Fiend (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 3)

by Ketley Allison

  Eyeing the wall of books, I step away once the pin pad flashes green. Lately, I’ve had a lot of back walls move to reveal secret chambers and figure I should keep clear.

  Nothing happens.

  “Aren’t these books supposed to move?”

  Ivy rises beside me. She points to the left. “Over there.”

  When she shifts, I mimic her movement, wary of what will open and how..

  A large, person-sized panel in the floor unlocks and lifts with invisible hands. During its slow rise, I glance behind us in automatic caution to ensure we’re alone.

  When I turn forward again, a rectangular blackness awaits.

  “I’ll go first,” Ivy says with quirked lips, likely understanding that there’s no way in hell I’m stepping into a dark hole before she does.

  Ivy’s covered in complete darkness within two steps, her long legs eating up space faster than mine do, but I keep close to her heels, blinded in both sight and mind. I have no idea where we’re going, where to step, or what staircase I’ll topple down next.

  “Here,” she says, and takes my arm, gently guiding me to her side. We inch along a few steps before Ivy does something to cause a ring of sconces to light up around our forms.

  My breath hitches as a single room illuminates, the ceiling door we entered through long shut with its silent, ghostly slither.

  Gray, flat stone encircles us on all sides, the massive engraving of altum vultaire in tenebres carved in classic cursive directly at my eye-line.

  “We rise high in the dark,” I translate. “You and the Nobles have the same motto.”

  “Kind of. We interpret it in different ways.”

  I’m about to ask how the Virtues differentiate such an ominous sentence, but Ivy moves us into the center of the room.

  “Holy…” is all I can get out when what I thought was our ceiling lights up with another row of second-floor candelabras, revealing a circular balcony with long, Roman-style columns dividing the circumference into four sections.

  Robed figures appear from the shadows, stepping up to the stone balustrade. Their cloaks shimmer gold in the fire-dappled light, but their faces remain darkly obscured beneath their hoods.

  Pomp and circumstance.

  I think of that pretentious phrase and picture them puffing out their chests as they take their places between the columns, until the eight of them surround us, instead of the sick terror worming its way through my gut.

  “Welcome to our temple,” a soothing, feminine voice chimes, directly above the carved motto.

  It’s not a voice I’m familiar with. Not Falyn, or Willow, or even the whispery Violet…

  “If you manage to achieve a coveted position in our ranks, this will become your sanctuary.”

  My throat spasms with a swallow that echoes in the cavernous silence. “I’d hope a sanctuary would contain some comfortable couches. Or maybe some curtains? Except, there are no windows…”

  “Quiet,” the female voice hisses.

  Crap. I’m rambling. I’m not comfortable revealing such a nervous aspect of myself, but with hooded, concealed stares beaming down on my head, remembrances of being stuck in the black, freezing depths of the lake come to the forefront. My near-death becomes real when I think of my face forever contorted with the spasms of lost breaths.

  And they watched it happen.

  “Calla Lily Ryan,” the mysterious voice continues, “you’ve been summoned here so you may have your curiosity satisfied. What gave you the impression that you could reveal our existence without consequence?”

  It’s as if she’s reading my mind, parting the mists of my thoughts and zoning in on my fear of further reprisal—of something worse than drowning happening to me in this place.

  “I admit…” I clear my throat when my voice comes out as a warble. “I admit I wasn’t careful, or conscious of what I was seeking. My roommate died, and I wasn’t satisfied with the simplicity her fall was given. There had to be more truth than she was so drunk, she lost her balance and fell, or—”

  “Therein, you found Rose Briar’s original writings,” the woman cuts in. “And concluded—falsely—that we Virtues had a hand in her murder.”

  “I didn’t … I wasn’t sure what I was uncovering. It was her diary I discovered first. A diary planted by Addisyn. A girl who was a current member of yours, until she was arrested a little over a week ago. A girl who murdered her sister, also a member of the Virtues. How could I not conclude you had something to do with it?”

  “I assure you, young one…” The woman’s tone takes on a dangerous edge. “We are not behind Piper Harrington’s death. You would have exposed us for nothing, had we not intervened.”

  My brows furrow. “Every clue I uncovered led me to your doorstep. Every paper I read, from Rose, to Piper, to Howard Mason breaking into the Nobles’ tomb—”

  “Planted.”

  I shake my head. “Not all of it was stashed with bad intentions. Rose Briar’s letter was hidden by Piper to protect it, not use it as bait.”

  “Piper relied on misguided notions rather than coming to us first.”

  “Piper was killed for her involvement—”

  “Enough.” The woman’s voice crackles against the stone, but the only one who shivers from the electric charge is me. Every other person remains still, serene, and targeted on the girl in the center of the room below them.

  “Your grave errors, your rampant mouth, your unfounded theories have brought you to this point, Calla Lily. Remember that, the next time you are given the honor to address the Virtuous Queen.”

  I glance back at the woman. She lifts her hands, the heavy, golden fabric falling down her forearms and creasing at her elbows as she hooks her hood and pulls it back.

  The sconces seem to flicker with exposed power as silky brunette hair cascades down her shoulders, and she dips her poreless face until her features come into the light.

  My knees snap together. My nails dig into my palms. My lips fuse into one line as I put a name to that face.

  Sabine.

  Sabine Harrington is the Virtues’ queen.

  9

  “Mrs. Harrington,” I breathe out.

  Piper and Addisyn’s mother.

  I don’t need to see her eyes to recognize the dangerous feel of them crawling across my skin, judging mercilessly..

  I reach out to grab Ivy’s hand but end up clutching air. She’s gone, slipping away during the distracting reveal of the queen.

  The back of my throat itches at the thought of being left alone, but my eyes scrape up from the floor, scanning the circular balcony for a ninth Cloak.

  I find it to the left of Mrs. Harrington. Ivy may not have asked to be their princess, but she’s up there, donning her title and casting a hooded gaze in my direction.

  I turn my attention back to Mrs. Harrington. “I’m so sorry for causing you pain. You’ve lost two daughters, and I never intended to make it worse. And as for my mom and what she did to your family, I—”

  “Silence.” Mrs. Harrington’s voice cracks through the cavernous chamber. “I haven’t asked for an apology and don’t require one. Talk of my daughters is no longer welcome on your tongue. I’ve summoned you here not to get to know you—you ruined any chance of a bond due to your unfortunate DNA and your insolent involvement in my daughters’ affairs—but due to a development that cannot be ignored.”

  I shove my hands into my hoodie’s front pocket so I can fist them together without anyone noticing. “You don’t have to make some grandiose speech to make your disdain clear. I’m partially responsible for your loss of your youngest daughter. The only one you had left. And my mother never took your feelings into account when she—”

  “Enough.”

  Mrs. Harrington’s expression is so frozen in time, her frost expands to me, but I grit my teeth and push on. “Why am I here? Why did you choose me to become a Virtue when I so clearly don’t belong?”

  Mrs. Harrington’s eye tics at my ques
tions, but she otherwise maintains her blank, flawless state. “You may have passed our first level of recruitment, but two steps remain before you’re invited into our ranks. Are you willing to continue?”

  “Do you want me to continue?”

  Mrs. Harrington’s upper lip twitches, the second fracture in her façade. She says, with slow, deathly cadence, “I will ask you this once. Deny us, and you may turn around and leave our temple, so long as you promise never to speak of the Virtues again. However, accept your next two tasks, and the rewards will be everlasting, but once passed, you will never be permitted to leave our ranks without severe repercussions. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Altum vultaire in tenebres.”

  The girls’ voices combine into a flat lull, but that one note circles the room and prickles against my ears.

  Ivy. Where’s Ivy? Why won’t she let me see her face?

  Piper’s face swims in my mind’s eye instead, transforming into my mother’s in a blink. Both expressions are twisted in fear, shriveling my lungs and taking my breath. I lower my head and close my eyes until a vision of Chase takes hold, his lips softened from my kisses, his eyes in vivid, brilliant relief.

  I want you to feel me inside you, as much as I feel you inside me…

  I search for him now.

  Multiple wrongs surround this group and his—wrongs Chase wants to change, suffering I’ll expose.

  Eden. Emma. Ivy. They’ve been mutilated by these women, too. What I’ve experienced is but a quarter of what they’ve endured.

  Their combined hope, directed at me, to infiltrate the Virtues and assist in taking them down, makes my answer come out easy, despite my heart pounding at my mind’s door, begging me to say the opposite.

  My voice echoes with a strong, sure, “Yes.”

  A few beats of silence pass, where only the thump, thump, thump of my heart is heard in my ears.

  “Very well,” Mrs. Harrington says, and raises her chin, a power move that ensures she can peer down her regal nose. Her eyes glitter with refractive, ominous light. “Your second task is simple. Confess to us your worst sin, and let it fall on Virtuous ears.”

  My mouth goes dry. I once again scour the nearest Cloak for Ivy’s familiar face but can’t find her in all the gold fabric.

  “My patience wears thin, Initiate,” Mrs. Harrington says.

  “Okay, uh…” I search the floor beneath my feet for answers. The memory that floats to the surface makes me squirm. “My best friend. Back in the city. It’s because of me she experimented with drugs. At first it was just weed. Then coke. By the end, she … she took it further. To Molly and LSD, but she wasn’t getting it clean. It was laced with other things, like baby powder, and…”

  I can’t escape the microscopic effect of Mrs. Harrington’s stare. She alone regards me without a hood, her expression filled with both judgment and indifference.

  “And Fentanyl,” I finish. “Sylvie overdosed and almost couldn’t be saved. It was my fault. My fault she got into drugs in the first place.”

  Mrs. Harrington cants her head. The ring of girls surrounding us keep still and silent.

  At last, she speaks. “This sounds more like your friend’s weakness than yours.”

  I shudder at the remembrance of my careless peer pressure. “She didn’t even want to try a blunt. I had to cajole her, guilt her, into doing one with me. I used my mom’s death as a weapon. Sylvie couldn’t deny me. I should’ve kept it at weed. I shouldn’t’ve forced coke on her, too.”

  “Mm.” Sabine gives a slow, bored blink. “I’m unconvinced this overdose is the worst part of yourself. Tell me more about your mother.”

  My stomach revolts at the word mother crossing Mrs. Harrington’s scarlet lips. What kind of mother is she? Both her girls are—

  No. No, I can’t fling blame where more than enough resides within my soul. Mrs. Harrington has every right to hate my mother. Meredith Ryan wasn’t just a hard worker, superhero mom, and a caring friend. She was a mistress. A homewrecker. A liar.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, queasy inside the spiral of my mom’s shame. Human. She was human, and I miss her.

  I exhale. Breathe.

  “My mom was brutally murdered,” I say, my voice going quiet. “In her bedroom. Her killer has never been found.” I look Mrs. Harrington dead in the eyes. “I’m sure we can agree that’s punishment enough for her mistakes.”

  She ignores my goading as easily as a nearby gnat. “But you had a killer in mind, didn’t you?”

  I flinch. “My stepfather. I blamed him, had him taken into custody, but…”

  “You were wrong.”

  I nod. Forming my costly mistake into words is still too painful to emit.

  “Your mother also had an affair.”

  My gaze snaps up. Will Mrs. Harrington confirm I’m her ex-husband’s daughter? Now that she’s lost both of hers?

  Mrs. Harrington’s mouth curves at my expression. “I’m aware, Initiate, as are the rest of my Virtues, of your mother’s transgressions, and of whom she had them with. Perhaps another time, we can discuss the sexual relations between her and my ex-husband, but again, her DNA is not the worst part of you, now, is it?”

  “Am I his child?”

  The question comes out sharp, and I bite my lower lip at the eagerness it exudes, like I’m desperate for the answer.

  Mrs. Harrington’s eyes grow small, but the power filtering through them doesn’t flicker. “You read what my late daughter had to say about it in her diary. What do you think?”

  “Piper could’ve been misled.” I hope she was wrong. “I don’t think I’m related to your daughters. I don’t think Paul Harrington is—”

  “You don’t want, is the correction I must make. You’re disgusted at the thought of being a Harrington, aren’t you?”

  I hesitate.

  Mrs. Harrington pounces. “What makes you interested in the Virtues, then, if you cannot stand the leaders within it?”

  There are no Harringtons left, except for you, I almost bite out. But I’m outnumbered, and while they may all be on a balcony well away from me, I’m not an idiot.

  “My mother would’ve told me.” I find more strength as I let the truth flow. “There’s no reason she would’ve kept his name from me all this time. I wouldn’t—she never—came after you for any kind of support. We were fine. Proudly independent. Best friends.” My voice breaks.

  Mrs. Harrington pounces on my hesitation. “Maybe she concealed his name in order to protect you. Have you thought of that?”

  My breath stalls.

  She chuckles. “Enough idle talk, my dear. You’re correct. Paul is not your missing father. Your paternity is, yet again, not your darkest secret. Your poorly construed accusation against your stepfather is also not among your top transgressions, though you’re certainly collecting a stack of them.” Mrs. Harrington folds her arms. “I’ll give you one last chance. What remains to be confessed to the Virtues?”

  My eyes flit around the room, catching upon featureless, obscured faces.

  Sylvie overdosing from my drugs was bad. Sending my stepdad to jail was terrible. The possibility of having Mr. Harrington as my real father is a nightmare.

  …what’s left?

  “Tell me, Calla Lily.” Mrs. Harrington leans her forearms against the railing, tilting seductively in my direction. “What have you done while at Briarcliff Academy?”

  I rack my brain for details. “You mean, other than have a roommate die, accuse a teacher of murder, break into a secret society tomb, and sleep with—”

  Oh my God.

  Sleep with Chase?

  “Dr. Luke,” I divert in a scratchy voice. “I accused him, too.”

  Mrs. Harrington clucks her tongue through a Cheshire smile. “Is that what your new sisters need to hear?”

  “What do you want? What are you digging for?”

  Mrs. Harrington laughs. “Don’t be obtuse, dear. Confess to us who you care for, despite what he did to you.
Who you’re loyal to, regardless of his cruel intentions. Who you cannot help but follow, despite him not being yours.”

  Chase.

  I step back, but as I’m in the middle of a circle, it brings me to no safer distance. “What’s so important about him? He’s far from the worst thing I’ve done.”

  “Ah.” Mrs. Harrington holds up a finger, her nail, painted blood red, visible from my vantage point. “Was I not clear to you before? I asked you to tell me your vilest secret.” Mrs. Harrington’s red-lined, menacing lips peel into a smile. “I didn’t say whose secret it had to belong to.”

  My brows draw in. I take another step back, toward a nonexistent door. I’m trapped in this corrupt stone temple. “Chase has never made me aware of the secrets he keeps.”

  “Hasn’t he?”

  My mind works backward, even as the denial crosses the threshold of my lips. It catalogues and highlights the pieces of knowledge Chase gave me, then comes to an abrupt, alarming halt at his latest confession: I don’t want to end the Nobles. I want to control them.

  Shit shit shit.

  Chase’s dad is the head of the Nobles. Their king. He’s engaged to be married to Mrs. Harrington. The last thing this twisted couple wants is Chase toppling them like two chess pieces.

  What level of betrayal do I have inside my head?

  “He’s closed off,” I say, keeping my voice level. “We never get that deep with each other.”

  “Are you saying you only have surface-level fucks with him?”

  Such profanity, coming from a Briarcliff parent, is off-putting and creepy. But the girls around her merely sway, their robes fluttering but their shoulders as stiff as the Roman columns framing their forms.

  I grit my teeth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

  “The truth, Callie,” Mrs. Harrington warns, “the truth is the only way you will leave this temple one step closer to becoming a Virtue.”

  “I don’t want—”

  But you do, my whirring mind slows down to remind. Think of what Eden is going through this very second. What more will happen to her or to Emma if you don’t pretend the Virtues have control?