by J. A. Huss
“OK,” I say, cracking my knuckles. “One dark web reporter coming up.” I look over at Pax and we both wince.
We really have no clue if this will work.
One hour later we have an ad up in six marketplaces and three people have already replied.
“I bet they’re all liars,” Pax says, rubbing his face like he’s stressed.
“Well, we can’t know until we try, right?”
I look at my watch. “I bet they have the picture. I’m gonna go get them and I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes.”
I get up from my stool and Pax takes my place, grunting out his affirmative reply.
When I get to the basement, Nolan, West, and Mac are eating Big City Burritos. West has cleaned all the makeup off his face and the TV is on, tuned to a cable news channel.
“We might have some bites,” I say, entering so they can see me. “Did you get the picture?”
Mac gets up holding his phone out and pulls them up for me to see.
“Holy shit,” I say.
“It’s pretty convincing, huh?” West asks.
It is. It really is. His head looks like a hole has been blown through his brain. There’s even bits of fake skin and bone hanging over one eye and plastered on the wall behind him.
“OK,” I say, looking at West. “Just sit tight. Where did you guys get the food?”
“I went out,” Nolan says, his mouth full of burrito. “I got him water too.”
“OK, well, let’s go. I think this shit is gonna happen pretty quick. You got an actor to play West?”
“He’s upstairs. Some college kid playing usher tonight. We paid him two hundred bucks to change into West’s clothes and walk across the street with us.”
“OK, let’s go.”
We walk back up the stairs, find the actor near the vampire scene, and press two hundred dollars in his hand. “Just follow us,” I say. “When we get to my building across the street, you come in with us and then immediately go out the back and throw that shirt in the dumpster.”
“I’ve got my uniform shirt on underneath it,” the kid says, pulling up the t-shirt West was wearing earlier.
“Perfect,” I say. “Let’s go.”
All that goes off without a hitch and Mac, Nolan, and I end up in the SCIF room a few minutes later, where Pax is laughing up at the TV mounted on the wall as he types.
“What’s going on?” Mac asks.
“These assholes are so fucking greedy,” Pax says.
“How much do they want?” Nolan asks. “What’s a fair price for this kind of thing?”
“Why are you looking at me?” I ask, slightly offended. “This is not my website.”
“I’m just fucking asking, dude. Don’t be a bitch.”
“Thirty grand,” Pax says. “This one wants forty-five.”
“Which one should we choose?” I ask.
“Forty-five fucking grand?” Mac says.
“Who cares about the price,” I say.
“No, dude. We gotta haggle,” Pax says. “Otherwise we won’t be taken seriously. I’m making them prove they really work for the networks they say they do.”
“How?” I ask.
“This guy,” Pax says, pointing to a conversation. “He’s gotta fuck up someone’s mic on live TV. This one is gonna flash the wrong background on the weather report. And this one is gonna have the anchor say some code word I gave him. If he can pull that one off, we’re going with him.”
He’s silent for a few minutes as he types. “OK,” he finally says. “This guy says in the next thirty seconds the live reporter will use the word mysterious.”
We all go silent as Pax turns up the volume.
And yup. Sure enough, that good-looking guy on TV—that upstanding looking citizen who is supposed to report facts and follow a code of ethics that goes back hundreds of years—says our boy’s name.
Pax puts up his hand for a high-five and Nolan gives it back. “Gimme the photos,” he says, refocusing back to the computer. “I’ve already bought fifty thousand dollars in bitcoin. We’re going in, men. Better hold on tight.”
Twenty minutes later that reporter and his associate have a news story people didn’t know they wanted, but won’t be able to take their eyes off.
Mr. Corporate dead from assassination-style killing in Fort Collins, Colorado.
Pax whoops as he stands. “That’s how it’s done, girls. Now let me the fuck out of here, Match. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight - KATYA
“So where is she?” Victoria asks. She and Ariel are not taking the news about Mariel very well. Cindy looks pale at the mention of Paxton’s mother’s name. Ellie and Ivy are taking it better, but they aren’t as invested in her as the rest of them. Ariel is, because she’s Cindy’s sister. And Cindy is, because she’s probably gonna marry that Mysterious man.
“She’ll be here,” I say. “She said she was at the airport. And that’s kinda far away, right?”
My phone buzzes in my hand and we all jump.
“Shit,” Ariel says, I think slightly embarrassed by her reaction.
“This is her,” I say. “She’s in the parking lot.”
“Come on,” Ariel says. “I’ll open the door for you.”
We make our way back through the construction zone of the would-be shooting range, and sure enough, hidden in the shadows of the awning over the door is a woman in a white cloak.
My throat tightens up and my stomach sinks when I associate Mariel with the white dress my sister was wearing this morning.
Jesus Christ, what time is it? I look down at my phone and realize I’ve been here all afternoon and it’s dinnertime now.
Ariel messes with the security system and then unlocks the door.
“I don’t know what is happening in this town tonight, but it’s insane,” Mariel says, throwing her hood back once she’s inside and Ariel is locking us back in.
“My cousin has a haunted house at the theater across the street.” And then Ariel looks at Mariel and frowns. “You left us hanging.”
“I did not. I delivered your sister, safe and sound. Paxton took care of her and everything is fine now.”
“Fine?” Ariel says. “Are you kidding me? Nothing is fine. We’re locked up in here because we feel we’re under attack.”
Mariel looks around, making a face at all the dust and the thick plastic construction curtain as Ariel pushes it aside and walks through to the hallway.
“Well, you are under attack, Miss Shrike. But I’m not understanding why you’re surprised about that.”
Ariel whirls around and grabs Mariel by her arm. “Are you Silver Society?” Her eyes are blazing with anger. “Did you set us up?”
“What?” Mariel laughs.
“The Russian princess seems to think you’re the head of it.”
Mariel smiles at me. “Hello again, Katya.”
“Hi, Mariel.”
“How are you?” she asks, her voice sweet and soothing.
I shake my head and let out a long breath. “I need you to make good on that promise. I’ve done everything you said. You’re here. They’re here. Now you have to help me with my sister.”
“You set us up,” Ariel says again, only this time it’s not a question.
Mariel’s soft expression for me turns icy cold the instant she redirects her attention to Ariel. “Do you really think I’d set up my own son, Miss Shrike? Please. I’ve been fighting his initiation into the Silver Society his entire life. I’ve had this planned out before he was born. Before I was even pregnant with him. Do you really think I’d let a loser like Charlie Vance get me pregnant if I was the leader of the Silver Society?”
“Um,” Ariel says, confused at the turn of the conversation. “I guess not?”
“You guess not?” Mariel laughs. I enjoy Ariel being put in her place for once. She’s kinda overpowering. “I’m here to save you because I want to save my son. So lead me to the others and no more stupid
questions until I’ve had my say.”
I give Ariel a shrug when she looks at me. But she says nothing else. Just continues down the hall and leads us to the other girls.
“Finally,” Mariel says, letting her long white coat drop down her shoulders. She hands it to Ivy, ever the polite hostess, and then sinks into a chair at the dingy round table covered in dust. “I hope you all have a few hours,” Mariel says, looking at each of us in turn. “Because this story is complicated and long.”
We look at each other nervously, but eventually every head is nodding the affirmative. We’re ready.
“The Silver Society,” Mariel starts, “was first conceptualized in 1909. It was a small group of high society people with ambitious aspirations for the world. A United States congressman, a high-profile lawyer, a distinguished scientist, an entrepreneurial millionaire, and the president of the New York Stock Exchange were among the group’s founding members.”
“I thought the Silver Society were all women? Women did all this back then?” Cindy asks.
“No,” Mariel says, looking at her with a small smile. “The Society was men at first. But there were…” she pauses for a moment. Like she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “Extenuating circumstances that first year. An accident that killed six people. These six people, to be exact. But the wives were invested in their husbands and they carried on.”
“Wow,” Ellie says.
“Then what?” Ariel asks, ever impatient to get to the point.
“That was the start. These women took on the newly formed Silver Society and made it their own. But it was a man’s world back then. So they could only invite other women in.”
“So how did they get anything done?” Ivy asks. “I mean, if they didn’t have any real power? How did they get so strong? And last so long?”
“They got new husbands,” I say in a low voice.
Mariel smiles at me. Another warm and comforting smile. Everything about that smile makes me feel better. I trust her. I do. The only reason I’m still here fighting is because of Mariel Hawthorne. “Yes. They remarried and restarted. All prominent men, just like their first husbands. You see, that is the whole point, ladies. The Silver Society is made up of women on the inside, but men on the outside.”
We all sit still thinking about this for a few seconds.
“The ladies are carefully chosen from Ivy League schools at the start of senior year. And those ladies are initiated based on their choice of future husband.”
“So the women have to bring a man in with them. Like partners,” Tori says.
“Exactly,” Mariel replies.
“And the men are all well-bred racehorses,” Ivy continues.
“Very well-bred,” Mariel adds. “Very well-educated. From very wealthy and prominent families.”
“Like Nolan,” Ivy finishes.
“And Mac?” Ellie asks. “But how do we fit in, Mariel? Ivy is well-educated, but not wealthy. And I’m not really either of those things. I went to a small liberal arts college.
“This is where all our problems started,” Mariel says. She takes a deep breath and exhales. “The Misters were set up by the Silver Society and I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”
“They wanted Paxton,” Cindy says. “They wanted you,” she corrects herself. “And you got out somehow. You got pregnant with Charlie Vance’s child so they wouldn’t want you. Is that what happened?”
“That’s how it started. I was tapped in senior year to be one of the lucky ladies. To Pledge Silver, as they call it. But I had been warned by another woman, whom I had known during my formative years at boarding school.” Mariel looks at Ivy. “It was Nolan’s mother. She was on track to marry into the Delaney family but she had gotten word about these Silver people from someone else and we both refused. I got pregnant and she told the Delaney’s all about her invitation. They took care of it from there.”
“Good God,” Ellie says. “Please tell me that the reason Mac’s parents are dead—“
“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Mariel says in her mothering way.
“This is all about you guys not joining? They set up your children?” Ivy asks.
“Wait,” Ariel says. “Just hold on. Oliver doesn’t come from anything like this, Mariel. Our parents don’t fit this selection process. I mean, they went to college, but it was local. And we have money, but we build bikes, for fuck’s sake. And have a tattoo shop.”
“They were never after Oliver, Ariel. Think, girl. Who would they want?”
“Five,” Cindy whispers. “They wanted Five, not Rory.”
“Yes,” Mariel says. “Your sister was a victim because they wanted the Aston family in the Society. Rory was a way to get that.”
“But they didn’t get it,” Ariel says.
“Did they really kill her?” Cindy asks. “Claudette told me that if you don’t join, then you have to eat a poison wafer.”
“They came up with that solution after what happened with Nolan’s mother. She was far too public about it.”
The tension practically makes the room heat up. I can’t help but wonder if Cindy and Ariel blame Mrs. Delaney for their missing sister.
“So she’s dead?” Ariel asks bluntly, the tough girl in her taking over.
“I have no idea, Ariel. If I did, I’d certainly have told Cindy when we first met.”
“So the girl, that night they were all accused of rape?” Ellie asks. “She was in on it? And they are the ones who killed her later? When things didn’t go as planned?”
“Because Five showed up,” Ariel says with a sigh. “And he was too smart to take their bait. They never understood him, did they?”
She’s looking at Mariel, but Mariel only shrugs. “I don’t know him.”
“Well, we do,” Cindy says. “And he’d never, ever give in to something like that. He’d figure a way out, no matter what it takes.”
“And he’d save Rory in the process,” Ariel finishes.
“What’s happening right now, ladies, isn’t about Five and Rory. It’s about Ellie and Mac. Ivy and Nolan. Tori and West.” She looks at the Shrike sisters. “Cindy and my Paxton.” And then Mariel finally looks at me. “My Katya and Oliver.”
My Katya. God, she makes me feel all warm. What would I have done without Mariel these past few years? I don’t even want to think about it.
“But,” Tori says in a very small voice that has no place coming out of her mouth, “what about West? None of this makes any sense when you look at West.”
“No, Victoria,” Mariel says. “I’m afraid none of it does. And Weston Conrad is the real reason things have gone so wrong once again. Because Claudette Delaney was actually Claudette Conrad Delaney. And in both families, she was cut out. Illegitimate from start to finish.”
“So…” Ivy is trying very hard to put all these pieces together. “Claudette is Mrs. Conrad’s daughter? And Weston is…”
“Weston is no one,” Victoria says in a very sad voice. “Weston’s parents are both dead and even if they were alive, those Silver people would not let them live.” She looks up at Mariel, frowning. “They’re not going to let West live either,” Tori says. “Are they? They’re going to kill him. That’s why they’re here. The Conrads are going to get rid of him once and for all.”
“No,” Mariel says. “Not yet, dear. Not until he gives them what they need.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine - OLIVER
What happens next is a shit storm of epic proportions.
Apparently, if you know the right dirty reporter, forty-five G’s is enough to get you on every cable news channel as breaking news. In fact, the coverage is so thorough Mac and I go looking for more TV’s and remote cable hoppers until we have every TV in the building hooked up in my office on the fourth floor and they are all going at once.
It took about thirty minutes for the second outlet to pick up the story. After that it was a race for details. In fact, two hours later there are news vans cruising up and down College Avenue, ap
parently enthralled not only with trying to find a good place to do a live broadcast, but also the haunted house across Jefferson Street, at the FoCo Theater.
We get paranoid at that point and draw the curtains on my window so they don’t know anyone is up here.
My mom and dad called. In fact, all of us get calls from family and friends.
We don’t answer any of them. But I do send a text to Ariel: Don’t. Panic. That’s a code phrase we’ve had since we were kids. If something is going wrong, we let each other know not to panic with a single text and no follow-up.
So hopefully she is spreading the word discreetly, to all those who matter.
The headlines start out with the basic facts. Mr. Corporate is dead.
But it doesn’t take long for that to turn into an entire recap of that fateful night eleven years ago. Old footage of us resurfaces, old allegations are rampant. And soon, it’s all tied into the little fiasco that happened out at Hundred Palms Resort. Claudette is introduced. And apparently reporters have been working hard these past few days. Because they have a whole timeline—or what they think is a timeline, because they get most of it wrong—leading up to the fire and shooting out in the desert.
The resort has been closed since Ivy and Nolan came to town two days ago, but there are local reporters out there too. Talking up insane theories about satanic rituals and devil worship.
Whatever.
“I hope West is holding up OK,” Nolan says, his foot tapping out of control on the hardwood floors.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Mac asks. “He doesn’t even have a TV.”
“That place is crawling with people,” Nolan says. “That basement isn’t very secure.”
“No one will go down there,” I say, thinking it through after the words are already out. Nah. “He’ll be OK. Cindy can slip in tomorrow morning with water and food and a change of clothes. Hell, if Victoria wants to go hang out down there with him, she can.”