A Special Place for Women

by Laura Hankin

  Miles registered my surroundings, then let out a whistle. “Wow, I can see why you wanted to milk this as long as possible.” I glared at him. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and we went over the plan. I’d text him when we were heading up to the roof. I would make sure that I walked through the door last, so that I could slip a piece of cardboard over the automatic lock, leaving it just slightly ajar. Then Miles and one of the New York Standard’s fact-checkers would head into the back alley, to the unmarked entrance I’d described, the door with no security beyond a code that I remembered. The freight elevator was too noisy, so they’d have to take the stairs. I walked him through the layout of the roof, the path they could use to avoid being noticed by anyone. If they stayed on the other side of the trellises, they’d be able to see what was happening through the gaps in the plants, but we’d all be so blinded by the fire, so caught up in the smoke and the ritual, that they’d remain undetected for as long as they needed to confirm what they needed to confirm. They could take some blurry video footage and then get out of there.

  Margot and I had agreed that we wouldn’t make our stand until after the worship had already begun. Let everyone else get a little blissed out, let Caroline loosen up, remind her how good she felt when she gave in to the magic. Miles and the fact-checker just had to get in before that so that they could see the height of the ritual.

  “So if they catch me,” he said, “do you think they’ll prosecute me for trespassing, or go ahead and tear us all limb from limb?”

  “Hard to tell, honestly.”

  “You nervous?” he asked.

  “Oh, terrified,” I said. “You?”

  “Yeah, kind of. I feel like I’m in a movie.”

  We smiled shakily at each other. “I wrote the article,” I said, indicating my laptop. “Turns out it all came pretty easily.”

  “Hell yeah, you did,” he said, a smile growing wide. “Can I get a sneak peek?”

  “Fine. But just the first sentence,” I said. I opened my computer, cleared my throat, and read the words I’d spent two months preparing to write, words into which I’d packed all the beauty and anger I had inside of me.

  He listened. The sentence hung between us, so solid that I could practically see it shimmering in the air. Then Miles shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Beckley, what a lede,” he said. “In case I haven’t communicated this clearly enough, you’re a fucking fantastic writer.”

  There it was, all over his face: his approval, of the beauty and the anger alike. He was looking at me the way I’d looked at him for so long, with a little bit of awe, unable to stop himself from smiling when he met my eyes even though we were about to do something nerve-racking, maybe even dangerous. I flushed. “Thanks.”

  He took a step toward me. “Any way I can convince you to keep reading?”

  “No,” I said, and shut the computer, turning away to put it down on the coffee table. “Tonight, after you’ve seen it all for yourself, then I’ll send you the whole thing.” I rolled my shoulders, then turned back to him. He’d moved even closer when I’d put my computer away. There were only inches between us now. “I . . . I guess I should get going. See you on the other side?”

  “Wait,” he said. He put his arm around my waist and drew me in close to him. He smelled like pine, and when he leaned in to kiss me, he had coffee on his breath. He kissed me hungrily, like he had the first time, and this time he was free, we were both free, to keep pressing against each other.

  I’d spent so much time thinking about the night when we’d done this before, turning over the memory, living in the feeling of it. Now, though, he moved his lips on mine and trailed his fingers up and down my back, and I was distracted. Maybe I was too nervous about what was to come later in the night. Maybe it was the flash of Raf’s face in my mind, how it shone as I’d turned toward him in the dark, the night I’d gotten into his bed. Maybe it was the fact that Miles was still my editor, and that was a little screwed up, wasn’t it?

  As my mind was still processing all of it, Miles stepped back and grinned at me. “I’ve been wanting to do that again for a long time,” he said. “Perhaps not the best moment for it. But also no time like when you’re about to do a risky recon mission, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Sorry, I just—I’m all over the place right now.”

  “Of course,” he said, and touched my cheek briefly before walking to the door. “Well, shall we?”

  FIFTY

  When I turned onto the block that held the Nevertheless clubhouse, I couldn’t make myself go in just yet. It was still early, and I had too much jittery energy buzzing around in my body to go make chitchat with the other club members while we shot furtive looks at the time and at the door. So instead, I headed over toward the water to practice some deep-breathing techniques.

  With a dull roar, airplanes flew through the dark sky overhead. A barge glided down the river, slow and unbothered. The wind picked up, so I hugged my jacket closer to me as I approached the water. Putting my hands on the railing, I stared at the Hudson River. It churned and rippled, making me so dizzy that I had to look away.

  A few feet down from me, another woman stared at the water, lost in thought, wearing sweatpants and a baseball cap with the brim pulled down low. As the headlights from the cars behind us illuminated her face, I glanced over at her, then glanced away. And then I looked again.

  “Excuse me,” I said, my heart pounding. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Nicole Woo-Martin?”

  She turned, a wary look on her wide face. “Hello,” Nicole said. “Yes.”

  I’d spent so long thinking about her that I couldn’t believe she was actually standing in front of me. But there she was, not an illusion, a little worse for the wear—rumpled, no makeup, gray strands in her shoulder-length black hair—looking up at me as if I’d dreamed her into being. As if I’d summoned her. Which, back in the woods for Samhain, I had.

  She waited for me to say something, bracing herself for my disappointment—disappointment with her for failing, maybe, or disappointment with the system that chewed her up and spit her out, but it would be disappointment of some kind, because that was what she got from the world now.

  But instead, what came out of my mouth was, “What are you doing here?”

  That caught her off guard. “In New York City? Technically I live here.”

  “Right, sorry, I just mean—I thought you were off the grid somewhere, walking in the woods.”

  “Ah,” she said, sliding a politician’s veneer over herself, standing up a little straighter to give me a canned answer. “Yes, I was taking some time to reflect and consider how I could be of service in the future. But recently, I felt it was time to come back.”

  “This is so fucking weird,” I said, dazed. “The timing. The coincidence.”

  She furrowed her brow, trying to keep up her polite political smile, but one of her feet lifted slightly as if poised for flight, in case I turned out to be an unstable stalker, someone who’d spent all my money on votive candles of her face. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “No, I’m . . . My name is Jillian. I know Caroline Thompson and that whole group.”

  At the mention of Caroline’s name, her jaw tightened, and she clicked her tongue. “Huh. Well, it was nice to meet you, Jillian. Keep fighting the good fight. Now, I should—” She began to turn away.

  “I’m going to get justice for you,” I said in a low voice, and she turned back.

  “Justice?” There were hardly any people around at this late, cold hour, and those who did pass by were paying us no mind. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “I’m a journalist, and I’ve been looking into things.”

  At the word “journalist,” she stepped back. “Oh. No. No thank you. I’m sorry, I’ve already talked to a lot of journalists. I’ve been followed and hounded even when
I asked for privacy, and I would rather not—”

  “But I know you weren’t threatening him,” I said. “I know that other people were involved, that bad crowd, and you didn’t deserve . . .” She blinked a few times and swallowed, so I continued. “Maybe we could go somewhere and talk, just for a little while.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m trying to move on, and I don’t have any interest in relitigating or reliving it all.”

  “But I’m angry!” I said. It just burst out and then, embarrassingly, tears began to well in my eyes. I remembered my mother telling me that when Nicole was sworn in as president, she would be happy, wherever she was. “They played God with you, and they ruined you, and I’m so angry about it all.”

  She considered the pathetic spectacle of me for a moment, then walked up very close so that we were side by side at the railing, the water lapping before us. She put a hand on my arm. “Jillian, yes?” I nodded. “I’m going to say what I need to say now and then we’re going to be done with it, and this is all off the record, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, and wiped my eyes.

  She let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. “I was getting good work done in that office, and I’m angry that it got cut short too. I’m heartbroken. But I also . . . Well, you know. I made a huge error in judgment. I’ve been trying to figure out why I did what I did, because I always thought I was pretty good at knowing what was right.”

  “I know why,” I said. “You had all these outside influences pushing you—”

  She gave a dry laugh. “Well, so what? So I was weak enough to change who I was entirely based on some outside influence?” She shook her head. “No. Pardon my French, but that’s bullshit. I made my own decisions.”

  “But—”

  She raised an eyebrow and said drily, “Do you want to know the grand result of my self-examination or not?”

  I laughed, just a little bit, then sniffled. “I do, yes.”

  “All right, then. I think . . . I think my foundation for running in the first place was shaky. A whole big house was built on top of it so quickly, but I hadn’t made sure that its base was secure. And because everything came so easily all of a sudden, I began to believe that I deserved it. I began to think that I was special.”

  “You were—”

  “Not just special. Better. That what I thought and wanted mattered more than anything else. Of course a handsome young man would fall for me. Our love was exceptional, so I was allowed to enjoy it, even though if someone else did it, I would think it was wrong. That’s what power will do to you, if you’re not watching out for it. I didn’t want to let go of a single thing that I had. I was ruining myself. So maybe it’s good that I have to start over. Because if I ever step back into the public eye, if I ever ask people to consider me in that way again, it’s going to have to be not for the glory or the flattery, but for something deeper.” She stared into my eyes, her voice growing fuller and more certain. “Sometimes, to make something strong, we have to tear out the rot in the foundation and start again.”

  As she continued speaking, I felt the full force of her charisma. This woman truly could have been our president someday. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she still could be. “It’s fine that you’re angry, Jillian. I’m angry too. But we have to use that anger to rebuild.”

  Then she shook her head again, and the flame that had been roaring within her sputtered out, and she was just an ordinary woman in sweatpants, standing by the river. “Or not. I don’t know. I’m still figuring it all out.” She waggled her finger at me. “So again, do not quote me on anything.”

  I nodded. She gave me a sad smile, patted my arm once more, then turned and walked away into the night.

  FIFTY-ONE

  By the time I arrived at the clubhouse, waving shakily to Keisha at the security desk, most of the more casual members were trickling out. I looked toward Libby’s favorite table in the corner. She wasn’t there. I wondered if she’d been back to the clubhouse at all since the moment she had realized my betrayal. Maybe it was a good thing for her to give up on this nest of vipers. She could make better, safer friends by taking an improv class or joining an after-work softball team. Vy wasn’t around either. If she couldn’t be part of the Coven, she would never come back.

  I made small talk with the sparkling women who had passed all the tests that Caroline and Margot had set for them and who continued to toe the line, to perform and shine and pay their dues so that they could wrap themselves up in the exclusivity that Nevertheless conferred. So that they could feel that they were special. Better. That they mattered more.

  The clubhouse was lifeless without Libby and Vy there.

  As the final members who didn’t belong to the inner circle said their good-byes, I put my phone on silent and sent a text to Miles. We’re about to head upstairs. Margot appeared at my side. “Ready for this?” she asked in a quiet voice. I nodded, and she gave my hand a squeeze. Before I’d really gotten to know her, when she’d seemed all surety and ease, I would have bet anything that Margot’s palms had never sweat in her life. But now her hand was as clammy as mine.

  Caroline unlocked the second door and we filed through, walking down the short hallway to the freight elevator. The energy was different tonight than it normally was, less excited and more nervous, some of us preoccupied with our own impending betrayals, others perhaps thinking of the discomfort that had happened the last time we’d all assembled on this roof.

  When the freight elevator let us off in the antechamber, we changed into our robes quietly. As the speedy, impatient ones among us dropped their phones into the bucket and opened the door to the roof, I took my own phone out to give Miles a ten-minute warning before turning it off. But he was already typing something.

  We’re at the entrance to the alley, but there’s a woman in it. Can’t tell if she’s security, or casing the joint herself. I stared at his words. What the fuck?

  Another message came through: She looks like a Viking, crossed with a ghost?

  Dammit. Vy. What was she doing there? Margot was sitting on a bench against the wall, taking her shoes off. I sat down next to her to take off my own, then leaned over and said, quietly, “Hey, have you talked to Vy recently?”

  Margot’s eyes darted toward the rest of the group. Then she looked down at her laces and said, out of the corner of her mouth, “She’s not taking my calls. I texted that I had a plan for getting her invited back tonight, if she wanted to come to the neighborhood just in case. But she hasn’t responded.” She stood up and put her phone in the bucket, then headed to the door, her robe swirling as she walked.

  I thought quickly and sent Vy a text. FYI plan’s not going to work tonight, so I wouldn’t bother coming to the neighborhood. We’re going to try next week instead.

  I looked down at the screen. No response, no little dots that meant she was even starting to type. If she was angry with Margot, she was probably livid with me too, for being so obvious about what she’d put in her tea at Samhain. Maybe she thought I’d tattled on her to Caroline. I sent another text. Also, I didn’t mean to out you with the shrooms, and I’m really sorry if that contributed to you getting kicked out.

  Still no response. Fuck. What if she didn’t have her phone on her, or she was wary of trusting me? “Are you coming, Jillian?” Caroline called from the doorway, a strange edge to her voice. Everyone else had already filed out onto the roof.

  “Sorry, yes!” I said, standing up quickly. We had to get evidence tonight. There was no telling what would happen, how badly things might blow up, when Margot made her stand. Maybe Caroline would retain her control, and I’d never be invited up here again. Maybe the Coven would tear itself apart. I turned toward the bucket as if to put my phone in it. But instead, moving as fast as I could, I pulled up my voice recording app, pressed record, and slipped the phone into the pocket of my robe. Just in case Miles and the fact-checker couldn’t
make it up to the roof, at least there would be some record.

  “Well, come on,” Caroline said, holding the door. I followed her out, stopping to slip a piece of cardboard over the automatic lock like I’d promised Miles.

  Already, the fire that some of the women had built was starting to roar, and they were assembling in a circle, reaching out their hands to one another, a few of them beginning to take the deep breaths that we would all breathe together to begin the worship.

  Caroline took her place next to Margot, the tension between them crackling in the air, but she didn’t reach out her hands. “Stop the breathing for a moment,” she said, looking around the circle, her red hair glimmering in the firelight, strands of it lifting and dancing in the wind. “Before we begin, we have something we need to discuss.” Her eyes landed on me. “It’s about Jillian.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  My breath caught in my throat as everyone’s faces turned to me. I glanced over at Margot, who shot me a look of confusion and barely suppressed panic. “She’s not who we think she is,” Caroline continued as wind rustled the ivy on the trellises. Holy shit, had Caroline found out about my family history too? Was she going to preempt what Margot had planned and try to claim me for herself, or present some sort of well-prepared legal defense as to how I’d forfeited any rights to my authority? The panic on Margot’s face grew.

  Caroline stood up straight, lifted her chin. “She’s a journalist.” Somehow, I had not been expecting that at all.

  “What?” Iris asked as the other women began to mutter, looking at me with growing distrust. God. Dammit.

  “Well, yes. I mean, I was,” I said, my mind racing for the spin. “I told you all that. But the website I wrote for folded, and I realized I didn’t want to keep doing—”