“Let’s dance again, before any of my asshole friends try to steal you away again,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me back into the glittering crowd. One of his hands finds my waist while the other grasps my hand, drawing me back into the magic of the evening.
We’ve only been dancing for a few minutes before I start to notice people sagging into their chairs, or even pausing to sit down on the floor in pools of silk and satin.
“What’s going on?” I ask as Tobias groans and releases my hands, stumbling back and landing on his knees in front of me. “Tobias?” I lean down next to him just before I start to feel it, too, a heavy drowsiness washing over me that makes me sway in place.
All around us, couples are collapsing to the ground. Here and there, a person or two seems completely unaffected by it, but that’s the exception, not the rule. Even most of the staff members are swaying or falling over.
“What …” I start, lifting my gaze and searching the room for the rest of the boys.
A sound behind me, like stone scraping against stone, draws my attention around to a girl in a yellow prom dress … and the awful, grinning visage of the Fellowship’s fox mask. She’s standing in the black void of a doorway that wasn’t there before.
Another hidden door, like the one in the antique shop, I think before she takes a step toward me.
“Catch for us the little foxes,” she whispers, grabbing my wrist and yanking me into the tunnel with her.
Cold water drips onto my forehead, waking me with a start. For a second there, I’m convinced that I drank too much at prom and ended up with a hangover. That’s it. Everything else, that was just a nightmare.
But then I blink myself fully awake, staring up at a ceiling that’s painted with bizarre imagery, people in robes, in masks. There’s a lot of blood. Oh yeah, a hell of a lot of blood in that art. What in the actual fuck? My pulse starts to race, and I struggle to sit up, but my arms and legs aren’t budging. Turning my head to the right, I can see that my wrist is tied in place. In fact, both of my wrists are bound. Both ankles, too.
Candles flicker from metal torch stands, evenly spaced around the circular room. We’re very clearly underground here; there are no windows, just murals painted to look like them. The ceiling is chiseled stone, as are the walls, and I’m pretty sure the thing I’m lying on is made of rock, too. It’s cold against my bare shoulders as I shift slightly, testing my bonds and blinking through a thick haze.
What happened to everyone at the dance? I wonder, suddenly more concerned for the boys than I am myself. Tobias was barely responsive, last I remember.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty chamber. There’s nobody here that I can see, but clearly, I didn’t tie myself up on this stone altar.
Altar.
My mind flickers to Jason Lambert, drip, drip, dripping blood from his curled fingers.
Shit. Looking around again, I spot a table draped in assorted items. There are ties, and bouquets of dried flowers, old t-shirts, barrettes, framed photos … including the one of Jenica that went missing from the girls’ dorm. It’s all gathered there together, trophies of dead students collected into a glittering shrine.
Uh-oh.
The sound of a door opening draws my attention to the opposite side of the room, away from the raised stone dais and toward a group of people, dressed in black robes and fox masks. Just like that day in the woods when Spencer and I were running for our lives.
Fear flashes through me, ice-cold and definite.
The Fellowship of the Divine might have the creepy cult cliché thing going on, but it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all. It’s terrifying.
The people file into the room without speaking, walking down a narrow path with pools of dark water on either side. There are statues sticking out of the water, draped in moss, faceless monsters watching over their procession. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, and crumbling white columns dot the room here and there, little hints of neoclassical architecture that remind me of the auditorium.
The cultists start lining up against the walls around me, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the oversized chamber. Another cool droplet of water hits me in the forehead, leaking from the stone above me.
This, this is where the tunnels lead. I wonder if this place floods when it rains, too?
I blink a few more times, and then pull against my restraints, the flouncy pink dress fluttering as I move. But even if I weren’t tied up, I’m not sure I could get out of here. They must’ve drugged the food and drinks with … something. At least that means that everyone else is okay, right? Because even in that moment, it’s not about me. It’s about my dad and the boys.
Exhaling sharply, I try to focus on what’s happening without letting panic set in. Whatever drug they’ve given me must be dulling my emotions because I’m not freaking out. I’m scared, but … not panicked. Think, Charlotte, I snap at the dulled edges of my brain. If you don’t, then you’re dead. That’s it. No college, no future, no more happy moments and stolen kisses and sweet nothings whispered in the dark.
Shit, that was markedly better poetry, huh?
Too bad I’m not exactly in a position to appreciate it.
One of the robed assholes moves to the front of the room, several others fanned out on either side of him. A student dressed in a suit appears first, his mask firmly in place, and kneels down before the dais.
“I have caught for you a fox, a little fox that plundered the vineyards,” he says, and I know right away that it’s Mark’s voice speaking from behind the mask. Arrogance drips from every practiced word. That, and I can smell a turd sandwich from a mile away.
The people around the room begin to chant, their voices echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at me as I struggle to climb out of my mental fog.
“And the fox’s name?” asks the man at the front of the congregation, his voice sparking just a hint of recognition in me.
“Eugene Mathers,” Mark replies smoothly, lifting off his mask and rising to his feet. He pauses just briefly to look over his shoulder, his ugly mouth curving into a smirk. That gets a bit of a rise out of me. If Charlotte Carson is anything, it’s ornery, and seeing him look so smug? It just pisses me the hell off. He turns back to the front of the room and steps forward, holding his mask over his chest.
The next person to appear in front of me is wearing a scarlet dress, her red-orange hair frizzing out from behind the mask. She doesn’t even need to take it off for me to know who she is. She kneels down, just like Mark did, but with a touch more humility.
“I have caught for you a fox, a little fox that plundered the vineyards,” Aster Hayes repeats, pulling off her mask and rising to her feet in a mess of silk and tulle.
“And the fox’s name?” the leader asks, without a hint of emotion coloring his words. They’re talking about dead kids here, and they don’t give a fuck about what they’ve done. It’s all a game to them, like it has been from the start. The boys had said, if one of these families wanted me dead, they could hire someone to do it. That’s not what this is about. This is ritual, sacrifice, and tradition.
“Jason Lambert,” Aster replies easily, making my breath catch. So, she was the female attacker all along—at least one of them, anyway. That means she danced with me on Valentine’s Day, and then tried to kill me on the same night. How messed up is that?
She takes her place next to Mark as the third hoodie-wearing dickhead comes up to the stage, kneeling on the hard stone in his tux.
“I have caught for you a fox, a little fox that plundered the vineyards,” the boy says, and even though I know I’ve heard that voice before, I’m having trouble placing it. It’s got to be Gareth though, right? Our detective work was solid.
“And the fox’s name?”
I know before he even speaks that it’s me. I’m the little fox. My eyes close tight, and I wish with everything I had that I wasn’t lying here, helpless, drugged, hoping and praying for a miracle. B
ut truly, am I even going to get out of this? There are dozens of people in here, dozens. We’re very clearly underground somewhere. Where, I’m not sure, because the boys ventured into those tunnels and found nothing.
Jack though … he said he’d seen it, this underground church, so maybe …
“Spencer Hargrove,” the boy says, and my heart shatters to pieces. Spencer?! My head whips around, but I can’t find him anywhere. That is, until I force myself to sit up as far as possible, straining against the ropes, and find that there’s another altar opposite mine. All I can see from here are a pair of shoes, but my worst fears are confirmed when the boy pulls off his mask and I see Gareth McConnell’s stupid, ugly face. Yes, I’ve been reduced to petty insults, so sue me. I’m under a lot of freaking stress here.
“Make it right,” the leader says as another of the members approaches with a knife and hands it to him. On the hilt, I can see that symbol, the one that was on the stone that I found on my windowsill. Who it was that put it there, I may never know. But clearly, this has been in the planning stages for quite some time.
Gareth moves around the altar where Spencer lays, passed out and unmoving. He pauses with his hands on the knife, the tip pointed down at my boyfriend’s chest.
“Spencer!” I scream, my voice ripping through the cavern, cutting right through the dull chanting of the other members. Nobody pays me any attention, not even as I struggle and continue to scream. “What do you need him for when you have me?” I ask, but already, there’s another person moving down the center of the room in a golden dress.
She takes her place in front of the dais, blond hair pulled up into a bun at the back of her head.
“I have caught for you a fox, a little fox that plundered the vineyards.”
“And the fox’s name?” the leader asks again.
“Charlotte Carson,” Selena McConnell says, rising to her feet and removing her mask. She glances back at me, but her face is devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
“Make it right,” the man in charge repeats, and Selena is handed a knife that’s identical to the one in her brother’s hands. “The McConnells have disappointed the Fellowship this year. Your sister did not make these sorts of mistakes.”
“Yes, sir,” Selena agrees, her voice cold and not nearly as submissive as Aster’s.
She moves around the altar and takes her place beside me. This time, the knife is pointed directly at my own chest.
The chanting picks up in both speed and volume, but I’m sort of out of ideas here. Tied up, drugged, terrified …
“Wait,” I whisper, but Selena isn’t listening to me. She’s watching the men on the dais for her cue. “You haven’t killed anyone. It’s not too late for you to back out of this. You haven’t done anything you can’t undo.”
“For two centuries, our families have guarded this sacred place,” the man onstage begins, holding out his hands to indicate the large room. “And we’ve been rewarded with wealth beyond imagination, success in our various businesses, and the unbreakable ties of the Fellowship. In short, our vineyards have and always will be in blossom. But the world is greedy, and we must work diligently to keep out those who would take from our bounty.”
The man waves his hand in Spencer’s and my general direction.
“This year,” he continues, “we welcome four new initiates into the fold with open arms. But to be a true member of the divine, sacrifices must be made. A pact of blood is unbreakable.”
“Catch for us the foxes,” the crowd around us murmurs, and I can feel it in the air, the crackle of violence.
Selena and Gareth raise their knives up high as I watch helplessly, my heart beating out of control. No ninja moves are going to get me out of this one. No amount of training with the twins is going to get me out of this.
The sound of a door being thrown open draws the attention of almost everyone in the room, including Selena, her knife poised above me. Everyone but Gareth McConnell. His knife flashes down in a hint of silver, and a scream tears from my throat. I’m about to see Spencer murdered right in front of me.
One of the robed assholes steps forward, disrupting the unbroken line, and grabs the weapon from his fingers in a flash, spinning it around and leveling it on him.
“What the hell?” Mark growls as Spencer’s rescuer reaches up and pushes his mask up, knocking loose his hood and revealing a head of honeyed hair.
It’s fucking Church.
“Put the knife down, Selena, or I’ll kill your brother,” he says, his voice a jagged splinter of ice. No part of me has to wonder if he’s serious. Selena just stares back at him, dumbfounded, and then moves away from me. But she doesn’t drop the knife. Church slices the bonds on Spencer’s arms and legs before moving over to me.
“How did you even get down here?” I ask, but Church is too busy scanning the room to answer. And Spencer, well, he’s still not awake. I stumble over to him, fully aware that we’re not saved just yet. This is a reprieve, at best.
“A Montague,” the leader says from behind us, a certain note in his voice that says that messing with one of Elizabeth and David’s children isn’t such a good idea. “Subdue him, but don’t kill him.”
Mark is the first person to step forward, like he’s been waiting for his chance to get at Church all along. The thing is, I’m pretty sure Church has been waiting for this moment, too.
“Here.” He hands the knife over to me as Mark heads his way. I hesitate, but only for a second. I know that Church can hold his own against the king of the foot-uh-bra-lers? Pretty sure I’m still missing the point of that name.
“Spence,” I whisper, pushing the silver hair off of his forehead. He’s breathing, but just barely. Either he ingested more of whatever it was that put us to sleep in the first place or else he hit his head on the way down here. Looking up, I finally see what the commotion at the door is.
It’s a person in a robe and mask, speaking frantically with several other members. After a moment, one of them pulls away and takes off running toward the front of the room, robes flapping. Something’s happening; we just need to hold on. I let myself believe that because, why not? Where’s the harm in hope?
“I need you to wake up, Spencer,” I whisper, tapping the side of his face with my palm. It occurs to me then that in all the fairy tales, the prince wakes the princess up with a kiss. Pretty sure my brain is broken from whatever I’ve been drugged with because that’s all I can think about in that moment, kissing Spencer.
True love’s kiss, right?
I lean down and press my mouth frantically to his, the room disappearing around me for a minute. Swear to god, it happens (again, probably the drugs), but for a split-second, that’s all there is. Just me and Spencer.
He startles awake beneath my lips, and I pull back, my frightened eyes looking into his.
“That … that actually worked?!” I choke out as he sits up suddenly, conking our foreheads together and cursing.
“Where the fuck am I?” he asks, glancing over just in time to see Church putting Mark on the floor, a knee against Mark’s back, one of the jerk’s arms twisted behind him. Several other members are rushing forward to help, and I know it’s just a matter of time before they’ve got the three of us trapped.
“Secret cult meeting, no time to explain, but you and I,” I point back and forth between us, “we almost just died. Like, knives meet chest.” His eyes widen in surprise as I rush to finish my explanation. “Yeah, I know it’s insane, but—”
“Chuck, down!” Spencer yells, pushing my head down toward his crotch in a way that would’ve really pissed me off if we’d been in the bedroom. Selena’s knife swipes through the air where I was standing, and I stumble back, right into the arms of another cult member.
Just like it did in the cemetery, my practice sessions with the twins come rushing back, and I go completely limp, leaving the person behind me to hold my full, deadweight. Ugh. Deadweight? That’s exactly what I’m going to be if I can’t come up wit
h a plan.
The person holding me drops me to the ground, and I roll. I’m just operating on instinct here, but it seems to work, putting some space between me and the nearest cult members. They are so going to pay for dry cleaning this dress, I think as I struggle up to my feet and find Spencer holding Selena against his chest, back to front, her arms trapped by his. Unfortunately, she still has the knife. Spencer’s bleeding from his cheek, but it doesn’t look too bad.
My attention switches over to Church, holding off three cult members while Mark and another robed asshole lie on the floor in front of him. His eyes catch mine for a brief moment, just as the leader heads my way. I turn and head for the altars, throwing myself up and onto one in a flurry of pink lace. Before I can catch myself, I slip off and land on my ass on the other side, knocking the breath out of me.
They need you for their ritual, I realize, struggling to my feet. Selena has to kill you, or it doesn’t count. That means nobody else can kill me, right?
It’s a risk, but I’ll assume that risk.
What else is there?
I reach down and twist the fabric of my skirts up into a knot, tying the drees up and out of my way. My heels are already long-gone, probably lost as Selena dragged me down the tunnels. I duck down and throw my body forward, into the narrow space between the two altars, ending up back on the other side as cultists rush around it to grab me.
Don’t think too hard about this, I tell myself as I grab onto Selena’s hand and pry the knife from her fingers. Before Spencer lets her go, I hit her as hard as I can in the face. Some of the boys might’ve taken it a bit further and used the knife, and even though I know it’d be better for me to stab and disable Selena, I can’t do it. That’s just not me.
“Come on!” I tell Spencer, grabbing onto his hand. “Church!” I shout, and then I start to run toward the exit. I know he’ll follow us. He stands a better chance of breaking through the crowd and coming our way than we do going to him.
The Forever Crew Page 27