Fiend (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 3)

by Ketley Allison

  I follow Ivy, carefully disengaging from the crowd and using Chase’s primed weapon of distraction to duck out the doors without anyone so much as turning their head—Sabine included.

  18

  Lifting my skirts, I rush down the gymnasium steps behind Ivy, my dress billowing behind me under the chilled night wind.

  “How long can Chase keep up the distraction?” I ask, my voice coming out breathless as cold air shrinks my lungs.

  “Long enough to have everybody talking even after he finishes his speech,” Ivy says, but whirls to grab my hand, forcing my legs to pump faster. In heels.

  “Ivy, hold on—ugh, I wish I could kick off these things and run in bare feet!”

  “No time.” Ivy’s voice is also breathy, her exhales plumes of smoke near my face. “Chase can buy us about twenty minutes. We have to be long gone by then.”

  “And Eden? Emma?”

  “Already there.” Ivy swings left, and my toes scream at the constant impact in such narrow, designer shoes.

  Soon, we hit the path to the library, and with the stars as our only witnesses, creep inside the emergency exit that Eden propped open earlier with a stick.

  A waft of heat hits me in the face when we shimmy through the door, the exposed skin of my arms thawing under goosebumps and melting snowflakes.

  My chest rises and falls with deep, collected breaths as I stand beside Ivy and take in the dark recesses of the M.B.S. Library of Studies.

  The stacks stand in the perfect alignment of Underworld soldiers. I instinctively brace for their silent onslaught.

  “Let’s go,” Ivy whispers, though we should be the only ones here.

  Everyone else is at the dance, I assure myself. We’re fine.

  Ivy kicks off her shoes then hooks them in her fingers as she sprints to the back, and I follow her lead.

  Eden and Emma are waiting at the last column of books. We all nod in greeting, making as little sound as possible, just in case there’s an unscheduled security guard belatedly completing his rounds.

  Ivy crouches and exposes the keypad, but before she enters the pin and scans her finger, Eden stops her.

  She asks, “You sure Tempest can scrub your time of entry?”

  Ivy glances at Emma, who says, “He’s been texting me. He’s in the Nobles’ system and found a workaround to the Virtues’. The cameras are off, and as soon as the system triggers Ivy’s entry, he’ll erase it.”

  Did I say we weren’t Mission Impossible agents? Perhaps I stand corrected.

  “Okay,” Ivy says, then presses her finger on the pad and enters in a code.

  The hidden door opens like a silent predator’s jaws, but unlike the time before, I’m the first to step through.

  A few sconces in the cylindrical room light up at my entrance, but not enough to fully spotlight us. With Eden staying behind as the lookout, the three of us creep along the curved lines of the room.

  According to Ivy, there are more than three, maybe five, hidden doors on this floor, one being Sabine’s office headquarters.

  Ivy stops at an elaborate stone carving directly beneath the spot where Sabine stood on the balcony. Stepping next to her, I study the statue of a sleeping raven, wings tucked in, its talons curved over a twisted branch engraved in the wall.

  Ivy wraps her hand around its neck and pushes. As if unable to help herself, she whispers under her breath, “Altum volare in tenebris.”

  The carving sinks into a perfect square in the wall before it breaks into two pieces and the stone divides horizontally.

  I’ve stopped breathing. My heart thrashes wildly in its cage, and I press a hand to my chest.

  We step over the threshold into a large space, stonework turning into brickwork. A fireplace that could engulf me whole is to my right, and a wide desk sits in the center of the room. More carvings decorate the walls, each one a raven in different stages of flight.

  Black iron and gray decorate the space, with intricate splashes of red, almost like rivers of blood between bone.

  I gulp. “Where do you figure she’s stashed her files?”

  “Not here,” Ivy says.

  I’m the only one who jolts in surprise. “But this is her office.”

  Emma and Ivy share a look I can’t decipher, other than it’s grim. Then, Emma jerks her chin, as if giving Ivy the okay.

  Before I call them out, Ivy moves behind the desk to the back wall displaying a large, vivid painting of Sabine, sitting in the identical, elaborate red chair showcased in reality, but with Piper and Addisyn seated below her in Briarcliff uniform, their legs curled under and their hands demurely resting on their shins.

  “This is so haunting and creepy,” I mutter at the same time Emma tells me to hurry up.

  I pry my gaze from the painting in time to see Ivy duck into the fireplace.

  Throwing out a hand, I cry, “Wait, what—?”

  “It’s another passageway,” Emma says. “Go with her. I’ll stay here and make sure no one comes.”

  “Shit,” I whisper, but the word comes out tight, because I am so utterly freaked out right now.

  Luckily, when I head into the fireplace, there are no dwarf-sized spiraling stairs into a basement waiting for me on the other side. Ivy’s already opened the back wall of the fireplace, and I duck into a beautifully arranged bedroom.

  “Sabine sleeps here?” I ask.

  A gorgeous four-poster bed with a lace canopy sprawls out in the center, with two intricately carved wooden nightstands on each side.

  Unlike Sabine’s spine-chilling office space, this one is painted a calming sage green, with century pieces containing a dresser, a wardrobe, and a vanity mirror. The walls are adorned with watercolor paintings, all of white roses.

  Ivy pinches her lips, staring pointedly at the paintings and nothing else. “Check the drawers.”

  I stay where I am. “Ivy, what is this? What am I missing here?”

  Ivy’s throat bobs, and she won’t look at me. “I said you had to see it. So, here it is.”

  My lips form on what … but can’t give the question sound. Ivy’s fists are clenched to her sides, her stance rigid and her lips pressed together so tightly, they’re bone white.

  With my head filled with more questions than answers, I bend to the first nightstand and rifle through the drawers. I sift through sleeping pills, a lavender scented sleep mask, some lace underwear, a box of opened condoms, and something hard and rubbery.

  When I pull it out, I screech, then let it loose.

  It bounces a few times before landing at Ivy’s feet. “Is that a—?”

  “Sex toy. Yes.”

  “But—” Again, I stop myself. Too often, I say things before thinking, and Ivy’s stare is so wide and fused onto the watercolor above the bed, it’s like she’s begging that I come up with the answer myself.

  There’s a dildo in Sabine’s secret bedroom, I think first.

  But … if we were hopping behind a fireplace and exploring Sabine’s home-away-from-home, Ivy wouldn’t be so stilted. I chance another look at her, wagering my thoughts against her cracking armor, and deciding she’s more delicate than stiff. Ivy’s so vulnerable that if I stood up and screamed, she’d buckle under the pressure and break.

  The more I analyze the situation, the more it makes sense.

  Ivy is the Virtues’ princess.

  I whisper, “Ivy, is this your room?”

  Ever so slowly, she nods.

  “And…” My empty stomach lurches as I continue, “was this Emma’s room, too? Piper’s?”

  This time, her nod shakes loose a single tear that runs down her cheek.

  Bile hurls into my throat, searing the back and making my tongue curl over the bitter, erosive acid. “Do you have other visitors in here?”

  Ivy bobs her head, her lower lip spasming as more tears course down her cheeks.

  “Visitors…” My voice thickens. My eyes turn hot. “Visitors Sabine chooses?”

  “Yes.”

&
nbsp; “That you’re forced to … host?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Sleeping pills. Lace underwear. Sex toys. Condoms…

  I fill in the horrendous blank, asking, “Men?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Ivy,” rips from my throat before I shoot to my feet and envelop my friend in a hug.

  Ivy digs her fingers into my arms and buries her head in my neck. I cling to her, absorbing her shakes, inhaling her sobs, my heart fracturing with each erratic beat.

  “We can get out of here,” I say into her hair.

  Her chin digs into my neck. “This is our only chance. In a few weeks, I—I’m meant to return to this room. I don’t want to come back here again.”

  I stroke her hair, exuding calm, though so many questions, so much horror, begs to pry open my lips. “Then let’s move fast.”

  Ivy lifts her head and collects herself. “Sabine keeps her confidential papers in here.”

  After pulling the wardrobe from the wall, Ivy crouches and loosens one of the lower bricks. She stands, a thick, red binder clutched in her hands. “I saw her put this away one night, when she thought I was asleep … over there.” Ivy’s gaze skirts to the bed, then away again. “It was my first night here. I was afraid to do anything but lie still … after. Terrified there were cameras in here. I’m glad you’re with me this time. You gave me the courage to show you. Sabine doesn’t put anything like this on her computer. Too concerned with unauthorized access.”

  I take the binder from Ivy’s stiff hands, using my side to push the wardrobe back in place. “By whom? Hackers?”

  “You can call them that. The society is subject to quarterly reporting, like any other corporation, except it’s not through the IRS. It’s by the Nobles. Sabine hasn’t disclosed the Virtues’ true operations for a long, long time.”

  My grip slides on the leather-bound binder, sweat slicking my fingertips. I cast a furtive glance toward the opening we came through, then open the flap.

  “Callie, we don’t have time. Someone will notice we’re not at the dance soon.”

  “Just a few seconds.”

  Time is a gift, a mantra I’ve learned the hard way. If there is any free moment to glean more information, I’ll steal that time away rather than wait for it to be handed to me like a privileged present.

  I flip to a random section, using this brief access not to understand Sabine’s operations in their entirety, but just a glimpse, a snapshot of worth, so I can be sure our efforts at breaking in haven’t been wasted.

  A faded, thin page flutters to the floor, and Ivy bends to pick it up.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Another letter from Rose?”

  Ivy’s eyes move back and forth as she reads, holding the paper up to the light until it almost becomes transparent.

  It’s a newspaper clipping, one with a picture.

  The paper trembles in her hand. “Oh no…”

  “What? What is it?”

  She opens and closes her mouth, continuing to read the fine print.

  “Ivy, we have seconds, remember?” I snatch the clipping from her so I can read it myself. She squeaks but doesn’t fight me.

  Actually, she’s very, very silent.

  My fingers start to shake as I take in the photo. I realize why Ivy’s gone so quiet.

  It’s a black-and-white photo of my mother, smiling while angling her head, her eyes as lively and her hair just as crazy as if she were standing here today. Even without color, her beauty is startling.

  And my heart cracks to pieces.

  A vicious killing has rocked Manhattan’s Lower East Side. 36-year-old Meredith Ryan, a respected crime scene photographer, primarily employed by the NYPD, was found slaughtered in her bedroom, her throat cut so deeply, she was almost decapitated. Her 15-year-old daughter discovered the horrendous scene mere hours after Ryan was killed. The motive remains a mystery, as does the killer. A spokesperson for the NYPD comments, “This is a tragedy of the worst kind. We don’t yet know if this is related to any of the cases she worked on, but we will pull every file and study every page until we either find the perpetrator or rule them out. Meredith was one of our own, and we will work tirelessly to find out why a young mother, a valued crime scene photographer, and a wonderful person, has been taken from us so senselessly.”

  “Why?” I whisper, the article audibly rustling in my shaking hand. “Why would Sabine have this?”

  I stare down at the open binder in my other hand, its weight making my wrist ache, but I stop feeling it as I find more grayish bits of paper poking out, like a goddamned scrapbook.

  Flipping furiously, I find more articles about my mom. Journalists who, at first taking a vested interest, peter out as the dates go by and no killer is found. No motive.

  Even my dad’s arrest is in here. My accusations written for the nation to read. And his ultimate release.

  Everything is in here.

  “Why would she have these?” I’m screeching, vowels breaking apart in my mouth.

  Ivy clutches my hand, then delicately pries the initial article from my grip and places it in the binder. “I’m being honest with you—I have no idea. But we can’t stand here and wonder. We have to leave.”

  Her words knock a small amount of sense back into me, and I let her lead us out.

  We rush to the fireplace and duck our heads under.

  Ivy’s gaze is sunken, hollow, as we descend into the shadows. “We’ll read everything, and you’ll—”

  “Dearest Calla Lily, are you so bold as to think you could outsmart me?”

  The voice wraps around my ears, tightening with the accuracy of a garrot, before I emerge from the ashy depths of the hearth.

  Ivy’s ice-cold fingers wrap around my bicep, digging hard. I feel the warm trickle of blood from the crescent-sized wounds she causes more than I do the petrified squeeze.

  Reluctantly, I raise my eyes from the floor.

  Sabine stands in the middle of the office, with her arms crossed, flanked by Emma, Eden … and Chase.

  19

  “Nice to see you’ve taken yourself on a personal tour,” Sabine says, her storm-blue eyes razoring into me.

  I break through the ice of her stare and turn to Eden. Eden, who was supposed to keep watch in the library. I’m filled with swallowed confusion when she won’t meet my eye as she stands to the right of Sabine, straight-backed and shaking.

  Our backup guard, Emma, is wound so tightly behind Sabine, so pale and stone-still, she won’t look at me, either. Her vacant, sightless stare goes past Sabine, through me, and dead ends against the wall.

  My arm twitches to help her, but under Sabine’s scrutiny, I don’t dare react so soon. Not when that’s exactly what she wants.

  Chase is next to his sister, hands shoved into his pockets, but his gaze on fire. He’s targeting Sabine like he wants to kill her.

  I do my damnedest to summon a calm exterior and ask the question most likely to throw Sabine off-balance. “Why do you have news articles about my mother?”

  Sabine’s blood-red lips peel back, but it’s not directed at me. “Ivy may have introduced you to the Virtuous boudoir too soon. She most certainly spoke out of turn when you were in that room. Ivy—with me.”

  My gown billows with Ivy’s strides as she takes her place next to Chase.

  While I’m not surprised at Ivy’s compliance, the pull in my belly at watching her resume her position next to Sabine and donning a regal, highborn expression is very, very real.

  Chase moves to stare at me with such intensity, such enraged scrutiny, that my feigned, unaffected exterior will crumble once he matches his tone to that expression.

  It’s not real. It’s not real. They’re playing a part.

  Sabine’s voice severs the pulse that happens between Chase and me as we lock eyes—hope, warning, assurance, fear. “You have something that belongs to me.” Sabine lifts her hand, her fingers drooped as if she were already bored with going through the motions of retrieving h
er binder. “Bring it here.”

  My fingers tighten on the binder. “You didn’t answer my question. Why is my mom in here?”

  Her answering smile is kind. Patient. “Why, child, I do a copious amount of research on all the girls who pledge to become a Virtue. All current Virtues are in that binder, and my first impression notes. It’s why you can’t have it, you see. They are thoughts not to be made public because they can come off as rather upsetting.”

  I hold my position. Something doesn’t feel right. Sabine is much too calm.

  “But the dates,” I say. “You have articles printed over a year ago, before I ever thought to come to Briarcliff.”

  “It wasn’t meant for your eyes,” Sabine continues, but her smile wears thin. “Nor for anyone else’s. Bring it here, Calla Lily. Now.”

  I debate the pros and cons of holding the binder tight to my chest and sprinting out of here. My escape fantasy doesn’t last long, however. I said before that Chase and Ivy were playing their parts. As those good soldiers, they would be told to stop me. Restrain me. Rip the binder from my hands.

  There’s no chance of fleeing this room without doing as Sabine says. I’ll have to figure out another way of uncovering the truth behind Sabine’s retention of these articles.

  And why they matter to her.

  Reluctantly, I step forward and push it into her hands.

  For the first time, Emma peels her attention from the walls and finds me. Her brown eyes are bloodshot, her lashes trembling. She blinks, but in between those seconds of blindness, her chin quivers.

  I take in her hunched stature and what her mind must be forcing her to endure the longer this confrontation plays out. The torture she went through under Sabine’s direction. The punishment Sabine could inflict now.

  How could I think Emma would be able to withstand this? Why didn’t I listen to my gut?

  “As an initiate.” Sabine’s voice forces attention back to her. “You have no right, no business, looking into such private documents. If it weren’t for my dear princess, you may have gotten away with your petty, impulsive investigation, but thanks to her, instead you’re about to endure a most painful final trial.”