RIOT HOUSE

by Hart, Callie

I’m managing to keep my shit on lockdown fairly well, pushing back the rising feeling that I’m gonna come, but the moment I see her surrendering to her orgasm, her nipples peaked and tight, her eyes rolling back into her head, I have no fucking choice in the matter.

  I come with her, clenching my teeth and pressing my forehead against her collar bone, my ears fucking ringing, my head spinning like I’m trapped in a tailspin and I can’t even tell the difference between the ground and the spinning sky.

  It ends. After a long, dizzying moment, trying to figure which way is fucking up, it ends. Elodie falls limp against me, her forehead beaded with a damp coat of sweat, her hair mussed and all over the place, and something foreign squeezes painfully in my chest.

  This beautiful girl with the freckle on her chin, hair the color of sunlight, and a heart as fierce as a lion’s—she carefully lifts her hand and strokes my hair back out of my face, searching my features with a stunned look in her eyes. “That was—” she says, obviously struggling to find the right word.

  “Intense?” I can’t move. If I do, this strange spell we’re trapped in will break and we’ll have to disentangle ourselves. I don’t want that. Not yet.

  Her eyes shine brightly as she nods. “Yes. Intense. Why did you—” She trails off again, her fingers trailing down over my chest. She watches her own hand, golden and beautiful against my paler skin, as if she’s as stunned as I am that she’s actually touching me like this. “Why d’you move me?” she asks.

  I laugh softly, arching an eyebrow at her. “Why? Wasn’t this position to your liking?”

  She laughs, too, ducking to hide behind her hair. “No. It was perfectly satisfactory,” she says.

  I jerk back, feigning surprise. “Satisfactory?”

  She squeals when I bury my face into the crook of her neck and I bite her, reminding her that I still have teeth. Her question’s forgotten, which is a relief.

  I promised back in the gazebo that I’d always give her my truths. I just don’t know how to tell her this, though. That I wanted to face her when I was inside her. That I wanted to kiss her. That I wanted to hold her. That I wanted to see her.

  I don’t even know how to admit it to myself.

  24

  ELODIE

  A secret is a terrible and wonderful thing. It’s a flickering candle flame in your chest, warming you from the inside. It can have you grinning into the crook of your elbow, face hidden in your shirt, while you wish away the hours until ‘later’ arrives, when you get to see the object of your infatuation again. But a secret can also make you feel soooo shit.

  “I’m so glad you transferred. Honestly, I was so miserable before you showed up. Senior year at Wolf Hall was going to be so fucking horrible thanks to Dash. But even those Riot House pieces of shit can’t ruin the last few months here now. My grandmama always said a good friend can fix anything. God, your hair is beautiful,” Carina says, her fingers quickly working over my head. Sitting on the floor in between her legs, I stay still as she works her magic, taming my unruly hair into a complicated braid. “Have you ever thought about dyeing it back to your natural color?” she asks.

  She’s no idea that I feel incredibly guilty over what she just said to me. I’m not a good friend. I’m an awful friend. I can’t fix anything. I’ve gotten myself mixed up with a guy Carina hates, who’s best friends with the guy who broke her fucking heart, and I can’t see myself getting out of the situation any time soon. Selfishly…god, I can’t even believe that I’m letting myself think this…I don’t want to extricate myself from the situation, even though I know how hurt and upset she’d be if she knew what I was up to. What kind of friend does that make me?

  And now she’s talking about dyeing my hair back to my natural color?

  The knife twists in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I pick at my fingernails, suddenly very interested in the floorboards. “Uhh…yeah. Actually, I have. I’ve been meaning to, but…”

  “But you don’t like being a brunette?”

  “No, it’s just, my Mom. She and I have the exact hair color. It made my dad so angry when she died, having to look at me every day, reminding him of how similar we are. We were,” I say, correcting myself. “He’ll be furious if I change it back.”

  “Wow.” Carina stops braiding and peers down over my shoulder, looking at me incredulously. “Your father’s five and a half thousand miles away, Elle. You’re nearly eighteen. You can do whatever you want. And besides…why the fuck should you need to dye your hair just to please him? He sounds like a fucking prick. Sorry if that’s rude, but I’m calling it how I see it. I’ve heard nothing good about the man.”

  This is where I should leap to Colonel Stillwater’s defense. That’s what any other person might do, if someone had called their father out on his actions. But honestly, I have nothing nice to tell her. How sad is that? Every bright and shiny memory from my childhood was because of my mother. With her lopsided, warm smile, and the silly voices she’d put on for me when we’d have tea parties with my stuffed horses, and the way she’d hug me so tight whenever she sent me to bed that I thought my lungs might pop…she was the only light in an otherwise very dark storm.

  “Yeah, he’s kind of a law unto himself,” I tell her. “The man barely even answers to Uncle Sam. He’s not used to people questioning his edicts. He sure as hell isn’t used to people disobeying direct orders.”

  “He ordered you not to dye your hair?”

  “In no uncertain terms.”

  “All right. That’s it. I’m driving to the pharmacy at some point and I’m buying a box of hair dye. I’ll leave it for you outside your door. If you have any objections, air them now or forever hold your pe—”

  “Ohhh, hair dyeing party. Sounds like fun.” Carina and I both look up at the same time. It takes a second to process the fact that Mercy Jacobi’s hovering on the precipice of my bedroom, leaning against the doorjamb while she inspects her flawless French manicure. She looks so much like Wren that my stomach promptly ties itself into a double knot.

  “What do you want, Merce?” Carina asks. She doesn’t sound surprised that the girl’s showed up here. Not that she sounds happy about it, either.

  “Lovely to see you, too, Carrie. Of all the people here at Wolf Hall, I was excited to see you the most.” The cold, calculating smile that spreads across her face is unconvincing. It sets my teeth on edge. “Remember how much time we all used to spend here together,” she says, entering my room and casually looking around. She pretends to be interested in the little knick knacks I have dotted around the place, but I can tell she’s bored by everything she touches. Nothing’s expensive enough, or rare enough, or valuable enough to capture her attention. I don’t know this for a fact, but it’s not hard to imagine what kind of person Mercy is from the way she sneers down her nose at the little music box in her hand.

  “This is Elodie’s room now,” Carina says. “Maybe you should wait for an invitation before you saunter in here like you own the fucking place.”

  Mercy holds a hand to her chest, her mouth pulling down into a phony looking mask of horror. “Shit, you’re right.” Her green eyes, not quite as stunning as Wren’s, flit down to me where I’m sitting on the floor. “Elodie, right? Sorry for invading your girl time with our delightful Carina, here. It’s just I was walking past and saw you guys in here, and it brought back so many fond memories of my time here before I left Wolf Hall. Me, you, Pres and Mara. Right Carrie?”

  Carina’s eyes darken. Her whole mood darkens. Her expression’s all storm and restless sea. “Don’t you have anything better to be doing right now? I heard they’re planning another Riot House party. Why don’t you go and mess with your brother or something? I’m sure you’ve concocted plenty of evil trials and tribulations for the residents of Wolf Hall while you’ve been away.”

  Mercy shrugs at me, pulling a face. “She never used to be this boring, y’know.” Then, to Carina, “As you well know, Wren’s still pissy at me for what happened
with Mara. I haven’t been invited to the party, so I won’t be participating in the planning this time. I’ll still go, though. Dash still has a sweet spot for me, even if Wren is acting like a little bitch. Does Dash still have a sweet spot for you, Carrie? I have a feeling that he does.” She grins, an unpleasant slash across her pretty face.

  Carina glares at the girl as she wanders over to the largest window and looks out over the maze. “I don’t give a shit about Dash,” Carina growls. “He can go to hell for all I care.”

  “He would be perfectly at home there,” Mercy says thoughtfully. “I take it that means that you won’t be coming to the party, then?”

  “Of course not.”

  Mercy pivots, turning sharply from the window. “And you, pretty little Elodie? I hear my brother’s quite taken with you. Will you be going to the party?”

  Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to say here? Pax and Dash said they were planning a party last night when I went to Riot House, but I wasn’t extended an invitation. Wren never mentioned it to me. I have absolutely no idea, now, if he’ll be expect—

  “Don’t be stupid,” Carina mutters. “Your brother’s fucking damaged, Mercy. Like, mentally unhinged. Elodie’s not dumb enough to go anywhere near him. She’s not going to the party, either, now please will you just go already? We’re trying to enjoy what’s left of our Sunday, and you’re ruining it with your snark.”

  Mercy stands still, her eyes lingering on me, full of amusement; a slow, slanted smile spreads across her face. She looks like she’s got a secret. Or rather, she knows a secret, and she’s savoring the weight of it on her tongue. If she and Dash are close, then maybe he told her I showed up at Riot House last night. Maybe he told her that I disappeared up to Wren’s room and didn’t come back down until three in the morning. From the way she arches her eyebrow at me, toying with the ends of her hair, she does know and she’s enjoying the fact that I’m squirming like a worm on a hook right now.

  Horror coils itself tight around my throat. I need to change the subject. Now. “Who’s Mara?” I ask.

  Mercy’s surprise doesn’t look real. She lays it on thick, though. “You don’t know who Mara Bancroft is?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

  Mercy shoots Carina a curious look. “This used to be her room. Before she went missing. She and my brother were…very close.”

  Carina gets to her feet. “Mercy, please.”

  Mercy ignores her. “She was really beautiful wasn’t she, Carrie? All this beautiful long black hair. These big ol’ bright blue eyes. I was surprised when I found out Wren was interested in you, y’know. You’re nothing like her at all.”

  She looks at me like I’m some third rate, discount version of this Mara Bancroft girl. Like she has no idea why her brother would even look twice at me. I’m still stunned from the other snippet of information she just dropped, though. “She went missing?”

  “Mmm.” Mercy toys with the ends of her hair. “Last June, right after the last party my brother hosted. It was all very suspicious. She was upset about something and left in the middle of a game of beer pong. Just walked into the woods and…poof. Vanished into thin air. The police suspected foul play. They searched for her for days didn’t they, Carrie?”

  “What are you hoping to accomplish right now?” Carina snaps. “This is all in the past. Mara’s gone. We all vowed we’d move on.”

  Fuck. When I first arrived at Wolf Hall, Pres made a weird comment about girls leaving the academy. Carina had shut her down. Told her to let me settle in here before dredging up all of that. I thought it was strange at the time, but then I completely forgot all about it. And now I’m learning that the girl who used to sleep in this room, my room, fucking disappeared?

  “Mara loved this room,” Mercy continues. “She had all kinds of hiding places for her little treasures.” It’s a weird thing to just blurt out. Carina tenses, hatred radiating off her like smoke.

  “Enough already.”

  “This bay window, for example,” Mercy says, running her hand across the white paint of the windowsill. “Mara used to sit up here and write in her journal every night. She’d scribble away for hours, committing her most personal, private thoughts to paper. And when she was done, she’d hide her journal away, putting it in the safest place she could think of.” She runs her hand to the edge of the windowsill, reaching underneath it, and a loud snapping noise fills the room. Mercy takes hold of the painted wood…and just lifts it up in her hands, pulling it away from the wall.

  What the…?

  “Jesus Christ.” Carina spits out a string of curse words under her breath. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. The cops searched this room high and low and they didn’t find anything. You knew where she hid her journal, and you didn’t say a word?”

  “What, you think I should have just handed it over?” Mercy laughs—a cold, silvery, cruel sound that makes my pulse thump at my temples. “I would have thought you’d be glad I kept my mouth shut. Mara didn’t hold back when she held that pen in her hand. I’m sure there were plenty of things she wrote about you that would have raised a few eyebrows, if her journal fell into the wrong hands.”

  I get up, anxiety pulling taut down my spine as I cross the room, toward the bay window. Carina grabs my hand, trying to pull me back. “Elle, really, it’s not worth it. Don’t buy into her bullshit, okay?”

  I shake myself free, not listening, needing to see.

  I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets. Turns out that I’ve been shut in the dark, all of the students and even the teachers at the academy keeping me on the other side of a locked door that they won’t open. This is the first time I’m learning anything about this girl, and now I need to know more.

  There’s a space in the bay window, concealed beneath the windowsill—a fairly large hidey-hole that would almost be big enough for a person to crawl into if they were set on doing so. Inside: a black lacquered box with white cherry blossoms painted on the lid; a scrunched-up sweater; a pink and grey stripy folder; and a small, fat little leather-bound book with the initials M. B. stamped in gold foil into the front cover.

  “Ohh, would you look at that. I just solved a mystery. Maybe I’ll start up a P.I. firm once I’ve been released from this hellhole.” Mercy’s smug as hell as she drops the windowsill onto the floor at her feet with a loud clatter. “My my. Would you look at the time. Turns out I do have somewhere to be after all. If you girls will excuse me, I have a hot date in town. Enjoy flicking through the journal, Elle. I think you’ll find it a riveting read.”

  Wren’s sister saunters out of the room with a swing in her hips. She doesn’t bother to close the door behind her, but Carina launches off the bed and races across the room, slamming it behind her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her move so quickly. “You don’t need to read anything,” she says. Wow. When she turns to face me, I barely recognize her. She’s ashen, the color drained from her face, and there’s panic carved into the lines of her features. She looks ten years older than she is, and desperately haunted.

  I reach into Mara’s hiding place, taking out the leather-bound book. It’s cold and heavy in my hands, fatter than a Bible, its pages wrinkled and dogeared in places, most of them written on. “What’s this about, Carina?” I have to ask. I hate that my words are so hard and clipped, but there’s something clearly going on here that she doesn’t want me to know about. She strides across the room, holding out her hand for the diary.

  “Give it to me, Elle. Seriously. This is one mess that you don’t want to get involved in. Can you…can you please just trust me? Haven’t I been looking out for you since you got here?”

  The journal feels like an unexploded bomb in my hand. If I crack it open, it’s going to go off, and everything I know, everything I think I know about this place will go up in smoke. Is that what I want? For things to become even more complicated? My whole life has been one problematic situation after another, after another, after another. Things with
Wren are so complicated, I don’t even know what the fuck is going on there. But the mystery surrounding the previous occupant of my room seems sketchy. It feels as though it would be dangerous not knowing what happened to the girl, and who was involved with her disappearance. And, I’ll admit it, Carina’s over the top level of panic right now is freaking me out. It’s making her look incredibly guilty—of what, I don’t know—and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do right now.

  “Please, Elodie. No good can come from reading that journal, I promise you. We should just hand it over to the cops and let them deal with it.” Carina sets her jaw. She locks up, her shoulders tensing, her back so ramrod straight, she looks like she’s about to salute a four-star general. “It’s been close to a year. Mara’s parents have been worried sick about their daughter this entire time. The police will know what to do with new evidence. Handing it over to them is the right thing to do.”

  “Do you know where she went, Carina? Is that why you don’t want me to read this?”

  She blinks, her eyelids fluttering rapidly. “No! If I knew where she was, believe me, I’d be telling anyone who’d listen. I’m just trying to keep you out of a situation that’s really fucked up and could put you in danger. You can’t be mad at me for that.”

  “Danger? Why would I be in danger?”

  Her pupils almost double in size. I can see them dilate from four fucking feet away. “Urgh, Elle. Just give me the journal. I swear to God, you’ll be happier for not knowing what’s inside it.”

  What the fuck? Am I supposed to just hand it over? Hold it over my head and play keep away with it? Carina’s a foot and a half taller than me, so that shit ain’t gonna work. It’ll cause so much contention between us if I don’t give her what she wants. I’ll lose my only real friend at Wolf Hall. And for what? Because I’m suspicious as fuck that something untoward happened here? Yes. That’s a good reason to make a stand, but if the police are already dealing with the matter…