“What about Jack?” Church turns to look at Spencer next, that cold gaze of his fixed firmly in place. One day, he's going to be too powerful for his own good. That is, unless he has someone around to keep him humble.
I shift in place and run my finger across the surface of the ring—my new nervous tick.
“You know how hard he is to track down, but I'll find him. He's always in town for the Halloween party.”
Church nods, and I feel a bit of FOMO coming on. Last year, I didn't get to leave campus on Halloween, while the guys were very clearly at this fabled party. This year, I better find myself with an invitation.
After a while, I get bored and wander over to the miniature with Spencer and the twins while Ranger and Church keep vigil over the meeting downstairs. Doesn't look like much of a business meeting to me. Mostly, Jeff and his guests of honor laugh and talk and eat, and then they break out a game of charades. Like who even plays charades anymore?
“This thing is pretty cool,” Spencer says, playing with the movable front door, and then pointing at a seam along the roof. “Does it open?”
“It does,” Church replies absently, a hint of frustration in his voice as he glances over his shoulder. “Just don't break it or Magdalene will run you through with her cane. She once beat my sister for breaking an antique cat statue from the 1930s. Trust me: she isn't afraid of anyone.”
Spencer snorts, but carefully grabs either side of the miniature, opening it like a dollhouse and giving us a much better view of all the rooms inside.
“Look,” he says, pointing at the bookcase downstairs. “It's got your favorite book: Moby Dick.”
“Funny,” I snort, making a face at him, and then reaching in to pull one of the tiny books off the shelf. That's how detailed this thing is; the books actually come off the shelf and open up. Inside, there are tiny pages with little scribbles of faux writing. Next to Moby Dick, we've got Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and even a copy of A Study in Scarlet—the first Sherlock Holmes book. When I reach to grab that one, I accidentally knock the bookcase loose from the wall.
“Nice one, Chuck-let,” Spencer says as I try to put it back in place, only to see that it's actually connected to the wall with a hinge. Pushing it with my finger, I open it wider and find a faux doorway behind it, painted to look like a dark room with a set of steps.
Spence and I exchange a look.
“Hey guys, you might want to come see this …” he starts, just as Jeff says goodbye to the last of his friends, and the lights on the second floor flick off.
“Do you think everything about this miniature is true to life?” Ranger asks as soon as he sees what we’re looking at, but Church just purses his lips and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time. With his long legs, it's a struggle to catch up, but when we do, we find him sliding his hands along the side of the bookcase. A moment later, there's a click, and the twins move forward to help Church drag it open.
Behind the bookcase, there's another door, but this one's locked.
Church and Ranger exchange a look before the latter pulls the gold key out from inside his shirt, tries the lock, and gets the satisfying click of tumblers in return.
The door swings open.
“Bingo,” Church says as we gaze down a set of stone steps and into a sea of blackness.
The other girls aren't supposed to move in until next quarter, but that doesn't stop them from visiting the campus on the weekends to work on their campaign for the Student Council—especially Aster. Or hell, maybe she’s just here to screw Mark under Selena’s nose? What do I know?
“Do you really think Mark's cheating on Selena with Aster?” I ask Spencer, adjusting the floppy packer penis in my panties, and then turning around to grin at him. It makes a nice bulge under my skirt, and I chuckle. We're supposed to be working on our Halloween costumes, and I figured it'd be fun to do something with the infamous dick aka Ranger's 'prosthetic'. Mom still doesn't get the joke. The other day, when she called me, she inquired about his 'accident' yet again.
“I'm supposed to answer that question when you've got your hand down your panties?” Spencer asks, lounging on my bed and tossing a Hacky sack up in the air. He catches it as it comes down and then sits up, tossing his tie over one shoulder. The way his eyes take me in reminds me of that day when he walked in and saw me ass-up and bent over, trying to dig my phone out from behind the bed.
He's never looked at me any different—boy or girl, or after dating his friends.
“Um, yes.” I put my hands on my hips and give them a little twist, swishing the skirt around my thighs and flopping the penis around with the motion. “Yes, you are.”
“Well, then,” he says, standing up from the bed, the scent of his Kenneth Cole Black fragrance filling the room and making my heart flutter. “The answer is hell fucking yes. You've never been to a party with Mark, have you?” I shake my head as Spencer moves a little closer, reaching down to cup my faux dick under my skirt and giving it a squeeze. “He'll sleep with any girl that'll have him. No wonder Selena's all up his ass.”
Spencer leans down and brushes his lips to mine, sliding his hand up and under the waistband of my panties. Instead of going straight for the wet heat between my thighs, he strokes the packer penis like it's really a part of me.
“Church might be back soon,” I murmur, loving the way Spencer's fingers feel as he slides them across the side of my neck and into my hair. I look up and find him smirking down at me, this cocksure little grin that reminds me why I fell for him in the first place. He acts like a total badass, but really, underneath it all, he's got the best heart.
“So?”
“So he might not like walking in to see you nailing his fiancée in his room.”
Spencer chuckles, and removes his hand from my panties, dragging me over to the bed and pulling me down on top of it. He kisses me like he can't get enough, sliding his hands up and under my skirt to cup my ass. It's like, my ultimate naughty fantasy, to be fucked in my schoolgirl uniform. But we haven't exactly gotten there yet.
Just when I think we might, the sound of the door being unlocked causes Spencer to scramble off of me, cursing and grabbing a pillow to hide the erection in his slacks. He most definitely does not need a packer penis to pass the grab test.
Church walks in with the other boys on his heels and pauses, cocking his head to one side, an iced coffee in one hand and a long poster tube in the other.
“Are we interrupting something?” he asks, but both Spencer's and my sputtered nonsense that they aren't proves that they most definitely are.
Ranger rolls his eyes and takes a seat on Church's bed, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting my eyes from across the room. The twins aren't shy about stealing some of Church's canned coffee drinks from the mini-fridge and then making themselves comfortable on my bed.
“What's in the tube?” I ask as Church hands it over to Ranger, sucking on the straw of his coffee while his friend pulls out the papers inside.
Maps? I lean closer to get a better look and find blueprints instead. And not just of Adamson, but of the entire town of Nutmeg, too.
“With these, we can see where, exactly, the tunnels go,” Church says, watching as Ranger unfolds the large sheets of paper on his friend's bed, weighing the corners down with the stack of mangas—Japanese anime comics—from Church's side table. “When they built Nutmeg, and expanded the Adamson campus, they were concerned about the possibility of the tunnels collapsing, so they mapped it all out.”
“This is where we went in originally,” Ranger says, pointing at a spot on the map and then tracing down the long length of tunnel. “And it's no wonder we couldn't find another way out. This one runs for miles before it branches off or offers up another exit. But look at this.” Ranger points out the antique store on the map, and then draws his finger along the length of tunnel underneath it. The bookcase entrance we found leads not only to the entire underground network, but also t
o several of the other stores.
The stores that the Montagues don't own.
The only exception is the antique store itself.
“Church's family bought the antique store from my parents who bought it from Magdalene,” Ranger explains. “My mom got it in the divorce, and I remember my dad was pissed.” He looks up, nostrils flared, mouth tight. “And why would he be? Over a tiny little antique store run by an old lady? Mom sold it to the Montagues not long after that.”
“So that means the businesses are involved with the cult somehow?” I ask, and Ranger exhales sharply through his nose.
“Maybe. You know what else it means? That my dad knows more than he should.” Ranger pushes the maps aside and then reaches up to grab at the front of his shirt, clutching the keys through the fabric. “He wanted me to come see him during fall break. I just might.”
“Not alone, you won't,” Tobias says, sitting up behind me and crushing the coffee can in his hand. “If you go, we're coming.”
Ranger grunts, but he doesn't argue, looking up and out the window at the sudden rainstorm.
“Where'd you get those things anyway?” Micah asks, reaching up a hand to play with my bra strap through my shirt. I slap his hand away, but we're both grinning like idiots.
“The library,” Church says, and then very quickly adds, “the one in town. We went to the school library, but Mr. Dave wasn't exactly forthcoming.” He pauses for a moment like he's thinking about something, and then shakes his head. “I suppose he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with anyone about the stabbing either, so there’s no surprise there.”
“Did we mention there are other missing yearbooks?” Ranger says, kicking off his boots and leaning back into Church’s pillows. They’re all silky, luxe, and soft—a feathered pillow here, a satin pillow there, one with thick black faux fur. I’ve often wondered what it would feel like if Church were to lift me up there and lay my head down on one before he kissed me. “No pattern to the missing years, just one here or there.”
“I’d say I could talk to Dad about it, but he’s been even more close-mouthed than usual since that little confession of his.” I sigh and reach up to push some curls away from my forehead. “I still think he’s involved with Mr. Murphy and Mr. Dave. I just hinted the word cult when I stopped by yesterday, and he slammed his office door in my face.”
“It would make sense,” Spencer says, picking at a seam on my comforter. “The three of them working together to protect Chuck-let behind the scenes.” He looks up, the skin around his mouth tight with worry. “That’s what I think Jack was doing, when he came to get me at the cabin—he was protecting me.”
“Yeah?” Ranger retorts, and I feel the tension between them climb sky-high in an instant. There’s quite a bit of contention about Jack, and his role in Jenica’s death. Not that I blame either of them for the position they’re taking, it’s just hard to see them fight with each other. “Well then, if he’s so damn worried about you, why show up out of the blue on campus, disappear at the slightest hint of contention, and then ghost the fuck out of you afterwards?”
“Jack isn’t a bad person,” Spencer says, and there’s this sad but determined note in his voice that reminds me of that day in the hallway when he looked at me like I was a liar. Thinking about it makes my heart hurt, so I push the thought away. “He’s just a coward. It’s pretty clear to me that he’s scared of this … Fellowship of the Divine or whatever the crap they’re calling themselves. Rightfully so, I might add, considering the body count.”
“Let’s not grace them with a proper name,” I suggest, trying to break the tension. “Let’s call them … Fellowship of the Dirty Toilet Brushes.”
“What is it with you and toilet brushes?” Micah asks, getting an elbow in the chest from me as payback. “Let’s call them the Dick Cheese Initiates.”
“Dude, I just ate,” Tobias says, yanking on a tuft of his brother’s hair. “Now be serious for a second here: are we going back down in those tunnels?”
“No!” I shout at the same that Church says, “yes.”
He looks over at me and smiles slightly.
“You’re not, but I am.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer snaps, dropping the pillow he was using to hide his erection and rising to his feet. “I know I wasn’t there, but like, didn’t you guys learn your lesson the first time? You all could’ve died.”
“Send one of your parents’ security lackeys down there to investigate,” Ranger says, and Church sighs, like he expected this sort of response from his friends.
“This cult,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and finally sitting down on the end of his bed. “They’re clearly made up of powerful families, families with resources that match my own.”
“Nobody’s resources match your own,” the twins murmur behind me, but only loud enough so that I can hear.
“This is a game, can’t you see it?” He looks up with this fierce determination burning in his amber gaze. “The people who are after Charlotte are young, inexperienced. They’re not hitmen, they’re not professionals. Think about it: the school board’s denied our requests for extra security. Why? Because they want this to be challenge. Jenica wrote it down plain as day: this is an initiation.” Church’s nostrils flare, and I realize then just how fucking smart he really is. He could run circles around the rest of us if he wanted to. “Even that quote about the foxes, the one from the Bible: Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that plunder the vineyards; for our vineyards are in blossom. It’s a metaphor.” He gestures in my direction. “Jenica, Eugene, Jason … Charlotte. They’re the foxes. The vineyard is the interests of the cult—whatever those might be.” Church stands up suddenly, clearly incensed over his speech, obviously frustrated that he hasn’t solved the entire murder-mystery on his own. He is way too hard on himself. “These families, they’ve sent their own in to do the deed, and I intend on meeting that challenge.” He moves over to the door, hand resting on the knob, and glances back, just once. “And if my parents taught me anything, it’s to protect the ones you love—no matter what the cost.”
Church disappears into the hallway and slams the door behind him.
I stand up to go after him, forgetting that I’ve still got the packer penis in my underwear. It flops out onto the floor and bounces over next to Church’s bed, ruining the dramatics of the moment.
Without skipping a beat, Ranger reaches down, picks it up, and stuffs it into his pants before standing up and pointing at the rest of us.
“I’ll go get him. You assholes finish your fucking Halloween costumes and stop dicking around.”
“Lovely use of a pun,” Tobias remarks before Ranger flips him off and heads out to find his friend. It takes about two seconds for Spencer and the twins to devolve into raucous laughter. But me, I can’t stop thinking about the way Church’s eyes met mine when he said the word love.
I haven’t needed much tutoring since school started, seeing as Church’s help last year made a huge difference in the way I study and tackle problems. He was right: I had no foundation, and without that foundation, it was impossible for me to build anything new. But he gave that to me, and since then, I’ve had no trouble putting things together on my own.
“Do you really think I could get into college?” I ask Church as I set my books aside and look over at him, bathed in the dim light from the lamp next to his bed. We each have wall-mounted electric fireplaces on the walls at the end of our beds, burning cheerily to ward off the cold weather outside.
While I work on Mr. Murphy’s stupid English assignment, Church has blown through his homework and moved onto Jenica’s journal pages. He tackles them like he does everything else in life: like he’s on a life or death mission. In this case, however, it’s pretty damn literal.
“Name the college, and I’ll see that you get in,” he murmurs, circling things on the screen of his iPad. He’s scanned all the pages in, so he can play around with them and make notes. The real
ones are tucked back in Jenica’s journal and stored in a small safe in Ranger and Spencer’s room. Church pauses briefly to look up at me, sitting on my bed in my glasses and paint-spattered sweats. The boys keep trying to buy me new pajamas, but what they don’t understand is that I like these ones. They’re comfy, and they’re lived-in. When I put them on, I think about my aunt Elisa, and how she lured me over to her house with pizza and light beer to get me to help paint her living room wall purple. Money can buy new pj’s, but it can’t give me a flood of happy memories the way these sweatpants can. “Provided, of course, that you keep your grades up.”
“I don’t want to buy my way in,” I say, wondering what his plans are for graduation, wondering how it’s going to feel to give back this ring and disappoint his parents, his sisters … myself. I exhale and stand up, moving over to sit down on the end of his bed. “Let me guess? You’re going to Harvard or Stanford or Oxford or something. Old money, fancy school.”
Church doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he just gives me another one of those blinding smiles, the ones he learned from his family.
“Maybe. Why? Is that where you want to go? As husband and wife, we should probably attend the same university.”
I grab one of his discarded, fancy-pants pillows, and smack him with it.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” I sigh and tuck the pillow close to my chest, eyeing the Jenica notes and wondering if there’s anything new there that he hasn’t told us. Sometimes, I get the idea that he tries to do a lot of things alone. “When are you going to tell them?”
“Tell who, and what? Do we need to talk about clarifying subjects, my darling?”
My eye twitches, but I’m not going to be phased by a little verbal whiplash.
“The boys. Your fellow Student Council members.” At least, Student Council members for now, maybe not at the end of the quarter, and after the stupid elections. “When are you going to tell them about being adopted?”
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