“I go to Manchester, too.”
“Oh wow. Bram, why didn’t you invite your friends to the party?”
“Freddie said he was busy,” Bram said smoothly.
“Mom really needed all the help she could get tonight,” Freddie said.
“Well, look, if you two get a chance to get away from the kitchen for a bit, we’d love to have you join us,” Mrs. Wilding said.
“Thank you,” I said. We both knew we were most definitely not to join.
Mrs. Wilding’s smile was bright and magnanimous, and just like that, the awkward blurring of friends and domestics was neatly dealt with. She let go of Freddie’s shoulder and turned back to her son. “No sweater tonight, sweetie. You’re wearing the tie I laid out for you.”
Bram gave us a cold look, then headed back upstairs with his orders as his mother swept out of the kitchen.
“Guests are starting to arrive!” Dan said. “You, go greet them and offer drinks.” He carefully placed a tray of tumblers on my upturned palms and pointed toward the door.
In the grand foyer Mrs. Wilding was greeting the guests. There was a handsome couple of about Mrs. Wilding’s age who obviously were not there for Bram. But they had brought their teenage son with them.
“New Girl?” Thayer asked.
Had I missed something? Were Bram and Thayer publicly friends now?
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
He slipped off his peacoat, revealing a fitted black suit, black shirt, and black tie underneath—a color I’d never seen Thayer embrace so fully before. He handed his coat to the waiting maid like it was something he did every day. The gesture was small, inconsequential, but it reminded me that for all the time he spent slumming it with me at the theater, Thayer still belonged to this gilded world.
“Haven’t you heard we’re the new Obamas?” Thayer said. “We’re invited to everything.” I watched his parents, still busy chatting with Mrs. Wilding. So here was the state attorney father on the senatorial track. Thayer plucked one of the tumblers off my tray and downed its contents. When his glass was empty, he grabbed another.
“I’m only supposed to be serving these to the adults.”
Thayer laughed, maybe for the first time since the night at the cabin. It sounded like an imitation of happiness. “You’ve never been to one of these parties before, have you? Just keep the drinks coming.”
Bram came down the steps with a smile affixed to his face like his tie was secured to his collar: all stiff and unwanted.
It looked like it wasn’t just Freddie and me wearing costumes tonight.
Bram stopped beside me and leaned in. “I don’t know what you’re doing here tonight, but if I could give you one suggestion: don’t.”
He picked up a drink and gulped it down before leaving the empty glass on my tray. If I hadn’t thought he was hiding something before, I knew he was now.
44
THERE WERE WAY too many old people here for a seventeen-year-old’s birthday party.
The first floor of the Wilding townhouse was made up of high-ceilinged entertaining areas. In every corner, there were sparkly people holding out similarly sparkly tumblers, waiting for me to fill them. Dan had been wrong about the whole pouring thing—people didn’t care how you poured their drinks, they just wanted the booze. And I was there to provide a constant flow.
Though I’d interacted with nearly every person there, I had never felt so invisible in my entire life. The black-and-white drabness of the cater waiter uniform rendered me, essentially, part of the background. I was a moving piece of furniture. So, it was just like my regular MO at parties, only now I came with drinks.
It was a lot like a high school party where people got together to get loose and talk over each other, except here, I waded through murmurs of societal gossip, insane real estate talk, and even some business networking. All boring stuff because practically everyone at this party was an Old. I felt sort of bad for Bram. The party was extravagant, and I could only imagine what the presents would be, but there were only about twenty or so people here who were our age.
Thayer wasn’t hanging out with any of them, though.
Along with my mission to get into Bram’s room, I had a new side mission: to keep an eye on Thayer. I hadn’t served him any more drinks but someone else must have, because he was teetering. As the night wore on, his demeanor changed: limbs getting looser, laughs coming faster. It took guts to get drunk at the same party your parents were at, but this house was big enough to keep Mr. and Mrs. Turner blissfully oblivious.
Right as I was about to offer Thayer a glass of water, something dragged my attention away. Bram’s clique was there, with Lux notably absent. Trevor, Lucia, and a dickwad named Tanner were holding court by the Steinway in the living room. They were so much younger than the adult guests, but they already resembled them, playing dress-up in their suits and couture gowns—a dress rehearsal for the next generation of masters of the universe.
Freddie tried to pass by them quickly, but Tanner stepped in front of him, picked lint off Freddie’s shirt, and proceeded to laugh about something. This exact moment was what Freddie had been dreading. It wasn’t the uniform or that he’d never done this before; it was that no matter how well he could blend in at Manchester, in the real world, they were the ones in suits and he was the one in a uniform. Freddie’s biggest fear was being realized tonight. And he was doing this just to help me.
I made a beeline for the group. “Hey, someone was asking for more canapés in the … I want to say music room?” Freddie didn’t look like he knew what a music room was, but he gave me a grateful look before disappearing. By now Bram’s circle was, mercifully, too engrossed in conversation with an older guest to even notice me.
“There’s rumors, but nobody knows who he is,” Lucia was saying.
“Do you think it’s someone from your school?” the older man asked. Instead of a suit or dress shirt, he wore a beaten leather vest over a threadbare shirt that looked like it was out of a value bin but probably cost more than my wardrobe. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said he was one of the writers from Mr. Wilding’s publishing house. “It would make for a great book.” Definitely a writer.
“No way,” Trevor said. “No one at Manchester is capable of that.”
“They’re calling him the Masked Madman at school,” Lucia said.
I’d been about to keep circling but that glued me in place. I grabbed the glass out of Trevor’s hand even though he hadn’t asked for a refill and poured as slowly as humanly possible, my ears perked.
“I quite like the alliteration,” the writer said. “The Masked Madman of Manhattan’s Manchester Academy.”
“Prep,” Lucia corrected.
“It’d need to be changed for publication.”
Lucia’s eyes sparkled as she inched closer to the writer. “Can I be in it?”
The writer gave her a roguish grin and I almost threw up in my mouth.
“So this Masked Madman has been terrorizing students?” the writer asked.
“Some people think it’s a prankster,” Tanner said.
“It’s more than just a prankster,” Lucia said.
“Some people who were at that loser Pinsky’s cabin claimed they saw a bunch of people in masks,” Trevor said. “But I heard there were drugs there that night, so who even knows.”
“So did that girl kill herself,” the writer asked, “or do you think the Masked Madman pushed her?”
“Killed herself,” Trevor said. “Saundra was probably on drugs, too.”
“Saundra was not on drugs.”
The whole group got quiet and turned to look at me. I’d pierced their bubble, disrupted their willful ignorance of those meant to be neither seen nor heard. I was the ottoman who’d just spoken English.
A blush rapidly rose up my cheeks, but I couldn’t let them talk about Saundra that way. She had worshipped these people, and this was how they remembered her? They were discussing murder theo
ries like they were golf stats. Saundra didn’t die so a bunch of rich jerks could use her name as cocktail party fodder.
Tanner picked up the conversation a little too loudly, eager to pretend I didn’t exist.
“My money’s on Gunnar Lundgarten being the Masked Madman,” Tanner said. “That dweeb has anger issues.”
“What about Thayer Turner?” Lucia said. “He’s always pulling pranks in class. Look at him now. What is he even doing?”
We all swiveled to see Thayer across the room, laughing at something so hard that he was resting his forehead on a woman’s shoulder. When she moved away uncomfortably, he nearly toppled over. I left Bram’s group and hurriedly cut across the room. I sidled up to Thayer, catching the tail end of his conversation.
“Such a tragedy, what happened,” one of the men said. “A life cut so short.”
Talk of what had happened to Saundra was catching like fire. Now that everyone was well and boozed up, the boring subjects of business and board associations had been replaced by the much more exciting world of teenage death.
“It was officially ruled an accident,” Thayer said.
“I heard there were kids running around that night wearing masks,” another man said. “There are rumors—”
“Officially ruled an accident by the police!” Thayer said, and laughed. “So they can’t pin anything on us. The club’s untouchable!”
I nearly dropped my tray, but it wobbled enough to send its lone remaining tumbler to the floor. The splintering crash silenced everyone around us.
“Oooh, butterfingers,” Thayer said. A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Butter fingers. But her fingers. Butt fingers.”
He was long gone. The broken glass would have to wait. I clamped the tray under one arm and grabbed Thayer’s elbow with the other. I ignored Dan’s murderous stare and didn’t stop walking until I’d taken Thayer all the way up the stairs to the study. I pushed him onto the couch.
“Frisky,” Thayer said.
“What the hell was that out there?”
“What? I was making conversation.”
The door swung open, revealing Freddie balancing a tray in one hand. He quickly closed the door behind him. “What’s going on? I saw you guys heading up here.”
“Thayer’s drunk and talking about the club.”
“It’s called a recruitment strategy. You’re welcome.”
Freddie shoved his tray at Thayer. It was half-empty but still had plenty of little canapés. “Eat those and sober up.” He was already across the room, unscrewing one of the water bottles on the bar cart. He came back and handed that to Thayer, too.
The door swung open again and Dan poked his head inside. “What are you guys doing in here? People are parched! And I had to clean up a broken glass.”
“I’ll be down in a sec,” I said.
Dan huffed and began muttering in Spanish to Freddie, but I could only understand a few words. Something about how he was going to dock our pay.
“Yeah, that only works when we’re actually getting paid.” Freddie went over to the doorway and forced his brother’s head out so he could close the door. But just as soon as Dan was gone, I opened it and gestured for Freddie to follow me outside so Thayer couldn’t hear.
“I’m going to stay,” I whispered. “I’m worried about him.”
“I’ll stay with you.”
“Dan might lose it if one of us isn’t down there feeding the animals.”
Freddie nodded. “Okay. Come find me afterward.”
I watched him jog down the stairs. But when I returned, Thayer wasn’t on the couch. A chill blew through the room and I saw that the balcony door was open. Fear seized me as my mind went to the worst place, reeling with visions of Thayer splayed out on the pavement. I rushed to the balcony.
Thayer was standing there, looking out at the street.
When he turned around, I realized he wasn’t as drunk as I’d thought. Or maybe he’d sobered up quickly, because the looseness and laughter were gone. His features had settled in straight, somber lines. I remembered the last time I’d stood there with the rest of the club, trying to catch my breath from laughing so hard at his antics on the street. Now I caught my breath with relief.
I approached Thayer slowly and it made his eyebrows knit together. “Why are you acting like I’m about to jump?” he asked.
Because you spent the night getting drunk and blabbing our secrets and you haven’t been the same since the night at the cabin and I’m worried about you. But I didn’t say any of those things. “Just, please don’t stand so close to the edge.”
But he didn’t budge. In fact, he bent at the waist, hanging over the railing and letting his arms dangle in the air. “It’s one story high, Rachel.”
I was beside him now and peeked over the balcony myself. He was right; we were only on the second floor. If he did go over, he’d barely break an arm, let alone his neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to avoid thoughts of Saundra. The way her eyes had stared as she lay on the bed of shattered glass.
I snapped my eyes open to get the picture out of my head. As I looked at Thayer swaying slightly, something occurred to me. “You called me Rachel.”
Thayer had no response. No wisecrack. No smile. He just continued to look out, eyes roving the buildings across the street, the park on the left, the twinkling traffic on the right, but seeing nothing. All I wanted was for him to call me New Girl again.
“Do you know what ended up happening to the first Mary Shelley Club?” he asked. “I mean, the originals, the ones at the villa in Switzerland.”
I shook my head.
“Lord Byron made it to thirty-six. He died fighting a war for Greece. He did better than Percy Shelley, though. He drowned before he even turned thirty. At least they both made it farther than Polidori—who was obviously in love with Byron, by the way. He wrote the seminal vampire book way before Stoker did. He was talented. But he killed himself at twenty-five. Mary made it pretty far. She died in her fifties. But one person from their circle survived them all, living way into her eighties. She kept to herself. Never married. Took jobs as a caretaker and teacher. She was also the only one among them without a creative bone in her body. I doubt she even participated in the game that night.”
“Claire Clairmont.” Mary’s stepsister; lover to Lord Byron and mother of his daughter; and somewhat in love with Mary’s husband, Percy, too. She played a vital role in Mary’s life. But when I’d first read up on her, she was memorable only because she coincidently shared a last name with my best friend. Saundra.
“The F inal Girl,” Thayer said. He placed his hand on the stone balcony and I noticed that his fingernails were pale purple. It brought me back to the present, to this freezing balcony and the party blazing underneath us.
“Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged. “Just thinking of our group. Which of us is gonna go first. When. How.”
“Thayer.”
“The police are calling it ‘death by misadventure,’” he said.
“People say they saw someone with a mask up there.”
Thayer shot me an unreadable look. “Something was going on with Saundra that night—something was off. I’m going to find out what.”
“Thayer, that’s what I’m trying to do, too,” I said eagerly. “We can help each other.” But when I took a step toward him he shrank away from my touch.
“I’m not some fragile—” he began. “It’s normal, okay? When someone you know dies it’s normal to think about this stuff.”
“I know.”
“I’m taking this seriously, all right?”
“I am, too.”
“Look at where we are.” He spread out his arms, gesturing at both the street and the party. “I’m in a suit at a stupid party like a girl didn’t just die. We’re monsters.”
Thayer shook his head, roughly sweeping a hand over his short hair like he wanted to tear it off his scalp. “I shouldn’t be here right now. And neither
should you.”
“I’m only here to check on Bram. I think he had something to do with all of this.”
Thayer looked like he was on the verge of laughing at something that wasn’t funny. “Good luck with that.”
He stepped past me, back into the study, and didn’t stop until he was out the door.
It was now or never. I had to get to Bram’s room and find evidence, a clue, something that would confirm my suspicions about him. But when I left the study, someone was standing in my path.
“What are you doing here?” Bram asked.
“Nothing. I was just leaving.”
“No, stay.” His tone was less than welcoming, but then he continued. “Really. You wanted to step into my world tonight. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve been to the after-party.”
It felt more like a threat than an invitation. But there was no way I was going to turn it down.
45
IT WAS WEIRD, how smoothly the transition went. Bram’s adult-approved birthday party finished at a respectable and firm eleven P.M. People left as if on a schedule, ushered out gently by smiling members of the waitstaff. But the young people lingered. All of the kids from the popular tables at school said goodbye to their parents and began slinking away upstairs, faint laughter trailing them like rising champagne bubbles.
“Bram’s parents are leaving, too?” I asked Freddie. He and I were in the foyer, handing back coats to the last remaining guests and watching Mr. and Mrs. Wilding leave with Millie in tow.
“His parents aren’t going to stick around for the after-party.” Freddie said it like it should’ve been obvious, which, yes. But Bram’s own parents having to leave their own house?
“Why are rich people so weird?”
Freddie shrugged. “Letting Bram have his little after-party is their tradition. They let them go wild and act out, but the Wildings are only going two blocks away, to Bram’s grandparents’ house. They’re letting Bram have fun on a very tight leash.”
“So Bram’s and everyone else’s parents are okay with a houseful of teenagers drinking?”
The Mary Shelley Club Page 24
