

  “What are you looking at, rodent?” Falyn sniffs.

  I jolt, realizing I must’ve paused in the school hallway to hear what they were saying.

  “Nothing interesting,” I say, then decide to throw them a bone as I resume walking. “I’m sorry about Piper.”

  “Sure you are.” Willow twirls a curly strand of reddish hair around her finger as I pass.

  I slow to a halt at the implication in her tone.

  “Judge us all you want,” Willow continues. “We’re holding a vigil for our best friend at Falyn’s lake house.”

  “That’s … great,” I say. “But why do you feel you need to explain yourself to me?”

  Falyn laughs, but her eyes are puffed and swollen from crying. “Maybe we’re studying your reaction, Callie.”

  My brows come down. “What?”

  “You don’t seem upset,” Willow says. “Your roommate died, Callie, and you’re skipping through these halls like it’s just a regular day.”

  “I’m not.” I’d love to argue further, but I tamp down the impulse to defend my case. I shouldn’t need to convince these witches of anything.

  “Did you ever consider that maybe the whole school’s talking about you because we think you did it?” Falyn asks, her eyes, so pale they’re almost gray, are calculating and cruel.

  I cough out a laugh, but even to me, it sounds tight and anxious. “Then why not tell the detective what Piper said to me? About all the ‘terrible’ things I did to her?”

  Falyn’s lips twist
. Willow sucks in a breath but keeps her cool. Both won’t stop glaring at me.

  “Maybe,” Falyn mumbles, “we weren’t given a choice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  Willow pipes up. “It means, watch your back. You’re protected until you aren’t anymore.”

  I cover up my unease by turning my back on them in an attempt to find the nearest classroom.

  Something pulls at my shoulder, and when I’m spun around, Willow’s freckled, angry face looms near.

  “Piper was fine before you moved in,” Willow hisses. “But then you come along, and now she’s dead—”

  “Stop with the accusations!” I wrest out of her hold. “I never did anything to her. Ever. If you wanted to fuck me over, you should’ve just told the detective the truth. But you didn’t, so don’t come after me now.”

  “Yeah, well, have fun with that while it lasts,” Falyn says as she comes up behind Willow. “Because we’re all against you. We’re positive Piper would be alive if it weren’t for you. Whether she did it herself, or you pushed her!”

  Falyn’s yell bounces off the walls. Students slow at her words, and stares that were curious before narrow with conviction.

  She did it, I hear someone whisper.

  It totally makes sense, another mutters. Thirsty as fuck.

  Isn’t jealousy, like, the number one reason why people kill?

  My lips tighten over my teeth, but I peel them back to counter, “Your lies are so much easier to swallow, aren’t they? Since the truth is, you left your friend alone to die.”

  The accusation sits bitter on my tongue and I’m so disappointed in myself for stooping to their level, but it’s much too late to take back.

  Falyn’s face trembles in outrage.

  She breathes out enough to hiss, “You bring up such a good point, possum. Maybe the police should hear all about what you did to her.”

  “Falyn, don’t,” Willow says, “We’re not supposed to…”

  I don’t hear their further conversation, because I’ve widened the space between us and stride down the hallway, their voices nothing but beetles hissing in my ear.

  I’m desperate to get as far away from Piper’s friends as possible and reach my destination in record time. I enter the classroom, and Dr. Luke lifts his head in surprise.

  “Callie,” he says. “I didn’t expect you here today.”

  “I, uh, wasn’t sure if my detention still stood,” I say, and lower myself into a seat.

  My attention strays to the seat Piper occupied during our punishment, and a concrete heaviness weighs against my heart. It’s not grief, but … she’ll never sit there again.

  “I wouldn’t have held it against you if you didn’t show,” Dr. Luke says kindly. “In fact, I’ll nullify the rest of your detentions. Consider your punishment stayed because of the circumstances.”

  Dr. Luke leans back in his seat, arms folded as if he expects me to stand and sprint from the classroom, lightened by a lifted sentence.

  “If it’s okay with you,” I say without moving, “I’d like to stay here.”

  I pull out my textbooks before Dr. Luke can respond. I’d rather catch up on homework or read ahead for classes than deal with any additional hallway confrontations. The stares and accusations will grow, and the last thing I want is to run into Chase in that kind of crowd.

  “Well,” Dr. Luke says, and when he sees me pull out my history text, his eyes soften around the edges. “You don’t have to worry about that project. I can assign you something else or put you in with another group.”

  “Actually…” I splay my hand across the text. “I’d like to keep writing the paper.”

  “On Rose Briar? Can you handle her?”

  I glance from the pages to him. “I can. I’d like to understand Rose.” And maybe I can also understand Piper is a statement left unsaid between us, but Dr. Luke isn’t so out of touch that he can’t decipher my motive.

  “Well,” Dr. Luke says after a beat, “I never want to tear students away from an assignment they’re passionate about, but given the circumstances, if it becomes too much, or you no longer feel comfortable with the subject matter, you let me know, okay? We’ll figure something out. I hear Edward Briar is a maniac.”

  My lips twitch in a smile. “Isn’t he the grandfather who lived a full, uncontroversial life before dying of consumption in his seventies?”

  Dr. Luke’s eyes crinkle. “Yes. Dusty as a chalkboard, that one. But like I said, if you’d prefer to pivot and do a piece on him, you have my permission to go full throttle. Got it?”

  Nodding, I open my laptop, and soon, the sounds of my fingers hitting my keyboard are the only noises between us.

  I spend the afternoon with my head down, studying hard, and avoiding the catcalls and heckling still going on in my head. What I also hear, though, is my conscience asking why I decided to stay at Briarcliff, when breaking into my Dad and Lynda’s empty Manhattan home and living there while they get high on sugar from virgin daiquiris seems like way more of an accomplishment.

  Because, I reason, I’d be more alone there than I am here.

  It’s with that crushing thought that I say goodbye to Dr. Luke and plod to Thorne House.

  I key into my apartment, staring at the floor as I wander in. A noise sounds out in the direction of Piper’s room, and I look up, then drop my bag.

  My heart forgets to beat when I see Piper, digging through her drawers.

  26

  The coffee mug rack clatters when I stumble into the kitchenette’s counter.

  “P-Piper?” I stutter.

  The girl turns, and as soon as she does, I note the differences. This girl has a pointier chin and angular cheekbones on a thinner face. But she has the same stormy blue eyes and long, brunette hair held away from her face with a fabric headband.

  “Jesus.” I bowl over while holding a hand to my heart. “You’re not Piper.”

  “No.” The girl sniffs and slowly withdraws from Piper’s room. “I’m Addisyn. Her sister.”

  I vaguely recall mention of Piper’s younger sister when I moved here. Something to do with the furniture-stealing and the initiation of every wrong thing that’s happened to me since. “Oh, yeah. Addy.”

  “Only my friends call me that,” she says, but it’s not said with any venom. She seems tired. Sallow and deflated. “My parents will be here soon to help pack up my sister’s things. I wanted to be here when they arrive.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, but with the way her gaze slides over me, I doubt she would’ve changed tactics if I’d said no.

  Someone pushes in from behind, clipping my shoulder. “Here, babe. I found some chamomile tea downstairs.”

  The boy Addy accepts tea from isn’t in Briarcliff uniform, but ripped jeans and a dirtied white tee instead. He gives me a brief study before laying a kiss on Addy’s lips and massaging her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Jack, but you’d better go,” Addy says as she cups the tea close to her chest. “I don’t want my parents catching you here.”

  “I get it.” Jack smooths Addy’s hair—though it’s as stylishly sleek and flat-ironed as Piper’s always was—and kisses it. “But I didn’t want to leave you without one final goodbye. Text me when it’s over, okay?”

  Addy nods and falls into Jack’s embrace before he releases her. He doesn’t give me any sort of acknowledgment before he leaves the apartment the way he came.

  As soon as he shuts the door, I turn to Addisyn. “Is that your boyfriend? He seems … nice.”

  Addisyn’s response is to cast her red-rimmed eyes over me before heading back into Piper’s room.

  “I’ll be in my room if you and your parents need any help,” I say, manners getting the best of me.

  Piper’s door shuts with a smart click.

  The idea of sitting nearby while all of Piper’s things are boxed up and transported to a place where a person doesn’t need them anymore doesn’t sit well.

 
While Addy is shut in Piper’s room, I grab the books I need and choose to wait out the packing in the library.

  I work in blessed silence among crisp books and the smell of hot-off-the-press paper—strangely fresh for what should be an old, stuffy library—for a few hours before the clocktower rings the dinner bell, but can’t summon up the motivation to dig into the history project I asked Dr. Luke to keep working on. The clue is in my finding calculus more interesting than a nineteenth-century soap opera: I’m scared of what I might find between the lines of Rose Briar’s death. It’s so similar to Piper’s in so many ways.

  Did heartbreak cause Piper to jump, too? Or was she pushed?

  Was Rose pushed?

  At the bell, I go straight to dinner instead of dropping my bag off at my dorm. The feeling of being unwelcome in my own room is stronger than ever and won’t go away until Piper’s family finishes what they need to do.

  I’m so deep in thought, on Piper, on Rose Briar, that it never occurs to me to avoid the dining hall, too. I push through the doors with my head down and beeline to the serving station, raising my chin enough to notice that today is pasta day.

  I choose Alfredo this time, due to my complicated relationship with red sauce.

  “Killer,” someone hisses behind my back.

  I twist to catch the source of the whisper, clenching the serving tongs in my hand. White sauce drops from the metal and onto the floor, splattering like ethereal blood at my feet.

  “Murderer.”

  This time, I hear it to my right and whip my head to the sound.

  “Jealous bitch.”

  On my left.

  Despite my hand aching from how hard I’m gripping the tongs, I’m prepared to meet the angry expressions that must follow those words, yet the students around me are benign or relaxed as they fill their trays, almost like I never heard the whispers.

  “You’re next.”

  I swear that was muttered by the girl beside me.

  “Next for what?” I ask loudly. “To fall victim to an accident? To suicide? Be specific if you’re going to threaten me about Piper’s death over spaghetti.”