by S. L. Stacy
“There she is,” Victoria says, checking off my name on the attendance roster. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, with everyone else circled up on the floor. My roommate talks animatedly to Maddie. To my surprise, Harriet seems to be having a pleasant conversation with a few of the other pledges. Liz keeps to the fringe of the assembly, sullenly picking at her nails. “Let’s get started—”
A weird thumping noise that sounds like it’s coming from the basement interrupts Victoria, startling all of us.
“What was that?” Maddie squeals, bringing a hand to her chest.
“It’s just the pipes,” Victoria says. “Aftershock from whatever the Alpha Rhos did. Anyway, since there aren’t that many of us, I thought we’d take some time to go around the group and say a little bit about ourselves: name, hometown, hobbies and an interesting fact or two. Something not many people know,” she adds, smiling conspiratorially. “Maddie, start us off.”
Giving us a nervous grin, Maddie takes a deep breath. Whatever she was about to say catches in her throat when someone bangs on the front door.
Victoria groans in exasperation. “You’re closest,” she tells me. Sighing, I get up and open the door.
Apate storms past me.
“Where is he?” Apate demands eagerly. She goes over to the other couch, throwing pillows onto the floor, then bending to look underneath it. “Yoo-hoo! Oh, brother, where are you?” She straightens up again, tossing a wave of black hair over her shoulder. “Well, where is he? You promised me you’d help, so where, is, he?”
“Now’s really not a good time.” Victoria’s voice is unusually meek and hesitant. She looks to me for help.
“Pat, these are our new members,” I explain, hoping she’ll get the hint. I gesture to all of their wide-eyed, open-mouthed faces. “Ladies, this is our—um, friend—Pat.”
Apate’s green eyes flicker over the group, pausing on Maddie. “More like clones.” Then, she notices Harriet and cringes. “You guys must be really desperate.” Harriet just stares at Apate, a strange, almost amused smile curving her lips, and misses the reassuring look I’m trying to give her.
“That’s enough!” Recovering her authority, Victoria gets to her feet. “This is not a good time! We will talk about it later!”
“It is later!” Apate insists. “I’ve helped you twice now, and what have I gotten in return? A bunch of empty promises. I’ve come to collect. You have until Saturday, at midnight, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?”
All of us look up at the same time. The click of Farrah’s heels echoes in the now silent room as she takes a few steps further inside. Hef hovers in the doorway, cane in one hand, Farrah’s tacky, gold purse in the other.
“Scram.” Cocking her head backwards, Farrah emits a burst of energy that sends Apate skidding across the floor. Hef takes a small step to the side as Apate flies out the front door, shrieking all the way. He closes the door with finality.
“Good timing,” Victoria says with admiration.
“Save it.” Farrah’s eyes are as hard and cold as jade. “I explicitly said I didn’t want any drama while we were gone. Then, I come back not only to find out that you’ve lost one of your sisters”—Farrah says it as though we’ve merely misplaced Carly, like she’s a library book, or maybe the remote—“but you enlisted Apate’s help in your petty rivalry?”
“I’m sorry, I just…didn’t think it would be such a big deal!” Victoria cries, falling back down on the couch and looking like she wants to crawl inside of it.
“You just thought I wouldn’t find out.”
“You let her help us before!” Victoria’s voice goes up another octave. “You went behind my back!”
“I’m your Elder, in case you’ve forgotten,” Farrah spits, balling her hands into fists. “I’m not required to run everything by you—or anything, for that matter. We already owed Apate that debt—now we’re beholden to her twofold. Because you couldn’t wait until I got back—”
“All we have to do is rescue her brother.” I interrupt quietly, my tone reasonable. When Farrah turns her furious gaze to me, I wish I hadn’t said anything. It pierces right through me, pricking my skin like a hot needle.
Wait—that’s not what’s burning me. I bring my hand to my chest and feel the outline of the shield pendant through my shirt. It’s hot and throbbing, seeming to respond to the upheaval in the room. I had forgotten I was wearing it until now.
“That would be ‘all we have to do’—if we had any idea where he is,” Farrah says acidly. “And I was doing a pretty good job of stalling her until this happened. For all of your supposed intelligence and skill, Victoria, you continually disappoint me. Hef and I should have just come ourselves in the first place instead of sending you. You had plenty of time and still made no progress until I got here—”
“He’s my brother.” Victoria stands up again, climbing over the pledges to confront her mother. “Don’t you think it might have been a little hard for me?”
“It’s not like you two get along—”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t love him. He’s your son, or have you forgotten that? I don’t know how you could—you always did love him more than me.”
Farrah frowns. It’s a startlingly ugly expression on her otherwise perfect face. “That’s just not true. I—”
“Don’t even bother. You let my father raise me, while you kept Ares’s children with you, always. So you can’t tell me you just stopped loving Eros when he went to the dark side.”
“Of course I didn’t stop loving my son!” Farrah growls. The pledges are looking up at her, quaking under the force of her ire. Except for Harriet, who’s still smirking like she’s watching a sitcom. My necklace pulses with excitement, so hot I’m afraid it’s going to leave a shield-shaped brand on my skin. “I love him no matter what. But sometimes we have to put aside our own feelings to do what is right. Which you apparently failed to do. It’s no excuse, really. You could have gotten rid of Apate first—she means nothing to our family. Instead you waited, and now she practically has us wrapped around her little finger.”
“You’re afraid of Apate?” Victoria scoffs, shaking her head.
“You should be, too, if you know what’s good for you.” Putting her head in her hand, Farrah sighs, sounding deeply inconvenienced. “I have a lot of thinking to do. How to pull us out of this mess you’ve made—”
“That you started.” Victoria turns and stomps upstairs.
Farrah peeks up from her hand and blanches, as if only just noticing the pledges all gaping up at her. She tries to smile her sweet smile, but it turns into an uncharacteristically hideous grimace. “Good evening, ladies—it’s nice to see you all here. I think it’s best if we reschedule your first new member education session. Now, if you would please excuse me—” Voice cracking at the end, Farrah hurries into her bedroom. Hef limps as quickly as he can after her, cutting close to Harriet in his haste. She shrinks away from him, scowling.
“That ugly cripple,” she says. “He should watch where he’s going.”
At first, I’m too stunned at her outburst to do much more than stare at her. I would never have expected Harriet—a victim of cruelty and snap judgment herself—to say something so horrible. “That was really mean,” I finally scold her. “That’s Farrah’s boyfriend, Hef. He’s a great guy.”
Harriet seems to recover herself, looking repentant. “You’re right. I’m…sorry.” Her voice drops on the last word.
The rest of the room is silent. I exchange looks with the other executive board members—none of us are sure what to do. Then, one of the new members stands up and nods her head in the direction of the door, while another girl mimes Apate flying and flailing away.
“When do we learn how to do that?” the one playing Farrah wonders.
“Another day. Maybe,” I tell them. I’m not sure, as halflings, that any of us will ever be able to do that. I’ve seen Farrah use psychokinesis only once before, when she pus
hed Jasper—and me along with him—toward the portal. “Sorry for all of the…excitement. You can go for now, if you need to. Although we’d love it if you stayed. You’re welcome to hang out at the house anytime.”
“There’s a marathon of The Real Housewives of New Jersey on Bravo,” Tanya adds in a singsong voice, turning on the television. Maddie beams and joins her on the couch. A few of the other girls stay to watch.
“You don’t want to watch the housewives?” I ask Harriet on her way out the door.
“I’d love to,” she says with some disdain, “but I have some stuff I need to do.” She lingers on the doorstep, peering past me into the house. “So, is it always this…exciting?”
“No,” I assure her quickly. “Things are usually pretty dull. Boring, really. Everyone’s just on edge because of everything that’s going on.”
Harriet nods, looking unconvinced. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you later.”
“See you.” I turn around, wanting to bang my head against the door. Things are usually pretty dull? How inviting. I thought I used to be good at this sorority stuff.
“And Siobhan?” I look over my shoulder at the sound of Harriet’s voice. She smiles. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”
“Of…course,” I say slowly. What is a person supposed to say to that? “It’s not hard to be when you’re such an…awesome person.” I hope she can’t tell how completely full of crap I sound. Harriet just waves and walks away.
Back inside, I’m about to settle in to watch the marathon when I see Liz banging around in the kitchen. She hasn’t been around much lately since the fiasco at the lavalier ceremony, except when she has to be. I go into the kitchen and pretend to look in my still barren cupboard for something to eat.
“I desperately need to go grocery shopping,” I sigh, closing it. “Whatcha makin’?”
“Just soup,” Liz grumbles, stirring the thick, white soup with a wooden spoon while it heats up.
“Hey, I keep meaning to tell you I—I believed you the other day. When you said you were just trying to help.”
Liz’s head perks up, her brown eyes softening. “Uh, thanks. I feel kind of horrible, though. That Carly and I left things on such bad terms, and now she’s…well, you know.” Her attention drifts back to the saucepan.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her. “I’m sure Carly’s over it. She can’t stay mad at anyone for very long. But I wanted to ask you about the necklace.” I feel suddenly self-conscious, even though Liz can’t see it underneath my t-shirt. It lies dormant, the metal cool against my skin once again. “Why you were so worried about it.”
After a brief hesitation, Liz says, “Jasper gave jewelry to all of his recruits. It was supposed to symbolically unite us, to represent our mission, but I think it…I think it did something to me.”
“You had one?”
Liz nods. “A pin. I used to wear it on the inside of my clothes so you guys wouldn’t see it. It fell off at the dance…when we were fighting, I think.” Her gaze shifts to the floor. “It’s just as well. I started to feel angry and aggressive all the time. I’d have horrible dreams, and sometimes I thought…I thought I heard voices. It was getting harder and harder to take it off every night. And when I wasn’t wearing it, I would think about it. Like it was calling to me.
“Anyway, I didn’t want any of those things to happen to Carly. She’s just such a nice person. So innocent. I shouldn’t have freaked out, though. Especially after what happened between you and me at the mixer.”
“Water under the bridge,” I say hoarsely. As soon as I’m alone, I’m going to have to rip this necklace off and grind my foot into it until it’s in pieces.
“Do you think she’s okay?” Liz’s soup is boiling. She turns off the burner and ladles it into a bowl.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I hope so.”
“I have to say, I don’t really think the Alpha Rhos had anything to do with it. They might be bitchy, but they’re not evil.”
“I know.” It was so easy to blame the Alpha Rhos at first. Getting caught up in the anger and injustice of it all, I had easily forgotten that the last place Tanya and I saw Carly was the Sigma Iota house. The last person I saw her with was Max. And Alec was so evasive when I tried to ask him about Carly, even though he had tried to get the necklace back from her just the day before.
I recall the Sigma Iotas I saw running around the Quad, looking buffer than usual—almost like they were training. “Do you know if Eric and Apate are still building their army?”
“I think so,” Liz says. “Actually, the night of the dance, before we…attacked…I overheard something Pat said to Genie. Genie was having second thoughts, and Pat snapped at her that she was going to have to prove herself now more than ever. That Eric had discovered a new, better way to attract even more members—more than they could have ever thought possible. That if she didn’t go through with it, she could be easily discarded.”
A chill rakes down my spine. Genie wanted out. She tried to get out of it, but Apate threatened her. Not only had I pigeonholed Genie as one of the bad guys, I had come to rely on the idea that she was quite far gone—that she had possibly become as delusional as Jasper and Apate to do what she did. That death had been the best thing for her. But there was still a part of her able to think for itself, to say no.
The Alpha Rhos are right to hate us.
Liz takes her soup into the living room and joins the others congregated around the television. I glance at the time on the microwave and groan inwardly. Max’s art exhibit opens soon. I cross through the living room, keeping my head turned away from the irresistible pull of mindless television, and force my legs upstairs.
***
An hour later, I step out into a chilly, gray evening and take off for campus.
The wind raises goosebumps on my shoulders and back, both exposed in my strapless black dress. I should have brought a jacket, and maybe an umbrella for later, but the few feet back to the house feels like one hundred miles. The bleak sky reflects my hopeless mood. Farrah and Victoria—the two people who are supposed to be leading us—are fighting, and we’ve promised to help Apate twice now knowing we can’t follow through, at least not right away. Our prejudices may have alienated us from the Alpha Rhos—my hunger for revenge certainly didn’t help—and distracted us from the true enemy. And Carly is still missing.
As I climb the sweeping steps of the fine arts building, all I want to do is turn back around and go home—to hide in the safety of my bed until this never-ending nightmare passes. I push myself forward, taking one step at a time, knowing that hiding won’t make all of our problems go away. It won’t restore peace within our sorority, or between us and the Alpha Rhos—or even between me and Max. It won’t bring Carly back.
I come to an abrupt stop just underneath the ornate archway at the entrance, forcing an elegantly dressed, silver-haired couple to skirt around me. I never stopped to admire the architecture, and now I recognize some of the engravings in the pale stone as figures and scenes from Greek mythology. The influence of the Greeks and their “gods” is still so deeply ingrained in our culture.
The Olympians must be loving it.
Shaking myself a little, I sneak through the massive brass doors before they close behind the elderly couple.
“Siobhan!” Anna cries almost instantly. She’s standing over by the refreshment table holding a glass of white wine. She waves me over with her free hand.
“You have to see Peter’s photographs,” she tells me when I reach her. Looping her arm through mine, she pulls me toward the photography section, her long black dress skipping over the floor to keep up with her. Eagerness sparks in her gaze as it searches frantically for Peter.
“I thought you were sick of them,” I recall, taking two quick steps for every one of her long strides. “Of the photographs, I mean.”
Anna looks taken aback. “Oh, no! I could never get tired of Peter’s work. Just wait ’til you see them. They’re breathtaking!”
“I’m sure they are. I’m thirsty. Do you mind if I have some?” Before she can answer, I manage to swipe the glass of wine from her fingers without slowing us down. I take a small sip, stiffening when I detect a hint of honey in the chardonnay. I swallow it anyway and hand it back to her. “Anna, we really need to talk—”
“There he is!” She points to where Peter lounges in a folding chair, eyes glassy with boredom as he watches the patrons weaving in and out of the exhibits. He leaps to his feet when he sees us, adjusting his magenta tie.
“Finally! I can show off my work!” he exclaims. “Well, to someone other than the snobby fine arts faculty. How was the rest of the dance? Get into any shenanigans afterwards?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“No!” I say too quickly, too defensively.
Peter chuckles nervously. “I was just—”
“These are…great!” I say to distract him, hoping I look in awe of the rows and rows of black and white photographs displayed behind him. They are beautiful—in a haunted, hopeless sort of way. In one, white moonlight filters into a dark alleyway. Another shows the skeletal silhouette of a bare tree. My stomach lurches when I notice the picture of a gray hand, black blood oozing out of the “X”-shaped cut in its palm.
Peter points to it. “That’s Jimmy’s hand.”
“I thought it looked familiar. They’re just so…so dark and sinister and yet so…poignant. Beautiful, in their own way,” I babble, trying to channel my inner art snob—and probably failing.
“Yes! She gets it!” Peter cries to no one in particular. In his excitement, he throws an arm around Anna. She bobs like a bobble head doll as he gives her shoulders a triumphant shake. “There’s so much beauty in darkness and death, in isolation and sorrow!”
“Well done, Mr. Collins,” Dr. Mars booms, coming up beside Anna. “Beautiful work.”
