Wicked Games

by Wood, Vivian

  Is that a wail I hear, far off in the distance? Surely that isn’t human… right?

  That settles it. Though I am definitely trespassing in every sense of the word, I fling the material back, uncovering the whole door. Looking up at it, I spread my hand wide across the door, feeling small beside the golden slab.

  My fingers find the keyhole before I even think to look for one. There is no doorknob but there is a keyhole just where you would expect one to be. Large, deep, and dark, it beckons to me. Bending down to get a closer look, I realize it seems familiar.

  In fact, it is exactly the same shape and color as the key I slid around my neck and tucked under my shirt, knowing that Cass would freak out if she saw me wear it again. Still, I just had this feeling that I should bring the key along…

  And it proved right.

  Now my heart really starts racing. Slipping the key from around my neck is only the work of a moment. Fitting the key into the lock feels natural. And turning the key…

  That feels like something I was born to do.

  To my surprise, the key turns with a sharp and definite click. I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Then the door opens just a few inches, the dull light from the other side spilling out into the hallway.

  A long, thin scream escapes the door. It was definitely human and seemed to be right on the other side of the door. That same stifling feeling that I came down here to escape settles on me once more.

  I put my eye to the crack formed and gasp.

  The room is poorly illuminated, a handful of sconces lighting the space. In the center of the room, there is a statue of a goat-man sitting on a throne, a pentagram firmly affixed to its forehead. Surrounding that, twenty naked men are on their knees, chanting and reaching skyward. Four black cloaked figures walk amongst them, flaying them mercilessly with cruel-looking whips.

  As I stand there, my mouth hanging open wide, a hand reaches out and grabs my arm. I turn, rigid with the fear that I have just been caught spying on… I don’t even know what. But it’s Alice that is grabbing me. I turn to see her there, dressed like a flapper. There is a mask hanging off her neck.

  She puts a finger to her lips, shushing me before I can make a sound. I nod at her, my eyes as wide as can be. She leans her whole body weight against the door, beckoning for me to do the same. I put my shoulder against the door and give it a might shove.

  The door closes with a sigh. Alice grasps the key, turning it and pulling it free of the door. Then she grabs my arm and hauls me along the dark hallway.

  I assume that we are going to go back up the staircase, but Alice has other plans. She goes up to the darkened doorway and opens it, ushering me inside. Once I go through, a chill racing up my spine, she closes the door behind us. I am plunged into pitch blackness, holding my arms out as I creep forward.

  Alice seems much more sure of herself, though. Either she has killer night vision or she has been in this room before. I hear her footsteps, then I hear the other doorway being unsealed. Feeble light pours in and I move toward it, thankful for an exit.

  Alice holds the door for me. As I step through the doorway, I realize we are outside, the pine trees and starlight prove it. It takes a second to orient myself, but I realize that we are on the side of Rose House, just thirty steps away from Asher’s memorial bench.

  When Alice closes the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. The party is still alive, judging by the sounds of laughter and music coming from the back yard. Alice looks at me, her expression hard.

  “Do yourself a favor,” she says, her voice low. “Don’t tell anyone about what you saw back there. And I do mean anyone.”

  “I... okay?” I manage, turning red. A million questions bubble up to my lips, but I silence them… for now, at least. “Thanks for saving me.”

  Alice doesn’t answer. She just runs her hands down her short beaded dress and walks away, back toward the party. I stand and watch her go, still in a sort of disbelief about what just happened.

  I’ll need some time to process this whole crazy thing. I turn and trudge back up toward the front of the house. There are a few people out in the front yard of Rose House as I head out to the street. Walking along the street under the pale light cast by a nearby lamp, I make a face.

  What kind of fucked up stuff did I almost walk in on?

  And why was Alice so calm when she saved me? It seemed like she got a good look at what was going on, but she didn’t so much as blink when she was walking me out.

  I need to sober up before I can figure this stuff out. Betting that the student center is still serving food, I decide to cross the street hand head that way.

  Suddenly I see two bright lights, heading straight toward me.

  Headlights, I realize. My mouth drops open. And they are awfully close… Frozen, I stare as the headlights zoom in toward me.

  Oh fudge. Those headlights belong to car… and it’s about to hit me.

  Suddenly a figure swoops in from the side of the road, tackling me to the sidewalk on the other side. My breath leaves me in a whoosh as I fall onto the ground. I look up with wide eyed and realize that it’s Max, his face only inches from mine. Our bodies are pressed together and he is breathing hard.

  Beside us, the car whizzes by, disappearing around the corner. He turns his head and watches the car go.

  “Jesus,” he mutters. He is quick to get off of me, helping me to my feet. “Are you okay?”

  I touch the back of my head, my hit the pavement pretty hard. “I… I think so…”

  “Let’s get you inside, that way we can make sure you’re okay. Come on, Thistle House is quiet and close.” He puts his arm around my waist and starts leading me back across the street.

  I go with him, glancing back at the street in the direction that car just went. That car seemed to materialize out of thin air. I didn’t even notice it until it wes barreling toward me. Of course, I am not exactly sober. Maybe I just… missed it?

  Was it just a mistake?

  It couldn’t have been on purpose. Right?

  Who would try to run me down?

  These thoughts threaten to overwhelm me as I cling to Max, heading toward Thistle House.

  29

  Emily

  I wake up feeling absolutely awful. Everything seems harder in the cold light of morning. Sitting up in my bed, I groan. I’m not wearing my dress from last night anymore, though I can’t quite remember when I swapped it for an old white tank top and boxer shorts.

  A putrid scent rises to my nose, making me gag. I trace it to the trashcan beside my bed.

  Oh. Now all the memories of the night before come back like a flood. Max got me into my room. He barely checked the back of my head before I started to feel sick. Looking around, I decided that the trashcan was as far as I could make it before I started to vomit.

  Holding my nose, I manage to slide the trashcan into my closet and close the door on the smell. I can deal with that later when I’m more… or less… whatever I need to be.

  “I didn’t expect you to be up already.”

  I look up to find Wolf standing in my doorway. As gross and grubby as I feel, Wolf is somehow the opposite. He’s wearing black jeans and a light gray hoodie. He looks freshly showered, his blond hair still a little damp. In one hand he has a pastry box. In the other, he holds a couple of coffees in a cardboard carrier.

  The scent of coffee hits my nose and makes me hungry.

  “Is that for me?” I croak, hopeful.

  He smirks. “Yes. I figured you wouldn’t be up for doing much this morning, given how fucking loused you were last night.”

  He strolls in, putting the pastry box down on the bed. He pulls my desk chair over to when I sit on my bed and plunks himself down. While he’s doing that, I open the box to find a dozen donuts, each one elaborately and uniquely frosted.

  “Oh my god,” I breathe. “This is amazing.”

  Accepting the coffee from him, I take a minute to sip and chew, trying not to
wolf down the whole box of donuts. They are really frigging good, though. Wolf sips his coffee and nibbles on a donut, not saying much.

  I feel his eyes on me though, looking me up and down. He seems to be measuring me for something. I don’t know that I will hold up under his scrutiny.

  “What?” I finally ask.

  “I just…” He paused, seeming unsure. That gets my attention. When is Wolf ever uncertain about anything? “Max told me that you had sort of a close call last night. He said you almost got hit by a car?”

  In an instant, everything in my mouth loses all taste. I have to swallow a lump of bland paste before I can answer. My close call, as he called it, is just now making a reappearance.

  God, is there anything about last night that I just remember without it being shoved in my face? Looking at Wolf’s concerned expression, I decide to downplay the whole thing.

  “It was nothing,” I say, setting my coffee down on the bedside table. “Just someone fooling around in a car. I shouldn’t have been in the road, honestly.”

  He cocks a brow. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

  His attention is already drifting away, downward to my white tank top. I realize suddenly that the shirt is so old it’s almost see through, and it has so many tiny holes that it’s practically scandalous. Not to mention the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. My body warms as Wolf pays attention to it, my nipples stiffening.

  Now the tank top is downright pornographic. I glance at Wolf, breathing a little faster. A lock of his hair falls across his forehead. My fingers itch with the need to smooth it back, the need to touch him. Only I know better.

  I know that if I touch him, I won’t be able to stop.

  Still, the look he’s giving me, keen interest flaring in his dark blue eyes… God, this isn’t the right time for anything sexy, but in two seconds I can feel the ache spreading low between my thighs. He moves a little closer, reaching a hand out to my bare shoulder. His fingers catch the strap of my tank top, pulling it down my shoulder oh so slowly.

  The air seems thick. Each breath is a struggle. All I can do is watch Wolf’s slow movements, the way he bares that little bit of my skin to his hungry gaze. His fingers trail across my tank top to touch my hardened nipple.

  My lips part as he looks me in the eye, all traces of the smirk gone from his face. A little voice in my head whispers that this isn’t a good idea. But as Wolf cups my breast and tweaks my nipple, I remain speechless.

  I want this to happen as badly as he does. Probably worse, since I’m a virgin.

  Wolf’s lips lift in the tiniest smile as he moves closer still, wrapping one arm around me to pull me to the edge of my bed. He touches my knee, sliding his hand up the outside of my thigh. My head falls back. My eyes close.

  I forget all the million reasons I shouldn’t want this to happen.

  Forget everything, everything but the need that consumes me.

  I feel his breath fan my neck, feel the outline of his lips on the pulse point at the base of my throat. The sensation is amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I’m aware of the damp spot growing at the front of my shorts. He grips my thigh and suddenly all I want is to open my legs for him like a bitch in heat.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat is all that it takes to end all of that, though. I jump back, feeling instantly guilty. From the doorway, Mathilde glares at us, smoothing her long blonde hair over her shoulders.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here, Wolf,” she points out. “Now get out.”

  Wolf stands up, adjusting himself. “I’ll catch you later, Emily.”

  Biting my lip, I raise the strap of my tank top and watch him go. Mathilde stalks into my room, thrusting a pile of papers at me. I only have to look at them for about five seconds before I realize that she’s got a printed out copy of my research about Asher’s death. Not only that, but she’s got the page where I summarized who I thought could’ve killed him.

  Looking up at Mathilde with my eyes wide, I am not sure what to say.

  “Where did you get these?”

  Mathilde’s hazel eyes narrow on my face. “They were in the house printer. Really, Emily. You are here for a month and you feel like you can just poke your nose into places where it doesn’t belong?”

  My cheeks turn crimson. “It’s… um… it’s for a project.”

  Her mouth twists. “I don’t care what you are researching the topic for, you idiot. What I am saying is that a new member of the Thistles, a member on scholarship no less, should not be looking into anything that doesn’t make our organization look good.”

  Bristling at her tone, I stand up. “You’re only looking out for the Thistles, is that it?”

  She sneers. “Somebody obviously has to keep an eye on you.”

  The nerve of her. My fists clench.

  “So you didn’t know Asher, then? Hmm? You didn’t follow him around Waltham Academy with a longing expression on your face?”

  She tosses her glossy mane of hair and crosses her arms. “Asher and I were a thing last year, I will have you know.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “When you were still a senior in high school?”

  I let the doubt ring clear in my voice. She huffs, stamping her foot.

  “Yes.”

  Though I’m not sure where the malice is coming from, I spew it. My head still aches faintly… besides, she essentially cock-blocked me. “I find that dubious at best. From what I can tell, he had a lot of girlfriends here. Why would he need you?”

  She looks affronted. “Who are you to say what is dubious? You weren’t even here.”

  I cross my arms. “When Asher died then, were you his girlfriend?”

  Mathilde wasn’t expecting that somehow. She hesitates for a moment before she answers. I can see the gears turning in her head. “By then, no. We… he… I found out that I wasn’t the only one he was seeing and ended it.”

  Her words sound untrue. Before I can call her out on them though, she whirls and heads for the doorway. She calls back over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

  “Now you’ve done it, Emily. The Dean of Resident Life is my uncle. I’m going to tell the him that I don’t think you are a very good fit for Thistle House.”

  She slams the door behind her, which makes my head pound. Putting my head in my hand, I sit down, my mind whirling.

  30

  Wolf

  It ate at me, the jealousy.

  It ate at me when I climbed the stairs, down from the kitchen and below Rose House, to see how the new brothers were handling the Halloween ritual.

  It twisted at my gut and spread through my veins until I was humming with it from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers.

  I want Emily Danes.

  I want her. And it feels like being torn in two. Half of me wants to go along with the momentum that’s been pushing me forward my entire life. Go to prep school. Go to college. Graduate at the top of my class. Take my place in my father’s media empire, and start the whole process over again with a family of my own. I’ve always known the ground rules. That family has to look right. It has to be right. It’s not as if my parents had to sit me down and tell me that a scholarship student from Campbell with scuffed-up shoes and friends who will buy her a dress for a party now and then isn’t the person who can sit next to me when I’m honored at fundraisers. Photos of me with Emily Danes won’t give me any currency when it comes to membership yearbooks in the kinds of organizations I’ll need to join to cement my father’s legacy...and my own.

  And the other half?

  The other half of me was awake all last night, my skin burning. They were everywhere at the party. Every time I turned around, there she was, dancing with her friends, whispering in Max’s ear, laughing at his jokes. Holding her at arm’s length wasn’t going to be a fucking viable option. It was going to eat me alive.

  The party swirled around me, time bowing out and snapping back into place in a series of moments that made no sense. At som
e point, drunk on champagne and something far stronger that Carter pressed into my hand, I sat down on one of the couches in the living room and let people come to me. Was it a hundred women in flapper dresses, or three? One by one, they came close, sat close, whispered things into my ears, and left. The noise of the party got louder and louder until it peaked and crested. I raised one final glass of champagne to Kevin the bouncer as he left through the front door.

  How long was it until Max burst in, looking pale and shaken? I have no idea. But the moment he stumbled into the living room and sank into the sofa across from me all the hazy drunkenness was gone. I looked down into my champagne glass, stone-cold sober. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  I let my hand fall, putting the glass on a side table with a ringing that settled in my ears. “What the hell is wrong with you, then? Are you drunk?”

  “Yes. No.” He rubbed both hands over his face, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I turned around and Emily—she wasn’t there, so I went looking—”

  “Tell me now if something’s happened.” My stomach seized around the alcohol, an ice cold churning pit, and I gripped the arm of the sofa. The floor tilted up toward me and settled back on the foundation of the house. Vertigo. It was a useless thought, but if Max had hidden her, if something had happened and he had taken her body...

  Max looked up at me, forehead wrinkled. “A car,” he said. “It came down the street, straight toward her. They hit the accelerator, Wolf. It was somebody who was either drunk, or they wanted...they wanted…” He shook his head. “Nobody here is like that.”

  I couldn’t figure out what the hell he meant. Nobody here is like that. Of course there are people like that at Campbell. He should know. Unless he honestly believes Asher fell down the stairs.

  “Did it hit her?”

  “No, I...I got there in time. She hit her head, but she’s okay.”