A Poised Nuisance (Lithe Book 1)

by Iris RIvers

  Not physically. Or mentally. There was simply something eating away at her, tearing her insides and ruining her sleep. The bags underneath Sage’s eyes seemed to deepen every time Violet saw her, which did nothing but strengthen her theory.

  Violet had been there for Sage’s first kill. She had watched as Sage brought a gun to the man’s skull, blood leaking from his right side. She had watched as tears fell from her eyes, her lips quivering as her knees met the floor in despair.

  Violet had not moved to comfort Sage, only taken the man’s body and burned it behind the bell tower. When his ashes had charred to the ground, Violet had walked Sage home and touched her arm lightly in hopes of easing her worries.

  Sage had not spoken to her—or anyone—for days, but this wasn’t uncommon. Violet had heard stories from Ana that there had been girls who didn’t speak for weeks. Some even ditched the meetings altogether, hiding their faces from the world.

  Despite the similarities, Violet knew that it wasn’t a matter of anxiety or fear that rooted Sage’s actions but something deeper—something beyond her grasp that only pushed her to figure out what it was.

  “Are you ready?” Sage asked, her voice quiet.

  “When am I not?” Violet replied—and it was true. She was always standing on her toes, fingers wrapped around a weapon, ready to kill. It was exhilarating: being the queen of death, having the power to take away life just as easily it was born. Each and every time, her victim would kneel before her, begging for his life and lying to escape her wrath.

  Each and every time, Violet would make them cry.

  It was amusing when the man would try to fight back, using their fear as a source of power. The few instances when they had managed to hit her, Violet would only laugh.

  The cruelty of her voice would echo against the walls as she cut off their hands.

  Above all, it was the blood that excited her the most. The visible evidence of her crime; the notion of violence.

  “I see him,” Sage said suddenly, breaking Violet from her villainizing thoughts. She squinted against the darkness, gaze following to where Sage pointed.

  He crouched outside a bar, fingers tapping furiously on his phone, smiling at whatever text he’d just received.

  Disgusting, Violet thought, sneering at his obvious contentment. How dare he laugh when he had made another girl suffer?

  He won’t laugh when I’m done with him.

  Arms still linked, Sage and Violet walked toward their next victim.

  Tonight, justice would be served.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  October 2017

  “The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.” ––Bertolt Brecht

  Unbeknownst to them, Evelyn, Lowri, and Kayla all planned to kill Liam Murphy today.

  It was a sunny day, birds chirping as they would in a Disney movie. It all seemed unmistakably wrong to Evelyn. How was she meant to kill someone while a pale blue sky rested above her?

  As Evelyn walked to his office—the NYPD—her phone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans.

  Wyd? it said.

  Walking, Evelyn replied.

  Sounds very fun.

  Evelyn smiled at her best friend’s text. She wanted to call him, to continue their conversation, but she had somewhere to be—and he couldn’t know who she had become. Not when it would tarnish his pre-existing vision of her—angelic and heavenly; the girl he had grown up with and the girl he would grow old with.

  The building she approached was modestly sized but still intimidating. Evelyn had looked Liam up the day before, hoping to find out where he lived—or, possibly, where he worked. She had somehow found his profile, and, upon seeing he was a cop, decided to wait out the next day until he left his building.

  Evelyn was armed with no weapon—no blade or gun—as she had been assigned. All she had was her gloved hands.

  With little else to do, Evelyn sat on the sidewalk across from Liam’s work, waiting for his shift to end. She didn’t know when it would be, but she had time.

  “Evelyn?” said a voice beside her. Evelyn turned. It was Kayla.

  “Kayla,” she said. “Are you here for Liam?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Kayla nodded, sitting on the concrete. Neither knew what to say.

  “Did you hear about Lowri?” Kayla said, looking at Evelyn like she knew—like she knew she’d done it.

  “Yes,” Evelyn answered. “I heard.”

  “I wonder,” she said, “who did it. It had to have been someone in Lithe, right?”

  Evelyn was a horrible liar. “Probably. I mean, I don’t know.”

  Kayla sighed, kicking her booted feet across the concrete. “When do you think he’ll come out?”

  A cool breeze brushed across Evelyn’s arms, raising her hairs, as she silently shrugged. “Soon,” she hoped aloud.

  The moving cars were loud, but the silence between Evelyn and Kayla was louder. Evelyn wondered if she should speak, say something, but she decided against it, for she knew attempting a conversation would only result in Kayla believing she had been the one to attack Lowri. It was incredibly hard for her to stop talking when she was hiding something.

  They sat there for a good ten minutes when a tall man exited the building. He wore a navy baseball cap and a uniform.

  “Is that him?” Kayla asked, squinting. Evelyn could see clearly, and it was him—it was Liam. She rose from the ground, wiping her hands on her pants. Pulling the hood of her hoodie over her head, she crossed the street, silently following Liam from a good ten feet behind.

  “Wait!” Kayla yelled, catching up.

  Evelyn didn’t stop moving, only whispered, “Kayla, we can’t do this together. Only one person can win.”

  “But maybe—”

  Evelyn stopped in her tracks, startling Kayla. “I’m going to win this,” she said. “So you either leave or stay and see what happens to you. We both know I attacked Lowri,” she admitted, “and I’m not afraid to do the same to you.”

  Kayla stared, contemplating the importance of this entire thing. Evelyn didn’t wait for her to decide—she continued to follow Liam, watching as he headed to his parked car. When he reached the door to his old Honda, Evelyn called out, “Excuse me? Sir?”

  Liam turned his head, dropping his hand from the car door. “Yes?” he asked.

  Evelyn walked closer to him, closing the distance between them. “I need help,” she said plainly.

  “I’m off duty, lady,” he said, grunting. “Why don’t you call 911?”

  “I don’t need the police,” she said, taking another step. “I only need you.”

  “I’m married,” said Liam. “And you look underage.”

  Evelyn scoffed. “You pig,” she spat. “Do you think every woman wants to sleep with you when she asks you something?”

  “Oh, come on—”

  Evelyn darted forward, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. Before he could react, she kicked him hard in the groin. Liam groaned, leaning down from the pain, as Evelyn began squeezing. He started to sputter, reaching for Evelyn’s hands and attempting to pull them from his neck.

  “What the hell,” he got out, blood slowly beginning to fill his face.

  She pulled him down to the concrete, hidden behind his car. The few pedestrians that were out could see nothing. “This,” she said, sliding his head to the left, “is for your wife.”

  And then she turned his head completely, listening to the sick crack that came from his spinal cord.

  Liam Murphy was dead, and Evelyn Wade had just been crowned the next leader of Lithe.

  January 2020

  CLARKE WAS SCROLLING through Juilliard’s directory, searching for Lara Blake. Kai’s name passed quickly as he moved his fingers across the keypad, but Clarke didn’t stop. He continued anxiously until he found her.

  Lara’s name was a call, a beckoning. The letters w
ritten across the screen were the letters of a siren’s song—cruel in the worst way but also enchanting, inviting.

  Lara Blake.

  The only thing given beneath her name was a photograph and her school email, much to Clarke’s disappointment. He’d been hoping for a phone number, something to use to contact her in the next few weeks—when his plan was set.

  Clarke had spent his days writing impatiently in his leather-bound notebook, deciding on a ploy—a way to take his revenge, and possibly take another’s life. What he had right now, a rough outline of the future events, seemed too perfect.

  He didn’t allow that to stop him though. It seems perfect because it’s good, he told himself. Because it will work.

  With little else to do, Clarke pulled out his phone and called Oliver. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey,” said Oliver. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to look into someone,” Clarke said, taking a sip of his black coffee. There was nearly no space for his mug—his dining table was cluttered with printed papers and writings, looking more like the office of a mad scientist than a living space—so he placed it back on the floor, a few drops of coffee spilling over the sides from the impact.

  “Who?” Oliver asked, opening his laptop.

  “Lara,” said Clarke. “Lara Blake.”

  Oliver typed furiously, searching her name in the system. “What’s this for?” he asked a moment later.

  “My project,” Clarke said vaguely, his eyes burning as he stared at his computer screen. The white of the screen blurred, mixing with the black of the words.

  “Found her,” he said loudly. “Lara Blake, daughter of Seo-Yun and Michael Blake. Born twenty-third April 2000 in Brooklyn. Attends—”

  “Is her phone number there?”

  “Yes,” Oliver answered. “You need it?”

  “Hang on,” Clarke said, reaching for a wrinkled newspaper and the ballpoint pen resting on his keyboard. “Okay, go.”

  Oliver read the number aloud as Clarke scribbled it on the corner of his newspaper—the front page describing a bell-tower murder. They’d began calling them that—the bell-tower murders. Every dead boy found there had added up, and Juilliard’s ancient bell tower had soon become infamous.

  “Thanks,” Clarke said, dazed.

  “Yeah, anytime—”

  Clarke hung up, dropping his phone loudly to the messy table. He stared at the digits, ten in all, as his eyes shone—lit up from the anticipation, the excitement.

  Await my call, Lara Blake. I’ll speak to you soon.

  LARA WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY nervous as she walked to Lithe’s meeting spot.

  Only Evelyn knew what had happened that night, the night of the recital, and the thought of seeing Ana—who had been relying on her, expecting her to complete the kill—seemed formidably dreadful.

  The streets were quiet—not silent, for it was New York City, but still, dulled. Clouds covered the full moon hanging in the sky, dark and ominous—a foreboding Lara couldn’t comprehend.

  She didn’t knock when she reached the bell tower—they were past that; they had been past that for quite some time now. The air inside was chilling; it hovered above Lara’s bare arms, an indescribable pressure.

  Lara was late, as usual. The remainder of the girls waited at the top, talking loudly amongst themselves.

  “Hello,” Lara announced when she reached the floor.

  Evelyn waved as Ana turned her head slowly, her face clouded with anger. “Lara,” Ana said. “Hello.” A few other girls whispered hellos as Lara sat on the splintered floor, scratching her fingers across her legs impatiently.

  It was silent—no one dared to speak, not when Ana was standing at the front of the room, eyes glinting and hands clenching.

  Finally, Lilah broke the quiet. “What happened, Lara?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Lara asked dumbly. She knew what Lilah was speaking of; she simply didn’t want to talk about it—she didn’t want to bring it up, to remember what had happened and what had not.

  “Don’t be smart,” Ana said. Her voice was calm—not tranquil, but the calm before the storm. The sort of calm that, when shown by someone like Ana—someone angry and vengeful—provoked incredible fear.

  “I didn’t kill him. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  No one broke out in conversation—they knew; they had already known. Lara’s admission was no surprise but rather a confirmation. Ana looked down at her feet, her eyes closing against the anxious stares of Lithe.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you do it?”

  Lara wasn’t sure what to say. Why hadn’t she done it? Why, when she hated him? When he’d been besting her since the moment they’d met? She didn’t understand. How could she, when she had always been unable to comprehend her own feelings?

  “Why?” Ana repeated.

  “I don’t know,” Lara choked out, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know.”

  “That isn’t enough,” Ana said. “We don’t know what he’ll do—”

  “He won’t do anything!” Lara yelled, feeling both rage and hurt boil inside her veins. Yet, even as the words slipped from her lips, Lara couldn’t help but ponder over the reality of their situation. Kai could do anything he wanted. He had all the power to ruin her—to break the foundation that created Lithe and burn the tower to the ground. All he had to do was tell someone, to expose the vilest of Lara’s darkest secrets, and she would be over.

  Maybe I want him to destroy me.

  “And how do you know that, Lara?” Ana asked. “How, when he knows it was you who stabbed him? He watched you do it! He could be at the police station right now, reporting you for attempted murder. Do you know what that means? That means a lengthy prison sentence, one I can’t get you out of.”

  Ana was right. Lara hadn’t wanted to think of it—the possibility of Kai turning her in—but now that she’d heard it aloud, she was suddenly scared. She was suddenly petrified.

  He’s going to send me to prison, Lara realized, watching her hands begin to shake and feeling her stomach begin to twist. He’s going to take revenge. He’s going to steal my life from my palms, like I was meant to do to him.

  Lara looked up, meeting Ana’s gaze. “What do we do?” Lara asked.

  “Hope he doesn’t go to the police,” Ana said, “before we finish the job.”

  “Finish the job?” Lara repeated.

  “Of course,” interjected Lilah. “He knew too much before, but now? It’s worse. Now it’s life-threatening.”

  Lara couldn’t say anything. She knew she couldn’t stop them from killing Kai, but she wanted to—she desperately wanted to. The urge was confusing.

  “You broke a rule, Lara,” Ana said. “And now we have to mend what you couldn’t fix.”

  Evelyn stood, desperate to change the subject. “What are we planning to do with the detective?”

  “We find him,” Ana said, “and we kill him.”

  “How?” someone asked. It was Sage, Lara realized. She couldn’t remember the last time Sage had said a word at one of their meetings. “I mean, he always seems to be one step ahead of us.”

  “We use Lowri as bait,” Evelyn said. “We lure him here, to the bell tower—with the promise of secrets revealed—and then we take his life.”

  “Why not you?” Lowri snapped. “Why do I always have to be the one to put my life on the line?”

  Evelyn raised a brow, her lips frowning. “You put your life on the line the moment you agreed to be a part of Lithe.”

  Lowri stood, her eyes barely meeting Evelyn’s, given the difference in their heights. “You don’t even deserve to be there,” she yelled, pointing toward Evelyn’s chair. “You stole what was mine!”

  Stole? Lara narrowed her eyes. What did Evelyn steal?

  “It was never yours to begin with,” Evelyn said slowly. Lara could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.

  “It was,” Lowri said, takin
g a step closer to where Evelyn stood. “It was, and you took it.”

  “Enough,” Ana interjected, silencing the two of them. “Evelyn is right. Lowri will be bait, and then we’ll kill him.”

  Lowri opened her mouth to say more, but Ana sent her a scathing glare, a warning laced beneath her eyes. Lowri huffed in response.

  “When?” Violet asked. “And how?”

  “It needs to be soon, but not too soon,” Lilah said.

  “Surely by February,” Ana said.

  “Yes,” Lilah agreed.

  “And as for the how,” said Ana, “he follows Lowri everywhere. Finding him won’t be too hard.”

  Lowri remained quiet throughout the entire discussion, her arms folded across her chest as she looked out of the tower’s window angrily. Lara was silent, too, for she didn’t want anyone bringing up what she’d done again.

  A few more details were laid out, and the meeting was called to an end. Evelyn was the first to race down the stairs, her steps hurried with obvious aggravation.

  Lara stood to call after her, but Ana stopped her in her tracks.

  “I’ve allowed you to make your mistakes—I’ve been lenient, too lenient,” Ana said. “But those times are now gone. If you do something like this again, you’ll have no spot in Lithe.”

  “I—”

  “Consider this your last warning,” she said, and then she was off, striding down the stairs and slamming the door to the tower behind her.

  Lara remained in place, staring at the bell, wondering what she should do next.

  Her phone dinged from her pocket.

  U home? from Alexander.

  Lara reached to touch the bell, her finger grazing the metal, outlining the words that traced the bottom, and sighed. Mercy forgotten.

  Yes, Lara replied. I am.

  KAI STOOD IN AISLE thirty-seven of Target, browsing their horrible selection of novels—fiction and non-fiction alike.

  “Do you need any help, sir?” a petite white woman asked, her face wrinkled.

  Kai shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you.” She left with a smile.