by Lily Velez
“Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” I asked the gap of darkness the door had formed.
Lucas’s face appeared in the gap. “Of course we are. Come on.”
The room beyond overflowed with old, industrial mop buckets, tangled volleyball nets, and a graveyard of broken classrooms supplies that included dusty projectors, chairs with missing legs, and a skeleton in a lab coat with safety goggles on.
“Up here.”
Lucas was halfway up a flight of grated, metal stairs attached to a far wall. The stairs ascended three levels, bringing us to another door. When Lucas opened this one, we were not only outside but also on the roof of the building. The students below looked like miniature pieces in a diorama, and the ashen skies were close enough to touch, engorged clouds drifting by in no particular hurry.
The only problem was Jack wasn’t here. Besides Lucas, my only other company was a cluster of industrial generators humming in unison and rows of exhaust pipes venting out white air. Just when I thought I’d been duped, Lucas made his way around a high wall behind us covered in electric meters and valves topped with cast iron handwheels, disappearing once more.
I followed, kicking through a thin carpet of dead leaves, and once I cleared the barrier, I came to a halt and stared.
Up ahead, hidden at the very center of the roof, was an idyllic, white greenhouse overrun with ivy and flowering climbers. It was nestled in a sanctuary of green. Saplings in planter boxes made of reclaimed wood stood guard at every corner. Terracotta pots overflowing with plants swarmed around the greenhouse on crates, step ladders, small tables—pretty much on any available real estate. It looked like nothing short of a tucked-away paradise.
“I didn’t know the school had this up here,” I said. The machines on every side of the roof effectively kept it out of view.
“And with good reason,” Lucas said, smiling. “It doesn’t belong to the school.”
“Who does it belong to then?”
“You’ll see.”
He opened the door of the greenhouse and gestured for me to enter. It was like stepping into a forest, into another world altogether, and for the first time in a long while, I instantly felt at home. I could’ve teared up at the sensation that overcame me in the presence of all these living things, the rich perfume of soil filling my lungs.
Prior to moving to Rosalyn Bay, I had spent the past year and a half working at a used bookstore to save up money. What was I saving up for? It all went back to my sixteenth birthday, when my mom and I had gone to Olympic National Park, where we’d spent the morning hiking through and exploring gorgeous rainforests. It had birthed in me a desire to see all the national parks, rainforests, and botanical gardens in the United States.
The Everglades, Yellowstone, Yosemite, Kings Canyon…I wanted to visit them all. There was just something about nature that soothed me, that spoke to me. Even when I was simply picking flowers to later use in resin jewelry or raking my fingers through potting soil, it was nothing short of therapeutic. So the plan was to embark on a cross-country road trip once I’d saved enough money. It was one of the few dreams from my old life I hadn’t let go of. Not yet at least.
I furthered into the greenhouse. Plants of every possible shape and size were arranged under fluorescent bulbs which mimicked the sunlight that never seemed to grace Rosalyn Bay. White labels stuck out from the soil in neat rows, small cursive written along their lengths to identify each plant. Some of the seedling names I recognized. Indeed, they were varieties I had worked with during my community garden project. Rosemary, sage, lemon balm, basil. Others I wasn’t overly familiar with. Mugwort, henbane, feverfew, catmint.
Continuing on, Lucas a step behind me, I came upon a scarred, wooden worktable with burn marks. Upon it sat mortars filled with a variety of ingredients: spices, seeds, herbs, flower petals. Beside them, a leather journal was left open, its crème, papyrus pages filled with the same penmanship that had catalogued the plants. In the middle of one page, the journalist had sketched a seedling and diagrammed its anatomy, writing at length about the uses of each part of the plant. The words ‘good for second sight’ pointed to the roots, whatever that meant. Beyond the journal, primitive-looking, gold coins sat atop a constellation wheel along with loose pages covered in drawings of moon phases.
“What is all this stuff?” I asked.
“All in due time,” Lucas said.
We made our way to the back of the greenhouse, pushing past plants and trees. From overhead faucets, a gentle mist showered down on us in a quiet shhh. In some places, vines covered the walls and ceilings so completely you might’ve thought they were claiming the greenhouse as their own, transforming it into a part of nature.
We passed the final plants and stepped into a clearing, where three very familiar boys were waiting, Jack among them. He’d been pacing with arms crossed, but at my arrival, he stopped, straightened, and let his arms fall to his side. He wasn’t wearing his St. Andrew’s blazer, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his tie loose. I tried not to think about how he wore the relaxed look so magnificently well. I focused instead on the fancy watch he donned in lieu of his rugby wristband, which made me wonder about that scar of his I’d glimpsed yesterday.
“Scarlet,” he said, “thank you for coming.”
I couldn’t help the slight somersault my heart performed at the sound of my name in his mouth.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
I glanced in the direction of the hostile voice. It belonged to none other than Jack’s teammate Connor, who happened to be glaring intensely at me. He seemed different than he had on the rugby field. His school uniform gave him a more distinguished appearance, but it was more than that. Today, he wore glasses, the two-toned kind that were black on the top half and clear on the bottom. It was almost obnoxious how glorious he looked. More so when I realized his scowl only enhanced it.
Jack held up a hand. “I’ll get to that in just a moment. But first, some brief introductions are in order. We’re already somewhat acquainted ourselves, of course, but for formality’s sake, I’m Jack Connelly. These are my brothers. You’ve met Lucas obviously.”
I turned to my escort, who winked at me, eyes still twinkling.
“This is Connor.” The brooding blond only glared at me further.
“And that’s Rory over there.” The aloof, auburn-haired boy from my pre-calculus class watched me warily with his hands in his pockets. He stood closer to the surrounding plants than he did any of us, as if he preferred their company.
So these were the legendary Connelly boys. Was I surprised? I wasn’t sure. I’d briefly considered the likelihood of Jack and Connor being related while watching their interactions during the rugby game. I’d guessed at the possibility of Lucas being another brother this morning while he’d spoken with Jack. Rory was perhaps the only true surprise, but then again, maybe he shouldn’t have been. Assembled together as they were, one glance was all it took to know the same blood ran in their veins. Even if their hair and eye colors varied, they had the same face shape, the same bone structure, the same eyebrows. In fact, the similarities were striking the longer I studied them.
Jack stepped forward. “There really isn’t any tactful way to prelude this, so I’m just going to get right to it.” He paused and raked his fingers through his hair. Whatever he needed to say, he obviously wished he didn’t have to say it. “Scarlet, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we recently lost our grandfather. The authorities ruled it a suicide, but I don’t believe he took his life. I believe he was attacked.”
His eyes held mine firmly before he continued. “And I believe the five of us are next.”
8
“Well that’s certainly one way to kill the mood,” Lucas cheerfully supplied after a moment, right before he resumed with his card flourishes.
Meanwhile, I tried to form words of my own, but Jack’s announcement had wiped my brain completely clear of any intelligible
response. My first thought was that this was some kind of prank, a twisted form of hazing the brothers regularly performed on newbies like me. Except no one was laughing, so either the Connellys had mastered their poker faces, or this wasn’t a joke at all.
“Attacked,” I repeated. It was the best I could do given the circumstances.
“It was hunters then,” Connor said. There was a fierce blaze in his eyes.
“What would anyone be hunting on a cliff?” I asked.
Connor rolled his eyes so far up I thought they’d fall back into his skull.
“Not hunters,” Jack answered.
“I’m really sorry about your grandfather,” I said, “but why on earth would his attacker target me?”
“Because of your bloodline, of course.”
“Ah, see,” said Lucas. “I always knew there was a reason I carried on so well with Professor Monroe. Which clan do you hail from, love?”
“Clan?” Images of Highlanders in kilts came to mind. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
“What about this symbol?” Jack asked. He motioned to Rory, who slipped a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to his brother. Jack unfolded it and showed it to me. It was a sketch of a triskele, the design from my doodles and the symbol that had marked that menhir.
A trap door in my stomach gave way. “What about it?”
“What significance does it hold for you?”
“None,” I replied. “I didn’t even know what it was called until today. It’s just something I’ve always drawn.”
“We should send her away,” Connor said, his dark eyes full of poison, like I’d committed some kind of treason against him. “We don't know who she is or where she comes from. This could be nothing more than a trap.”
“I find that highly unlikely,” Jack said, “considering the fact she banished a demon yesterday.”
Rory’s head whipped in my direction, Lucas’s cards flew out of his hands, and Connor’s eyes grew larger.
But my attention was on Jack. “Wait, what? A demon?”
“Yes, the one under the guise of the Xavier student.”
I laughed. A short, breathy laugh that held no merriment whatsoever. “You can’t be serious.” But in the back of my mind, I remembered those red eyes I thought I'd seen, the boy’s animalistic tics, how he'd been so fast and so strong.
But...no. What was I thinking? Demons weren’t real. Just the stuff of horror stories.
“Look, I don't know if this is some kind of joke—”
“It’s not a joke,” Jack said. “I need your help, Scarlet. I don’t understand the extent of it just yet, but you’re clearly integral to what’s happening right now in Rosalyn Bay and beyond. And in light of what you were able to do yesterday, it’s safe to say you’re one of us as well.”
“What does that even mean?”
Lucas had gathered his cards and was reorganizing the deck in hand. “That’s easy to answer. We’re wi—”
“Lucas,” Connor snapped. Then to Jack: “Are you mad? She shouldn’t be here, and we shouldn’t be discussing any of this in front of her either. This doesn’t involve her. What makes you so certain it does?”
Jack passed a hand through his hair again as he sat on the answer. I could see in his eyes he was trying to decide whether or not to share it with us. Finally, he heaved a long sigh. “Shortly after we lost Grandda, I visited a Seer. I’d been having nightmares about him, of his soul not being able to find rest. I needed answers. I needed to know if there was any way I was supposed to help him. The Seer imparted a simple message. She said, ‘a bird of rare feather will arrive and lead the way.’ I didn’t know where to begin deciphering something like that. I continued my search for answers. I found some, including more information about the force behind the attack, but nothing that could seemingly help Grandda overall.
“I decided it was time to return to St. Andrew’s to bring you all up to speed so that we could decide our next steps. It hadn’t been my initial intention to resume with classes as well, given everything on my mind, but Father Nolan encouraged it, so I visited each of my professors to apologize for my absence and to collect any missed assignments. Professor O’Dwyer from American Lit had a particularly hefty pile of books for me.”
“Ack, O’Dwyer’s brutal, isn’t he?” Lucas chimed in. “I had him last year for ‘Intro to something or another.’ Does he really expect us to read all those bloody short stories and novels in so short a time? It’s as if he doesn’t think we have lives outside of class.”
“Once back in my dorm room at the end of the day,” Jack went on, “I dumped the contents of my bag onto my bed to sort through it all. And what stared right up at me but this?” He crossed over to a wooden draft table and slipped a thin book out from the messenger bag I’d seen him with around campus.
The book was probably only a few dozen pages long. He extended it to me, and I took it, the glossy white cover smooth under my fingertips and glowing under the greenhouse lights. There was a bird on the cover with a long, down-curved bill and brilliantly red plumage. At first, I thought it was a flamingo, but then I saw the book’s title: The Scarlet Ibis.
“Almost at once, the Seer’s words came back to me. ‘A bird of rare feather will arrive and lead the way.’ Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to reflect on this newest piece of the puzzle. Word of my return had quickly spread across campus, meaning Coach Stewart was knocking at my door not a minute later, insisting I put on my rugby jersey and report to the field immediately. So I did. And imagine my surprise when a girl not only contends with a demon on my behalf at the game but also tells me her name is Scarlet.”
That explained his shock after I’d told him who I was, why he’d looked at me with such disbelief.
The rest of us fell into a silence as Jack’s story settled into our minds.
“It’s you,” Jack said then. “You’re the one from the Seer’s message. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
My face flushed. I couldn’t find the words to respond. This was crazy. Bizarre. And just a touch unsettling.
Restless souls? Enigmatic messages? Demons? It was well beyond my pay grade.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about what happened to your grandfather. I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t. I have no idea how I’d ‘lead the way’ or help in this search of yours.”
“Maybe a message has come to you in your dreams?”
Apart from last night’s nightmares about the rogue Xavier player, my dreams had been nothing short of normal since moving to Rosalyn Bay. Nothing prophetic about them in the least. I shook my head. “Not really.”
“What about any strange visions? Rory mentioned you having some sort of experience among the menhirs this morning.”
Goosebumps puckered along my arms, and a chill worked its way through my bloodstream. “I did see some kind of attack, but it was from another time. The people wore tunics and animal skins. To be honest, I’m pretty sure it was only my imagination. I was probably trying to picture the things Professor Byrne had spoken about in his lecture.” The words didn’t land quite right in my gut, but what else could the vision have been? There was a reasonable explanation for everything, wasn’t there?
Connor gave another dramatic eye roll. “She clearly knows nothing. Let’s cut her loose and drop it. We’ve already said too much.”
“Wait,” I said. “What about your grandfather’s attacker? How would he know me? I’m new to town. With exception to the students here, no one in Rosalyn Bay even knows I exist. You mentioned it had to do with my bloodline. Does that mean my dad’s caught up in some kind of trouble? Am I in danger?”
Even as I said it, it was hard to picture. A mild-mannered professor owing some kind of debt to underground crime lords? Then again, I hardly knew the man. Who’s to say he didn’t have a shady past he’d hidden from me and my mom all these years?
Jack shared a look with Connor for a long moment, an ent
ire conversation passing between them. Finally, he breathed out a long sigh and shook his head. “I think this has all been one big mix-up on my part.”
I was briefly taken aback by his sudden backpedaling. “What are you saying then? You brought me here and told me about attacks and demons and Seers, and now you’re saying it was all a mistake?”
“I should…” Connor trailed off and tapped the side of his head with two fingers. What did that mean?
“No,” said Jack.
“No? Jack—”
“I said no.” Jack’s tone was firm and final. Then he fixed his rich cognac eyes on me. “Yes, I was mistaken. I thought you might know something about my grandfather, but by your own admission, you don’t. In which case, it seems you won’t be able to help us unfortunately. We shouldn’t have troubled you to begin with. I apologize if we’ve upset you in any way. Please don’t let us keep you any longer.”
His tone was kind and gentle, but I knew exactly what the words were. A dismissal. The worst part was I actually did start to feel like I was imposing. I wanted to stay. I wanted to ask more questions. But what else was there to say? I had told Jack he was mistaken, and he respected that. Now I was going to be offended by it?
“Right,” I said. I awkwardly stepped back, trying to keep my pride intact even as I wished to continue speaking with Jack. Any appropriate parting words were hard to come by, especially when my head was starting to hurt with all the things now buzzing between my temples. I settled for something simple. “Well, in any case, I honestly do hope you manage to find the answers you’re looking for.”
Jack bowed his head in a nearly imperceptible nod of gratitude. Those world-weary eyes of his, though—God, how they swam in sadness.
It occurred to me maybe he didn’t believe he’d ever find those answers.
9
“Liam, do you know the Connellys very well?”
I’d spent the remainder of the week avoiding the Connellys, which wasn’t saying much considering they’d avoided me right back, but by Friday, my curiosity was hemorrhaging, and I knew I’d go crazy if I didn’t make an attempt at getting answers. Though it was lunch time, I found myself in the school library sitting opposite Liam, who was diligently finishing up a homework assignment for chemistry.
