“Please, be thorough with your explanation,” Vincent prodded Ayaz, as several of the parents glanced at each other in confusion. “Many members of the Club are not as familiar with our founder’s history as you or I.”
Ayaz nodded. “Thomas Parris’ father, the Reverend Parris, played a pivotal role in the Salem Witch trials. He was personally responsible for the convictions and subsequent deaths of several witches. For his remaining years, he believed he was haunted by the spirits of those witches he’d condemned. When he died, the spirits didn’t rest, but moved on to his son, dogging his every step and whispering to him that he would pay for what his father did. They grew in power until they could move objects and scratch the faces of people who visited the Parris home.
“Originally, Parris made his study of mysticism and the occult to try and exorcise his father of these spirits. He redoubled his efforts when his own mind became plagued by their malevolent presence. When he heard these rumors about the soul-eater, he wondered if a creature who devoured souls might be able to take from him the souls that haunted him, while leaving his own life intact.
“He purchased the land for next to nothing and set about constructing the house and tunnel system around the principles of sacred geometry.” Ayaz jabbed his finger on the page. “According to Parris’ account, the entire house and grounds act as the god’s cage. I’m not sure how it works exactly, but let’s say that in the caves deep beneath the school, deeper even then we’ve ever tried to explore, is a doorway or portal or rift or whatever from our universe into the god’s homeland. And maybe there was a guardian on the other side of that door who took the soul of anyone who came too close – the ‘soul-eater’ of the smugglers’ legend. Instead of going down to meet the guardian, Parris used himself as bait to lure the god up into the trap he created.”
My heart hammered against my chest. Ayaz had figured it all out, everything we’d been trying to understand. My beautiful, clever boy had all the answers. But he was telling the wrong people.
“Parris fed the god on the spirits that haunted him. He figured out that ghosts and souls are all the same thing, so there’s something for a pop quiz.” Ayaz smiled at Vincent. When no one else in the room smiled back, he continued. “So, anyway… the god devoured Parris’ spirits, but kept him alive to bring him more. This part is quite hard to understand, but it seems as if Parris started feeding the god with human sacrifices. The god grew fat and gluttonous, and it could no longer break free from Parris’ trap. Perhaps it didn’t want to. With each sacrifice, Parris’ coven grew in power, and—”
“We already know this,” Damon snapped.
“Right.” Ayaz’s eyes fell to the page. “You know all this because it’s similar to what happened to us after the fire. I don’t understand why we didn’t die and why we didn’t end up as hollowed-out shells like the smugglers, but it’s the same thing. There’s an alignment between the god’s prison and the gym, so when the fire tore through, it…” here Ayaz paused. “Yes, sorry. This isn’t about what happened to me. What I’m trying to say is that feeding the god is its true prison. It has everything it wants and needs right here. As long as it keeps feeding, you can leave the door open and it won’t leave.”
Oh.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
That means, if you stop feeding it, or say, if you make a bargain with it to force it to stop feeding, you take away its excuse for staying in its cage.
Exactly the thing I’d just done.
“And there was something else, son?” Vincent prodded.
“Yes.” Ayaz lowered his gaze. “Ms. West told you sacrifices continued as normal this year despite Hazel’s disruption, but I don’t believe that’s true. One of them, Loretta Putnam, was released to be a friend to Courtney, who is now my girlfriend. I’ve seen Loretta slipping food into her pockets in the dining hall. She goes to the pleasure garden sometimes to read, and I’ve noticed empty candy bar wrappers and potato chip bags hidden in the weeds. She’s hiding the fact she requires food to survive. She’s not one of us. She’s still alive.”
“Thank you, son.” Vincent patted Ayaz on the shoulder. “You may go.”
“Take that disgusting book with you,” Gloria sniffed from beneath her veil.
Ayaz picked up the book and his notes and sauntered out of the room. He didn’t look back.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Quinn’s vise-like grip on my thigh loosened off ever so slightly. Vincent moved to stand beside the fireplace again.
For several moments, no one in the room spoke. Senator Hyde-Jones broke the silence. “That Turk has presented us with a compelling plan. If we agree that freeing the god is the right course of action, it appears we’re heading in that direction anyway. Perhaps the god itself has realized this, and that is why it’s stopped feeding us power? What concerns me now is that if we trust the boy about everything he’s said, then it brings to light an ugly truth – for I distinctly remember being told a very different story by our headmistress.”
“Precisely the issue for which we are gathered,” Vincent said. “When Ayaz brought this revelation to me, I saw we had a bigger issue on our hands than we initially realized. Hermia made it clear that order for the club to have a steady flow of power, we needed this large sacrifice. Then, she claimed the god wouldn’t accept our children because they were too spoiled, too rich, too laden with promise and opportunity. And so the scholarship program was born. We were promised that as the god grew stronger, we would be able to access more of its power. And yet, the exact opposite has happened. And now we learn that we have been lied to once more and actively sabotaged. We could have unleashed the god ourselves without any of this nonsense.”
“I don’t appreciate being tricked,” Gloria spat. She flung off her veil. “Especially when it’s cost me my face.”
Damon nodded, his jaw tight. “I don’t appreciate it, either. You brought her in, Vincent. This is on your head—”
BANG.
Vincent’s fist slammed against the mantle. A ceramic dog rattled off and smashed on the floor. No one in the room moved a muscle.
“I’m aware, Damon. She manipulated me from the start.” He flexed his fingers, wincing as a drop of blood appeared on his knuckles. His aging skin wasn’t as thick as it once was. “Hermia wants to keep the god’s power for herself.”
“Not so loud,” Damon hissed. “That witch could be listening at the door.”
Yes, Vincent. You don’t know who could be listening.
“That’s unlikely. I’ve stationed two members of my security team at either end of the hall. No one enters or exits without my knowledge.” Vincent rubbed his bleeding knuckle. “We have plans to make. We will not take this deception lying down.”
“While I’m all for putting Hermia in her place,” Senator Hyde-Jones piped up, “I feel the release of the god is more important.”
“We will do both at the same time,” Vincent said. “The traditional memorial dance is coming up in a few weeks. Hermia has informed me that they have found a way to move the shadows from the gym, so it will be hosted there instead of the dining hall. This conduit we spoke of will once again connect the space to the god’s prison.”
“And?” Damon prompted.
Vincent stared pointedly at the fire in the hearth.
“Out with it, man.” The senator boomed.
“It’s simple. You all know what I’m proposing,” Vincent shrugged. “They all need to die. It is what was supposed to happen in the beginning. We’re simply finishing the job. They die and we use that power to break the god free from his cage. Then all the world will be ours for the taking.”
“But Quinn…” Elena’s hands flew to her mouth.
“He’s been dead for twenty years,” Vincent snapped. “Don’t cry over him now.”
She gulped back her sobs as Vincent raised his glass. A trickle of blood flowing over his knuckles. “I ask for a vote. Who is ready to close Derleth Academy for
good?”
Once again, hands shot in the air – parents who were supposed to love their children barely even pausing to think before agreeing to kill them. The vote was unanimous. Even Quinn’s mother had her hand in the air while she wiped away her tears.
Vincent glanced at a gold watch on his wrist. “I’ll make the arrangements. We should take our seats. The show will be starting soon. Remember, keep smiling. The last thing we want is the kids getting wind of any of this.”
Heads bent together, murmuring and steadying their old bodies against each other, the Eldritch Club members exited the room. Vincent was the last to leave, closing the door behind him with a loud and final CLICK.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My leg ached from kneeling in the cramped space. I turned to Quinn, gesturing for him to start moving. We had to get all the way back to the classroom wing to sneak backstage before the show started.
But Quinn didn’t move. He didn’t seem to have noticed me at all. He stared out at the empty room with glassy eyes. His body rigid, his heart in tatters.
He’s just heard his mother give up on him.
“Quinn.” I jiggled his thigh. “Quinn.”
Still nothing.
I snapped my fingers in front of his face. He didn’t even blink.
I held my hand out, palm up, and stoked the fire inside me. It wasn’t difficult after everything we’d just heard to drag up a hot rage. A tall flame shot from my palm, nearly touching the ceiling of the passage.
That got his attention. Quinn leaped away, his eyes like saucers. In the flickering light, I could see the vein bulging on his neck.
“Fuck, Hazy.” He clutched a hand to his chest. “You scared me.”
“Yeah, well, you scared me, going all still and silent like that.” I dropped the flame down to a tiny flicker, just large enough to light our way back.
Quinn raised his hand, cupping it around the flame as if warming his palm against a chill. He stared into that light for a long time. By now, my leg was screaming, the old burn agitated by the cramped conditions. I opened my mouth to tell him to move when he broke the silence first.
In a hard, cold voice that didn’t sound like his own, he said, “I hope you burn them all.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
We scrambled back down the passage and crawled out into the pod. Then it was a twenty-minute walk back through the forest to the tunnel, and then out into the basement. The whole way, Quinn didn’t say a word or try to pinch my ass. That worried me more than anything.
Please, don’t let this break him.
I wouldn’t blame him if it did, but I needed him tonight. Now more than ever, we needed every student of Miskatonic Prep to see what their parents had done to them.
When we reached my old room, I was relieved to find it empty, all our bags of props gone. Quinn and I peeled off our sweaty clothes and changed into black from head-to-toe. I picked up my backpack with my supplies and slung it over my shoulder.
“When you first suggested this, I kept trying to think of ways to pull my mother aside so she didn’t have to see it,” he said, his jaw tight. “Now I hope she has a front-row seat.”
Good. I gripped his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but it’s better you know. What they did isn’t okay. We’ll make them see that.”
That’s my promise to you. Whatever happens tonight, they will suffer for what they’ve done to you.
My heart leaped into my chest as we made our way through the deserted dormitory and locker-lined corridors to the auditorium.
At my old school in Philly, we didn’t even have a space for productions. Plays, assemblies, dances, and other events happened in the gym, with everyone sitting on the bleachers or the basketball court. But at Derleth they spared no expense – the school’s auditorium looked more like a Broadway theatre complete with bar and padded seats that stepped down toward an elaborate Moorish-inspired stage complete with gilded turrets, spires, and minarets.
A crowd of students and parents gathered at the entrance. It looked like the bar was already hopping. My heart hammered in my chest as I ducked behind Quinn. At any moment someone could look up and recognize me and this would all be over.
Quinn made it to the backstage door and yanked it open. I ducked inside, and we immediately separated – Quinn heading to the wings to start moving the set and props onto the stage while I scrambled behind the stacks of old set pieces in the corner, a hiding place I’d staked out in advance. I pulled my costume from my backpack and started to peel off my black hoodie and leggings.
From between Sweeney Todd’s barber chair and a revolving bookshelf from Bugsy Malone, I had a small window to view the stage. Right now the curtains were drawn while black-clad figures moved around preparing the first set, but I could hear the trill of the audience as they took their seats.
They’re in for a show tonight.
I smoothed down the front of my swirling ballgown, affixed the tiara to my head – hoping it wasn’t crooked, as I had no way to check – and counted down the minutes. The last of the crew exited the stage. Feet shuffled across the floorboards as the actors and chorus lined up at the wings. I drew my head back as Tillie – who headed up the backstage crew – stomped past, barking orders into a walkie-talkie. The first ponderous notes struck from the orchestra, building into a crescendo as the curtains swung back and the lights went up on a busy Paris street.
Showtime.
Courtney strutted into the spotlight and spoke the opening lines. My lines. Not that I cared anymore. Applause echoed through the auditorium as the chorus came out and launched into a raucous number.
It was strange to watch something I’d worked on for months go ahead without me. Part of me knew what we were doing tonight was necessary, and that I’d never fit in at this school in the first place. But there was another part of me that wished I had the chance to have a normal teenage life – that I’d gotten to stand on stage instead of Courtney and play that part and have my mom in the audience laughing and clapping along with the music.
It’s stupid to wish for things that can’t happen. I clenched my fists, willing down the rush of heat pooling in my palms. Tonight isn’t about me – it’s about making sure the Miskatonic students know the truth.
The play chugged along at a decent pace. The audience seemed into it, laughing and clapping at all the right places. I was surprised – these were people used to Broadway shows and opera, and back in the meeting room they acted as if they were only here begrudgingly. Perhaps they were even better actors than their kids, or maybe they bought into this farce that they were normal, supportive parents. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
Every second that passed brought us closer to our surprise. Tillie kept walking past with her walkie-talkie as sets flew in and out and actors scurried around the wings to meet their cues. The curtain dropped on intermission, and the audience exploded with conversation and thumping feet as parents made their way to the bar.
With what they were about to see, they were going to need those drinks.
My breath came out in ragged gasps as the second act began. The lights went down, and the first notes of a familiar song struck up. The song I danced with Trey. The song where I chose him.
Trey stepped out on stage. In his leather jacket and torn jeans, with his hair slicked back and a dangerous glint in his eye, he looked the epitome of the hot biker he portrayed. The music swelled, and he executed the first steps flawlessly, the way he did everything in his life. He finished on one knee at the front of the stage, his hand extended toward the wings, waiting for his leading lady to join him.
Courtney’s cue sounded, but she didn’t glide in to meet him. She couldn’t. Andre had her locked in a closet backstage, knocked out with a mild sedative Quinn stole from Old Waldron.
A ripple of unrest echoed through the wings. Tillie stomped by, snapping into her walkie-talkie. “Courts, where are you?”
The orchestra repeated the ba
r, and the cue sounded again. That was my signal. I stood up, smoothing down the front of my costume, and bolted from my hiding place toward the wings.
The backstage students waiting with props looked up in surprise, but they’d barely registered my presence before I stepped out under the lights and glided into Trey’s arms.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I held my breath as Trey caught me, his strong hands on my hips steadying me. The orchestra swelled, and the song continued. The musicians had an awkward view of the stage – they hadn’t noticed I wasn’t Courtney. Trey and I moved together, leaping and flowing together as we danced our theme of seduction. All the moves we’d practiced came to me in a rush of heat and lust and fire.
While we danced, the lights swirled and shifted. In the lighting box, Quinn worked his magic, using a red-tinted spot to follow us across the stage. Murmurs rose through the audience as people started to recognize me. My shoulders prickled from the heat of their gaze, but no one left their seat. No one rushed the stage or used a comically-large cane to fish me off.
The whole auditorium teetered on a knife-edge, waiting to see what happened next.
Behind us, images flickered across the backdrop as Quinn turned on the projector. Faces twisted with innocent smiles while white mist swirled around our feet. Familiar faces of past scholarship students – each one with a cruel cross etched through their features by a King. The faces flickered over the walls and ceiling of the auditorium as Quinn swung the projector around.
The orchestra halted with a screech as the musicians realized something was seriously wrong. A cold hush fell over the audience.
Trey and I danced on, the only sound in the room the scrape of our dance shoes against the stage. Until a voice cried through the loudspeakers, startling even me with its fearful trill.
“My name is Freddie,” a small voice whimpered. Trey really was good with voices. He’d recorded the tape earlier in the week, devising several different personalities – it was impossible to tell it was him. The reverb Quinn placed on the tape gave it an eerie, ghastly quality. “I’m John’s younger brother. Now I’m his older brother because he wasn’t allowed to grow up. We were going to work on our first cars together. He was stolen from me. I miss him.”
Possessed: A reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 3) Page 22
