Yet, Davide’s expression is soft as Emma approaches, before he scampers to the center of the room. “Come. Sit. I have just the things for you.”
Emma perches on a stool, and I slide onto one next to her, conscious of how Davide and Suzanne treat her, but soon, he has Emma cracking a smile, and then the both of them are commiserating about their favorite villages in France, and my shoulders relax and submit to Suzanne as she plucks, mumbles, and paints.
Half an hour later, Ivy and Eden join us. We take a quick break to drag the office chairs out of our rooms, but with the speed of stylist professionalism, Suzanne and Davide have us lined up like soldiers as they work on our faces and hair in sections.
While my eyes are closed, I feel Ivy’s cold hand clasp mine on my lap. “You ready?”
“Sure.” My mouth is so dry, it comes out as a rasp.
“And we are complete!” Davide backs away from Eden, his arms lifted in triumph. “Go, ladies, see how I’ve transformed you into Snow White beauties.”
Eden cautiously tucks her curled hair behind her ears and lifts from her seat. Emma follows. Ivy and I are frozen in our stools as we watch them find the closest mirror in the bathroom and stare at their reflections.
They don’t speak.
“Are they okay?” Ivy whispers to me. “I didn’t get a good look before they ducked in there.”
I shake my head. “Me neither.”
Davide waits patiently nearby, steepling his fingers and primed for any movement or sound. Suzanne parts her bright red lips to say something, but Davide shushes her. “Art appreciation cannot be rushed.”
Emma’s the first to come out.
“Well?” Davide asks.
“It’ll do.” Emma clears her throat. “It suits our purposes. We’ll blend in with everyone else around campus tonight.”
Emma’s voice may be toneless and unimpressed, but her eyes glitter like diamonds against a flawless application of correcting foundation.
I smile at the sight of her, Emma’s brown eyes deeply lined, her cheeks apple-pink, and her lips full and defined. While I’ve become familiar with her scars, they’re almost invisible beneath Davide’s expert fingers, only a few indents here and there and a small pucker at her lips.
The same can be said for Eden when she steps out. Her ebony hair shines, and her green eyes pop with the pale, moss-colored eyeshadow Suzanne swept across, and her pock-marks are smoothed and blurred.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come to the dance?” I ask. “I’m sure there’s time to find a dress.”
“No.” Emma utters the denial with the tone of a girl who has long given up hope for sweet high school memories.
“It’s a nice thought,” Eden says, “but not for us.”
Davide pushes out his lower lip. “I’m sad to hear it, but my talents are never wasted. I see it in your eyes, my little night-blooming cereus, and that is compliment enough.”
Emma smiles uncomfortably, and Ivy takes the cue to redirect the conversation by sliding off her seat and pulling at my arm. “Come on. It’s gown time!”
I allow myself to be pulled into my room, but gesture for Emma and Eden to follow.
Emma shakes her head. “We have last-minute preparation to do. We’ll see you when you guys are done.”
It doesn’t sit right, leaving them, but then again, nothing has felt okay since becoming a Briarcliff student. Wearing two faces is exhausting—the Callie who enjoys the academy and attends the dances versus the one who has x-rayed through the blackness and sees the broken bones. I wish I could choose one girl to become, and it’s with that wish that I allow Ivy to guide me into the gown chosen by the Virtues and don the white-feathered eye-mask gifted by my best friend.
Ivy twists me to face the mirror stuck to the back of my door.
Davide calls his goodbye, and I answer, but it sounds like an echo of my usual tone as I take in my transformation.
My brown, flyaway hair has been tamed into silk tresses drifting to my elbows. My lips are painted a delicate sheen of pink, my usually fair cheeks matching the same color. I lift the feathered, silvery mask to take in my hazel eyes, my lashes thick and black with strategically placed falsies.
Then there’s my dress. Lightweight, white silk that reflects a prism of colors as I turn.
A smile creeps across my lips.
If tonight goes as planned, then maybe, just maybe, I can permanently slip into this Callie’s skin.
“Fabulous,” Ivy says. Her long blond hair is sleek-straight to her shoulders, and she wears a silvery cocktail dress.
“I can say the same for you.”
She grins, then hooks her arm through mine. “Let’s begin the madness.”
Eden and Emma are waiting for us on the couch. When she spots us, Emma lifts her phone. “Guess what that tiny, rotund man was calling me? What ‘little night-blooming cereus’ means?”
Ivy and I shake our heads.
“He was calling me a night-blooming cactus.”
A beat of silence follows.
Then, all of us burst into laughter.
Emma pouts, but can’t maintain it for long. “Maybe he was slightly accurate.”
I sweep my gaze over all my friends, caught in such a brief moment of glee, wishing we could feel this free and bright all the time.
Then make it happen, Calla.
“I will,” I whisper to my mother, and my friends are still laughing so hard, they don’t hear my quiet vow.
17
The Winter Formal is held on campus this year, due to Piper’s death and the faculty’s concern over students leaving the academy’s property.
A lot of students found disappointment in the change of venue (apparently, a hotel ballroom in a ritzy part of Providence was rented out well in advance, and now, the thought of holding it in the academy’s gym is heinous), but as I walk through the grand doors of Briarcliff’s gymnasium—a whole separate building—I can’t make out the difference between a five-star ballroom and this.
“Holy…” I say, taking in the transparent drifts of white and pale blue fabric and the multitude of fairy lights covering the ceiling.
“Haven’t been to a school dance like this before, have you?” Ivy muses as we walk forward.
I think back on the plastic bowls of punch and party store cut-outs of Santas and Reindeer with the scents of rubber, spilled beer, and sweat in the air. “Not even close.”
Fake snow lines the dance floor and sparkling glass snowflakes hang down from the ceiling as we wander close to the center, theater spotlights moving back and forth above our heads.
Ivy says something close to my ear that I don’t catch. I’m focused on the altar in the center of the room and the clear plexiglass coffin raised on a dais, containing hundreds of stemless pink, red, and white roses laid within its confines.
“Wow,” I breathe.
Ivy commiserates, murmuring over the gold detail and the thick folds of white satin holding up the pretend coffin. “I hate to say it, but Falyn and her cohorts embraced the Snow White theme with grace. I thought it was the dumbest idea ever, but this?”
I take in the dance floor circling the altar. “Are we supposed to dance around Piper’s spiritual casket?”
“There it is.” Ivy snaps her fingers. “I was wondering where Falyn’s signature repugnancy was in all this perfection. We’re probably meant to be the dwarves dancing around Piper’s grave.”
“How lovely.”
Ivy sidles close. “At least you won’t be here for long. Look alive, Callie, and talk to as many people as you can so no one can say they didn’t see you. But don’t be obvious. Like, still be yourself. It’d probably be suspicious if you started chatting with a ton of students you don’t normally talk to. Actually…” Ivy winces. “Have you spoken to anyone outside our circle?”
“Thanks,” I say, giving her the side-eye. “I’ll be subtle, don’t worry.”
“Okay. Me too. Oh!” Ivy latches onto my shoulder inste
ad of leaving my side. “And stay away from Chase. Not even hungry eyes across the dance floor. Got it?”
I sigh, then wave a hand at the bed of roses. “It’ll be hard to, considering Piper’s smack in the middle of it.”
Ivy gives me one last squeeze. “It’s been hard for you, but Sabine’s reasons usually aren’t unfounded. I’ll find you in a few minutes, see how you’re doing.”
“Sure.” I wave her off, anxious to make nice and do a few meet-and-greets before scuttling out of here and getting the job done.
It’s not difficult to toss a few waves and smiles, especially once I take off my mask and let the few people I’ve spoken to in class put a name to the quick greeting. Like Ivy said, I can’t approach a group and just start gabbing. They’d stare at me like fishes shocked onto land, and Sabine is the circling shark sensing the rippling waters.
After making the rounds, I find a corner and fit my mask back on, but my lips have gone chapped with all the nervous licking and my throat dry with the reflexive swallows. I stare across the room at the bar of drinks, then shimmy my way over and ask for a sparkling water.
The bartender acknowledges my order and turns his back to find a glass. The moment he shifts out of view, Sabine appears on the other side, wearing a blood red, strapless dress.
My body stills. Everyone in my immediate vicinity starts moving in slow motion and a white noise rush of blood flows through my ears.
“Miss? Miss.”
The bartender’s voice sounds hollow, like he’s calling out from the curled depths of a conch shell.
I shake myself out of it and accept the glass of water, a thin lime floating forlornly on the top. “Thank you,” I think I say, but it’s hard to hear my voice.
Sabine smiles thinly and curls her hand in a wave before moving along the edges of the dance floor. Her eyes slide away. I exhale, my shoulders falling from my ears.
It’s a wonder she’s here as a chaperone. Neither of her girls attend Briarcliff.
Stupid me, I think. She’s the queen of the Virtues. Of course, she’s present and will always be considered a parent within these walls, whether or not she’s the mother of a killer.
She’s a queen of a lot worse, hisses that voice inside me. I sip my drink, the water cold and smooth, but the bubbles pop and burn all the way down.
A soft drift of skin brushes my free hand dangling at my side, and I curl my fingers, glancing down when it happens again.
Calloused, long fingers tickle against my own.
“Enjoying yourself?” Chase asks while staring directly ahead.
“I wish I could.” With you.
Even though he stands a few feet behind me, I sense the heat rippling off him and crashing against my exposed back like white, frothy waves against a cliff. For a moment, I imagine him stepping up to me and lifting his hand, his head cocked in a silent question while his eyes glitter mischievously behind his black, raven-feathered mask. I would slide my hand into his warm palm, and he’d lead me onto the dance floor, gathering me at the waist and pushing me against his hard body, every plane, every inch of him, pressing against my softest parts, ending with our lips…
“You’re doing fine,” he says, his voice grounding and sure.
It forces me to remember where I am, what I’m doing, and why I can’t be with him.
“I’m chomping at the bit to leap out of here. I feel watched in every direction.”
As if I asked for it, a tingle skitters up my arm, unrelated to Chase because it has the creepy, measured ticks of spider legs climbing my skin.
Falyn stands nearby, flanked by Willow, Violet, and a few other girls I’m coming to recognize as Virtues. With their faces half-hidden by masks, it should be difficult to discern their eyes, but for me, they’re all too targeted.
The three of them cast their wicked stares my way, the outer edges of their lips curling with derisive sneers. Violet’s is the only one that trembles at the edges, and I file that away, as I’ve done all her moments of sympathy.
“How am I supposed to escape without notice?” I whisper.
“Leave that to me.”
His thumb strokes the side of my pinky finger, and I curl it in hopes of catching him and proving my wishes right—that Chase is here, wanting to touch me as much as I ache to lean into him.
Chase’s finger hooks mine. It lasts for a second—not even—but it’s enough.
We break apart.
“The crowning of the Winter Formal Court starts soon,” he murmurs as he angles away. “Ivy will find you.”
“Stay.” But he’s too far away to hear my whispered plea.
Heart in my throat, I escape the edges of the dance floor and work for farther distance from Falyn and the other Virtues—but then stop.
The Virtues are supposed to be my sisters. As an initiate, I’m expected to socialize.
Setting my shoulders, I backtrack to the group, summoning Eden’s eagerness when she spoke of her efforts to become one of them. She did everything she could to belong. Hoped against all barriers that they’d accept her.
I’m my own worst enemy if I don’t do the same. And I’d be nothing but a disappointment to Emma and Eden.
“Hey,” I say once I reach them.
Violet speaks first. “Hi, Callie.”
Willow purses her lips, then finds deep interest in something behind me—or through me, but Falyn says, “Ready for the crowning?”
I paste on a smile. “It’s so important that we honor our fallen members, isn’t it? Piper would be delighted with what you’ve done to the school’s gymnasium.”
Falyn’s lips waver between a sarcastic smile and a frown, unsure whether or not I’m complimenting her.
But I’m supposed to be supplicating to these assholes, not low-key insulting them. I force another smile and make sure to include their silvery, off-white gown, exactly like mine, when I say, “Love your dresses. Did the queen purchase yours, too?”
I wince. Even my compliments are turning into sideswipes. I can’t seem to help it around these girls.
“It’s a privilege to wear our colors,” Willow seethes. “If only your pallor could handle it as well as mine.”
I suppose I deserved that.
“Attention, students!”
The DJ cuts the music, and we all turn to Headmaster Marron taking the stage.
“The time you’ve all been anticipating has come,” he says, accepting a wireless microphone from the DJ as he passes. “And I’m so proud of each and every one of you for choosing to honor one of our fallen.”
I tilt my head to Falyn and smile. She glares at me in response.
“I won’t take up too much time,” Marron continues. “I’m sure you’d all prefer music to your headmaster’s voice this evening, but I’d like to introduce you to your Winter Court King, a boy I couldn’t take more pride in, both with his decorum on school grounds and how he’s conducted himself after our most heartbreaking tragedy this year. The death of Piper Harrington, a wonderful pupil who you’ve posthumously crowned Winter Court Queen.”
Scattered applause sounds out across the room, but I’m busy trying to find a line of sight on Chase through the glittering headpieces and slicked back hair of all the students.
Falyn has the same idea, but gestures to Violet and Willow to follow her as she carves a demanding path to the center of the room, where a spotlight shines on Piper’s altar.
I follow their path, students twisting aside before they’re nailed by one of the serrated edges of Falyn’s elbows, until…
There.
Chase cuts into their path, acknowledging their presence with an absent nod, his face indiscernible beneath his mask. Yet, I’m taking in more of him than I did when he settled discreetly behind me, like the cut of his tuxedo and the breadth of his shoulders. His hair is windblown, curling into stylized waves at the top and falling into his ears, but there’s nothing boyish about him. The raising of his chin commands the room as he takes the few steps needed to
assume his position beside the plexiglass coffin and turn, sweeping his stare across the audience.
Marron rests a silver, opulent crown on his head. Chase is so tall, he has to bend to accept the prize.
When Chase straightens, I forget I’m in a school gym. I forget the surrounding students who attend Briarcliff Academy, and that the U.S. has long since shed a monarch rule.
Because we’re faced with a king, and despite his face half-hidden in velvet and feathers, the line of Chase’s jaw, his confident stance, and his rough voice, takes everyone under his thrall.
I’m staring at the true Noble King, I think, then school my face before anyone nearby can read the awe.
“All of you remember the day we lost Piper,” he says. “And every single one of you can recall the days before. She was sharp, she was cutting, and she was mean. I knew her well enough to understand what she disguised: her guardedness, her vulnerabilities, and her easily wounded heart.” Chase pauses, allowing the heavy atmosphere of the room to coat his words. “I’m sure you can all name a bully in your life, and many of you would say it was her.”
The cavernous gym, while silent to my ears, seems to echo the names whispering into each student’s head. A lot would agree on Piper. Many would mention Falyn. And most would be naming Chase, too.
I glance back at the platform when Chase continues.
“I don’t think any of you would agree she should have died for her pettiness. I certainly don’t. Or maybe you think she got what she deserved, killed by her own flesh and blood.”
The gym doesn’t breathe.
My attention scatters, pinpointing the furious gaze of Falyn as she twists to Willow and hisses words probably to the effect of, What the fuck is he doing? He’s meant to be mourning Piper, not pissing everyone off! Then, I scan the sidelines, where a magnetic force draws me to a sleek, form-fitting scarlet dress.
Sabine’s expression is so rigid, so frozen, it might fracture with the barest squint. Only the red slash of her lips, the gloss shimmering under the lights from each twitch, each tremor, showcases her carefully controlled fury.
A hand grasps my arm and pulls gently. “Come on,” Ivy whispers behind me.
Fiend (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 3) Page 14
