by Callie Hart
I lie on my back on my bedroom floor, crying at first, but I eventually end up just staring at the light fitting above my head, trying to make the high-pitched buzzing in my head quiet. It doesn’t go away, though. It drones on and on, until I feel like I’m going to go mad from the incessant sound.
And then I snap.
I have to know the fucking truth.
I deserve to know.
I don’t care how stupid it makes me. I’m going to that fucking party, and I’m going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.
But there’s something I have to do first.
Stiff from lying on the floor so long, my back complains as I sit up and open the bottom drawer of my vanity. There, tucked in between my folded shirts, is the small white box that Carina left propped against my door five days ago. I glare down at the beautiful raven-haired woman on the front of the box, wondering if I’ll be able to fake a smile as big as hers when I walk through the front door of Riot House.
I highly fucking doubt it.
41
ELODIE
The dress fits like a glove. Even when someone has your specific measurements, it’s rare to find a dress that fits this well. It took a lot of effort to get into and required Pres’s help to lace up properly at the back, but once I have it all done up, even I have to admit that it looks amazing. I look amazing. Aside from the dress, it feels as though I’m looking at myself for the first time in three years when I stand in front of the mirror in my room and observe my reflection.
“I like it. I think I like it,” Pres says, standing back, tapping her index finger against her jaw. She’s wearing a Beetlejuice costume made out of black and white stripy pajamas, a lot of black eyeshadow, and an Albert Einstein wig. “It was just a shock at first. I’m just used to you as a blonde. Y’know, it’s weird, but dark hair suits you better now that I’m seeing it.”
I dyed my hair back to my natural color in my bedroom, only briefly ducking into the bathroom to rinse it clean when the timer on my cell phone dinged. Being a brunette again feels like coming home. I’ve reclaimed a small part of myself that was taken away from me. Like this, I am the person I was supposed to be all along and not the stranger that my father tried to create.
“Yeah. I think it suits me better, too.” I turn away from the mirror, collecting my invite to the party from the bed.
“Wanna walk down with me?” Pres asks. “I was running late. I told the others to go on ahead without me.”
“Sure.”
So, Pres and I walk down the hill to the party together in the dark. The driving, pounding music flooding the forests around Riot House indicate that the celebrations are already well underway by the time we reach the turn-off that leads to Wren’s house. There’s no need to knock on the front door; it’s already yawning open into the night like some great, toothless mouth, leading straight down into the pits of hell.
Inside, rainbows follow me from room to room, dancing all over the walls; the Swarovski crystals on the dress catch and reflect the light, scattering bursts of color in every direction as Pres pulls me through the crowded entryway. Every single student at Wolf Hall looks like they’re here, dressed in all kinds of weird and wonderful costumes. I curse myself for being so short as I strain to see over the tops of people’s heads. I quickly come to the realization that it just isn’t going to happen, so I focus on making sure I don’t get stepped on, as people jump around, dancing to the blaring music. I see Rashida sitting by the fire, talking to a guy I don’t recognize. She frowns when she sees me, squinting, then she finally recognizes me and waves, pointing at her hair, giving me a thumbs up.
I’ve never been in the kitchen before. It’s huge, of course, with a giant marble island in its center, overcrowded with bottles of liquor and bowls full of food. Not the chips and salsa kind of food you’d expect at most house parties. No, there are crab cakes and vol-au-vents, deviled eggs and fancy looking pastries. Has to be Dashiell’s handiwork; I know for a fact that Wren wouldn’t have ordered that shit, and I don’t think vol-au-vents are Pax’s M.O. either.
“You want a drink? I’m gonna grab a beer,” Pres shouts over her shoulder.
I give her a bland nod. A moment later, I have a bottle of Corona in my hand, the glass cold and slick with condensation, and I’m being dragged further into the melee. It isn’t long before Pres clutches my hand, squealing. “There he is! Oh my god, I wish I’d worn something sexy. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Across the room, Pax stands at the bottom of the stairs, laughing raucously at something a girl in a skintight black cat suit has just said. She’s wearing little black ears, and has whiskers drawn onto her cheeks, her cute button nose painted black. “God damn it. Fucking Beetlejuice?” Pres moans, pulling at her black and white pajama pants. “Seriously. I am such a fucking idiot.”
“You’re better off steering clear of that one anyway,” I mumble into my beer.
“God, don’t you start,” she gripes. “You’re beginning to sound just like Carina. Oh hey, look! There she is! Carina!”
No fucking way. No way Pres has just spotted Carina. But when I look over to the far side of the room, my friend’s standing by one of Wren’s paintings, dressed in a purple tutu and a frilly bodice with a tiny little top hat balanced on her head. There are playing cards tucked into the ribbon on the hat, and bright green feathers.
“Wow. Her costume’s fucking cool. She’s the mad hatter. Come on, let’s go say hey.”
I tug my hand out of Pres’s grip, taking a step back. “No, I—”
Too late.
Carina looks up and sees me, and her face turns the color of ash. Worse still, the guy she was talking to turns around, and low and behold…
It’s Wren.
He isn’t in costume. He’s wearing his usual black uniform—black t-shirt and worn black jeans. Absolutely zero effort on his part to join in on the costume competition, then. His eyes widen when he sees me, standing next to Presley. He breaks away from the conversation he was having with Carina, entering the crowd, pushing his way toward me. Blind panic scrambles my brain. “Uh, excuse me. I need to find a restroom.”
“Elodie, wait and I’ll come with you!” Pres shouts after me. I’m not listening to her, though, and I’m sure as fuck not waiting. I feel like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round as I bully my way through the press of bodies. My heart won’t stop slamming. It takes forever to find a bathroom on the first floor, but thankfully when I do there isn’t a line. I dive inside and lock the door behind me, leaning up against the wood, trying to catch my breath.
Ten seconds later, there’s a knock on the door. “Elodie. It’s me. Let me in.”
Of course he was going to find me. I had hoped it might take him longer than this, though. I need some time to think. I prepared a slew of questions I was going to ask him but I’m groping at thin air now. The only thing chasing through my head is disbelief. Carina came to the fucking party. She swore she wasn’t going to, and yet there she was, dressed up to the nines, having what looked like a very friendly conversation with the guy currently rapping on the bathroom door.
“Go away, Wren.”
“Not happening. Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
“Just give me a minute!”
“Elodie, this is fucking stupid. Open the door.”
“Go back to the party, Wren. I’ll come and find you when I’m ready.”
God, please just go away. Please just go away. Please just go away.
Silence, on the other side of the door. Blowing out a shaky breath, I step toward the mirror, studying my reflection in its surface. Who was I kidding, coming here? Thinking I could just waltz right up to him and demand answers? My heart just about shattered into a million pieces when I set eyes on him, for crying out loud, and now I’m—
The door to the restroom opens quickly, and Wren hurries inside, closing it behind him. I stare at him, mouth hanging open, unable to form words.
“I’m sorry I did th
at.” He winces, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. He sheepishly holds up a quarter in his other hand. “You don’t need to be a master lockpicker to open up those locks. Just a coin.”
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I hiss. “What if I’d been using the fucking toilet?”
“You came in here to hide from me, Little E. It was pretty obvious.”
I want to hit him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. But the expression on his face is so tortured that I stop dead in my tracks. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes, his skin extra pale, his hair extra wild. He looks like he’s about to come unhinged. “Elodie, I just want to talk to you. Can you stay calm for fifteen fucking minutes?”
“You had every opportunity to talk to me in the gazebo, Wren. You chose to walk away. Do you know how suspicious that looks?”
“Yeah, well, you’d just accused me of something pretty insane, and I didn’t want to say anything that might…” He blows out a frustrated breath.
“Implicate you?” I finish for him.
“No! Jesus Christ, Elodie, come on. I did not have anything to do with Mara’s disappearance. I didn’t fucking touch her, okay?”
“Then how do you explain the diary? Everything she wrote in it pointed to you. And the sweater she had in her hiding place? She had handfuls of feathers in a box, too. Feathers exactly like the one you gave to me.”
Wren grimaces, running his hands back through his hair. “What sweater?”
“The Wolf Hall sweater, with your initials on the label, Wren. God!”
He shakes his head. “I—I don’t know how she had that. I owned one of those things for five seconds last year, and then it was gone. I didn’t know what the fuck happened to it. And the feathers…fuck, I don’t know what to tell you, Elodie. She knew I collected them. Maybe she was saving them for me. I swear I didn’t leave her a single one, though, let alone handfuls of them. There’s so much you don’t know, okay? About Mara and what went on at the academy last year. I promise I’ll tell you. I’ll explain every single last sordid detail. But until we can sit down and talk about this properly, please, just…you have to believe me. I did not hurt her.”
He looks so wretched. My stomach turns over, nausea rolling through me in a wave. “How the hell am I supposed to believe a single thing you say? How am I going to listen to this story you’ve been keeping from me and accept that it’s the truth?”
A flat, distant look flashes over his handsome face. “Because I told you, Little E. No lies. Ever. I swore I’d never lie to you.”
My throat constricts. I’m achingly miserable. I want to believe him. I want nothing more than to hear what he’s saying and trust him. But—
“WREN JACOBI! Where the fuck are you!”
A roar goes up out in the living room—a riotous yell that could only have come from Pax. Other voices begin shouting and cheering, growing louder and louder on the other side of the door.
What the hell is going on?
Wren presses his fingers into his eyes, huffing. “For fuck’s sake. I have to go, Elodie. If I don’t get out there, they’re gonna break down this door—”
“WREEEEEEEENNNNN! You’ve got three seconds, asshole! Show your ugly face!”
Those vivid green eyes meet mine, pleading and full of misery… “Just don’t leave, Little E. Promise that you’ll hear me out?”
Lord, what a fool I am. I waver, but only for a second. “Fine. I’ll hear what you have to say. But the moment I think you’re lying to me, that’s it. I’m walking away.”
He looks so relieved. It almost hurts me to see that kind of desperate expression on his face. He nods, grimacing deeply. “Good.” Turning, he lets himself out of the bathroom and walks straight into the chaos on the other side of the door. It’s madness out there, Wolf Hall students all jostling and shoving at one another, trying to get by one another. I can’t figure out where they’re all going until I slip out of the restroom and stand against the wall by the front door, watching as they all flock to the foot of the staircase.
Pax and Dashiell are already standing there on the steps. Wren climbs up to meet them, dragging his feet, wearing an expression so dark and stormy that he looks every inch a monster. Pax is dressed as Alex from A Clockwork Orange. Meanwhile, Dashiell’s dressed much like Wren, as himself, in his regular clothes—an expensive black shirt and immaculate grey pants that look like they cost a fortune. Both Pax and Dash cheer, slapping Wren on the shoulder and back as he turns to face the crowd.
“Students of Wolf Hall! The moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived!” Dash calls out.
Pax follows right after him. “Ladies and gentlemen, may we present to you, the master of the hunt!”
A deafening furor breaks out as everyone in the foyer loses their goddamn minds.
42
ELODIE
I don’t cheer. I stand stiff as a statue, watching the insanity around me with stunned detachment. Fifteen feet to my right, Carina emerges from the living room, biting on her fingernails. She doesn’t seem as excited by what’s going on at the stairs like everyone else. She’s focused entirely on me.
“Elodie, can I speak to you outside for a moment?” she asks.
I look her up and down, recalling the way she’d sneered at Mercy when she’d told her that she wasn’t coming to this party. She’s lied to me more than once now, and I do not fucking like it. “No.”
“Elle, please—” She tries to take me by the hand, but I pull away.
Up on the stairs, Wren starts to speak. “You all know the deal. As master of the hunt, I call the shots tonight. And as always, we have a Riot House game that will either elevate your social standing for the rest of the academic year or leave you all in the gutter. Your fate rests entirely in your hands!” He sees me by the door and flinches. “Tonight’s game has been crafted to root out the smartest amongst you. In the forest surrounding Riot House, there are a series of red flags like this one.” He pulls a length of red material out of his back pocket, holding it up in the air. “There are a hundred of them hidden within a two-mile radius. Collect as many of them as you can and bring them back here to base. The person who manages to bring back the most flags wins a room in Riot House for the remainder of the school year, along with a fifty-thousand-dollar check with their name on it.”
A surprised gasp goes up amongst the crowd. The most surprising thing is the look on Dashiell and Pax’s faces. This was clearly not the prize they were expecting Wren to announce.
“The person who collects the fewest flags, however…”
A hush descends over the gathered flock of students.
“…will become a Riot House shit-kicker until graduation. You’ll cook for us. You’ll clean for us. You’ll be the lowest of the low. The choice is yours. Live here, unchecked, unbound by pointless, stupid rules, or become our whipping boy. You don’t have to play, but if you do…there will be consequences.”
“Well that’s new,” Carina breathes besides me. “Last year…” She trails off, looking uncomfortably down at her hands.
“Last year what, Carina? What was the game last year?”
She won’t meet my eye. Not that I expected her to. Her cheeks color bright red. “Last year, everyone had to fuck as many people as they could before the end of the party. These things always involve sex. This is the first time…”
She doesn’t get to finish her statement. I turn my back on her, disgusted by the implications of what she’s already told me, sick to my stomach and not wanting to hear the rest of it.
“You have until three a.m.,” Wren shouts over the renewed hubbub of noise. “Until then, happy hunting. And be warned. There will be wolves out tonight, hunting down their prey.”
Pax’s eyes flash murder. Dashiell’s face is unreadable. I don’t care about either of them, though. I only care about Wren, as he stoops down and picks something up from the step in front of him. The wolf’s mask is hideous—a contorted, snarling beast’s head that looks like somethi
ng out of a nightmare. He slowly lowers it down over his face, and blood drips from the creature’s exposed teeth.
Carina makes a strangled sound. “God. Looks like I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
She glares at Dashiell as he picks up a mask and places it over his head. “When a Riot House boy talks about hunting down prey, Elodie, they’re most definitely talking about sex.”
43
WREN
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
My back hits the wall before I get a chance to respond. Pax is in my face, glowering with open rage. “You don’t get to invite people to live here without clearing it with us. What the hell, Jacobi? Where the fuck is this person supposed to sleep?”
I laugh, because his anger just looks plain stupid on him with his bowler hat cocked at such a jaunty angle. “They can have my room for all I fucking care. I’ll go sleep in the back room at Cosgroves’. No big deal.”
“You are not moving out,” Dashiell hisses from the other side of the room we use to play Call of Duty. I was dragged up here by the collar of my shirt the moment people started filing out of the house to begin the hunt. “What the hell’s gotten into you, man? You’re not the guy we started this thing with. Frankly, I don’t recognize you anymore. If you hadn’t thrown in that last clause with the wolf masks, there was gonna be fucking hell to pay.”
God, he’s so fucking predictable. A Riot House party isn’t a proper party unless there’s a whole fuck-load of anonymous sex. “I wasn’t going to add that part.” I shove Pax away. “But I knew you’d both feel cheated if you didn’t get your dicks wet.”
“We’re all gonna get laid tonight, Jacobi,” Pax spits. “You, included.”
