“Not a damn clue,” Emma intones. “Strip yourself out of this marshmallow you’ve encased yourself in. You have no time to pine over my brother. We have work to do.”
“Like go back to the yearbook.”
Emma’s hand smacks down on the silver crest of the Briarcliff yearbook on our coffee table. “Yep. And since Sabine and your mom probably knew each other…”
I pull my lips in, stare hard at the seemingly innocent maroon and silver hardcover and toss my jacket. “Let’s search the internet for anything we can find.”
Emma smiles, slow and cat-like. “I’ll make the coffee.”
Two hours and a thorough delve into the dusty pages of a three-decades-old yearbook later, we have as much to go on as we did when we started. Mom isn’t in any additional pictures—no clubs, sports, or written honors. It’s like she was a ghost haunting these halls, taking her classes, then quietly blending into the stone—unremembered, intangible.
That sounds nothing like my mother. I flipped through the yearbook and did over a thousand internet searches to prove the theory wrong, but it’s like she popped into existence when she became a crime scene photographer. Everything before is an empty data mystery.
It’s hard to believe I missed such an important gap in her life while she was alive.
I’ve been staring at the 74 faces surrounding her, wondering if my dad is also in here somewhere.
Fuck. That’s a barrel I do not want tumbling down the waterfall of emotions I have right now.
“You’re sure your mom never mentioned Briarcliff?”
Emma sits with one hand squished against her cheek as she rests her elbow on the counter, half falling off her stool.
“Positive,” I reply. “As far back as my memories go, at least. I can call Ahmar in the morning. He knew her best—as far as I can tell.”
I slump in my seat. As far as is becoming the new preface whenever I talk about my mother. As far as I knew, as far as I can tell, as far as I understand…
It feels thick in my mouth. It weakens our relationship. But I must utter those words and prove to the world that I didn’t know my mother as well as she knew me.
My fingers drift over her smiling face in her class photo. Her long, kinky, reddish brown hair. The pert nose I never inherited, and the large, close-set eyes that reflect my own.
I stroke her cheek.
And I pretend not to hurt at the idea that I’m the same age she’s frozen in, her uncertain future encased in a grin.
“I’m sorry she died.”
Emma’s quiet words bring my eyes up.
“I don’t think I ever said that. I’m sorry you’re entrenched in Briarcliff as much as I am and that it’s caused you the exact amount of pain needed to keep you here.”
Her sincerity circles in my head, less like vultures and more like seagulls searching for an offering. “My sister’s being born today.”
Emma blinks. “What?”
“Yeah. My dad’s at the hospital with Lynda right now. Last they texted, she’s still in labor, but all signs point to Blair coming today.”
Emma hums in thought. “So, she’s not blood-related to you.”
Emma’s bluntness doesn’t grind against me like it used to. “We may not share DNA, but this one beats the imaginary one, named Dragoon, I concocted as a kid.”
Emma’s lips even out in a smile—a symmetry of muscles Emma rarely deploys. Usually, she holds the scarred side of her face frozen, unmoving.
“My mom was seriously concerned when I started blaming Dragoon for all the dead cockroaches around the house.”
A beat of silence passes, then Emma laughs. “You were one creepy kid. But that comes with sibling territory as well as imaginary. Chase constantly pinned shit on me that I didn’t do.”
I almost grin, but the mention of Chase sobers us both.
“Running isn’t the way to solve this,” I murmur, stroking my mom’s picture. “And I think that’s what my mom tried to do.”
Emma sighs. “You might be right. And since she’s not here to explain, we’ll have to figure out the rest of her story ourselves.”
I manage a small smile. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not judging. For having my mom’s back when you never met her. For trusting me when I say she was a good person.”
Emma’s lips press shut, trapping whatever she almost said next. Instead, she says, “Maybe we should sleep.”
I gaze out the bay windows, wondering if Chase is in his bed, thrashing, sweating, his mouth stretched wide with silent screams. “I don’t think I can.”
“You’ve barely slept since the formal.” Emma slides off her stool, then all but wrestles me out of mine. “If we’re meant to take down the biggest, most dangerous bully Briarcliff has to offer, I can’t have your bleary, googly-eyes beside me when we do.”
“Fair point,” I say.
I do as she asks and head to my room, going through the motions, changing into my pajamas, and turning off my bedside lamp, revealing the grayish, dusky sky leaking through my windows.
I lay in my bed, convinced I won’t be able to find solace in sleep.
Three hours later, my eyes are still wide open, staring into the creeping dawn.
28
A locker slams shut beside me, and I jump. The girl responsible sneers at me with her tongue on her upper lip, then saunters away.
Rubbing the sleepless grit from my eyes, I mutter to her back, “You must be friends with Falyn,” then resume collecting my notes and books for my next class.
I’ve coasted through the day in a hazy, here-but-floating state. Emma, my wise night owl, is right, and if I don’t find time to sleep soon, I might timber over in the middle of a confrontation with Sabine.
My mind doesn’t seem to care about my body’s needs. It wants justice, it demands to think. About my mother, the Virtues, the Nobles, and Chase.
I haven’t seen Chase all day. He didn’t show up to the classes we share, and I can’t ask his friends about him without raising suspicion. All there is to go on is Tempest’s expression, and it’s like he’s been raised by a gargoyle, with his flat, one-note expressions and stone-heavy eyes.
Sighing, I heft my bag from the floor and head to English Lit.
“Hey there, sweet possum.”
Tingles prickle along the back of my neck as I spin around. Every piece of me itches to jump into Chase’s arms, but we’re in the middle of a crowded hallway. I settle for a breathy, “Hey,” but know my eyes shine with relief.
He tucks his hands in his pockets, his blazer flaring out behind his wrists. “I’m okay.”
I take in all his parts, starting with his face—fatigued, pale, flawless—and his slightly stooped but otherwise strong and confident posture. After a quick check to see who’s around us, I risk one step closer.
Chase’s eyes run over me as I move. “As for you, I’m now wondering if you’re worse for wear.”
“I’m fine.” The tremble in my voice indicates just how much I’m not.
A strand of hair falls into his eyes when he tilts his head. “I’ve been gone twenty-four hours, sweet possum, not deployed to Afghanistan. What have I missed? Don’t lie,” he adds, as I open my mouth to do just that.
“Now’s not the time,” I say instead.
“It’s never the time.” Chase clamps onto my elbow and drags me into a blind corner, hidden from view of the hallway. “Tell me, anyway.”
I release a breath, staring past his shoulder as I force my heart to stop its pounding, traitorous beats.
Chase tips my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Tell me, Callie.”
Leaning into his fingers, I close my eyes. His warmth, his presence, he’s here. And he’s in one piece.
My brows come down over my deliberate blindness. Maybe it’s the sadness inside me that makes my heart want to speak, because I blurt, “All I want is to wrap my arms around you.”
Chase growls, low in his throat. �
��We can’t.”
“It’s stupid, and I wish I—”
Strong arms envelop my body, and my eyes flutter open when my cheek hits his clothed chest. Chase’s freshwater fragrance hits my nose, and I burrow into him, just like I said I wouldn’t. His chin comes down on my head. He strokes my hair. Chase holds me so tight I can’t breathe, and my own grip on his waist will leave bruises.
“I’m so glad you made it through.” My voice breaks on the last word.
He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve been around worse.” Chase traces a final trail down my cheek, then releases me.
Cold air replaces the heat of his body, and I shiver with sudden emptiness. Instead of buckling, I siphon Chase’s burst of emotion until I mimic it.
Lifting my head, I tell him about the news articles Sabine’s hoarding.
Throughout the exchange, Chase’s lips turn down, harder, deeper. By the end, he’s forced his mouth down so hard, he’s revealed a small dimple I never knew he had.
“It could be related to your sniffing around the Virtues when they didn’t want you to,” Chase says.
“I initially thought that, too, but she has clippings and print-outs from well before I enrolled at Briarcliff.” Then I tell him about his father, my stepdad, and Lynda all attending Briarcliff at the same time. “Chase—my mother was a student here, too.”
I expect a widening of eyes, at least, but all I get from my big reveal is a slight tic of an eyebrow.
“Don’t you think that’s a little suspect?” I prod. “What if they’re all part of the secret societies? What if my mother was a Virtue?”
“That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?”
“Sabine’s remodel of the Virtues is taking it too far. Putting you in a glorified coffin. Dumping me in the Briarcliff Lake in winter. Assuming our parents all knew each other? That’s a drop in the fucking bucket.” I take a closer look at him. “Why aren’t you as surprised as your sister was?”
“Surprise looks different on me. And I’m wondering…” Chase trails off, deep in thought. “My father’s study. He has files there relating to the societies related to our quarterly reporting. Financials, official documents, and records of membership dating back to the beginning.”
My heart leaps. “Could I see them?”
Chase licks his lips. “My father’s doing business in New York for the next few days. I believe Sabine’s going with him.” His eyes flash with freshly forged bronze. “I’ll take a look tonight.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Hell no, sweet possum.”
“Hell to the yes. This is my mother.” My shoulders heave with my determined breaths. “And she’s not here anymore. Anything that’s found out about her, I want to be there. Read it first. I deserve that.”
Chase shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh. “It’s not a good idea. We’re being watched. And this conversation has to end.”
“Then be mean to me,” I blurt out.
Chase narrows his eyes.
“All day. All week. Do your worst. Enlist James and Rio, even Tempest. Be assholes, and get Falyn off my scent. I’ll even cry.”
Chase rumbles his disagreement, but I continue.
“I’ll convince Ivy, Eden, your sister, that I’m devastated. Then I’ll sneak out with you tonight.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“None of this is good or right.”
Chase takes a longer assessment of me. “Are you sure? I won’t be easy on you. Or humane. I’ll have to make your day brutal, and sweet possum, after the past twenty-four hours, I’m fucking hellbent on letting loose right about now.”
I set my shoulders. “I can handle it.”
Chase grunts. “And if we get caught?”
I smile when I have him. “Sabine and Daniel aren’t here. Who would dole out our immediate punishment? Falyn? Marron?”
“They’d wait.”
“Then I’ll gladly take the repercussions, because I would’ve read everything your father had on the secret societies.”
Chase rubs a hand down his face, and a twinge of guilt follows the movement. He’s gone through so much and has only recently been taken out of a hole of his nightmares. How much more can I ask of him?
But this is about my mother. Not him. Not us.
“Fine,” he says, then glances to the side at a noise echoing from down the hall. “We need to get to class.”
I give a resolute nod, but my voice isn’t nearly as strong. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” The forged bronze dies out the longer he looks at me. “You may not like what you find.”
“So be it if it’s the truth. Because so far, everything I have has been built on other people’s lies.”
Chase starts off mild.
I endure a few muttered vermin insults during class, but having heard it all before, I don’t grow concerned over the increased participation he’s gathering—first from his boys, then Falyn and her girls, then the rest of the class.
Professor Lacey turns to write something on the board. The slogan “slut muncher” is uttered nearby, but I steel my shoulders and feign detachment, writing down every single letter the professor scribbles on the board.
Then something wet hits my temple. I raise my chin but keep my expression blank, despite all the gasps. And I wipe it away, assuming it’s a spitball.
The girl next to me screeches, scooting herself and her entire desk away. Hoots and laughter follow.
My stomach pitches, and a hot, scorching blush creeps into my cheeks before I even figure out what the cause is.
“Gross, possum!” a male student cries.
“Wipe your fucking face!”
My gaze skirts to Ivy. She flips around in her chair and stares at me, her face white.
Oh God, I don’t want to look.
…but I do.
A used tampon lays near my feet. I scrape my chair away, vomit surging in my throat, but all of this is too late. It’s already hit my skin. I have someone’s period blood on my face!
A strained whimper escapes my lips at the same time someone else says, “Period possum!” and starts applauding.
The rest of the class makes gagging and retching noises, but I can’t bear to scan the room to see which voice belongs to who.
Professor Lacey spins around. “Class, what the heck’s going on—oh. Oh, Christ. Miss Ryan, what…?”
She scrutinizes the mess in the aisle, and when I follow her gaze, I realize someone has dared to kick the tampon under my seat, leaving a bloody streak on the white marble.
“Dig into your vagina in the bathroom like a normal chick,” James cries, then stands, plugging his nose while he stands. “Should we call her bloody possum twat or rat vagina now? I can’t decide.”
“Mr. Windsor!” Professor Lacey cries, her voice so high, it screeches. “Headmaster Marron’s office, now.”
James grins. He slams his palms on his desk, then high-fives Riordan on the way out. “Worth it.”
As his final encore, he winks at Chase then gives the thumbs up.
I swallow thickly.
Chase leans back in his seat, his gaze cold and inscrutable, but directed at me. With a face that blank, eyes that dead, Chase’s stare can only mean one thing: I warned you.
You did, I silently respond. Tears betray my vision, but I wipe them away and turn in my seat, facing forward. “Professor, can I go to the—?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Go, go.” Professor Lacey eyes the mess on the floor with appalled trepidation. “In fact, class is dismissed. A custodian must get in here immediately.”
I scurry out of my seat as the class whistles and claps at the dismissal, but most choose to keep commenting on the mess.
Ivy tries to grab my hand as I pass, but I sprint out of class, find the nearest bathroom, and scrub my cheek until it’s raw.
29
A knock sounds at my bedroom door.
Ivy’s hesitant voice calls through the
wood, “Callie? You in there?”
I burrow deeper under my covers, the sheets scratching against my tender cheeks and wicking away the lingering tears.
I’m supposed to be devastated, but to be honest, it’s not difficult to play sad this evening.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
I sniff and rise out of my hovel, brushing away pieces of hair stuck to my face. “Sure.”
“Oh, Callie.” Ivy rushes over, the mattress dipping when she sits, and she wraps her arm around me. “I wanted to comfort you sooner, but you ran away so fast.”
I nod, sniffling into her shoulder. “It was easier to escape.”
She rests her head against mine. “Want me to bring some chocolate and vodka so we can really commit?”
I chuckle, pulling away and wiping my eyes. “I just needed a few minutes to cry. I’ll be okay.”
“That was brutal. And ugh.” Ivy makes a face. “Whose tampon was that? Did she just—” Ivy mimes pulling a string from between her legs “—and plop? Like what? How is she not ridiculed for that?”
Ivy is so appalled with herself for even mimicking the maneuver that she gags. I laugh, and that laughter travels to my belly. “Can you picture Falyn resorting to that level?”
Ivy topples over in a fit of laughter. “My goodness, imagine the horror of anyone who saw it happening.”
I fall next to her, joining her in laidback repose. “Right when I thought the Witches of Briarcliff had given me all they had.”
“No way, this was part warlock.” Ivy props herself up on her elbow. “This isn’t something Falyn or her cohorts would think up on their own. This, my friend, is dead rat territory.”
I recall the mass of rat corpses slopping out of my locker mere days after coming to Briarcliff Academy. “What girl would willingly do that in public? And smack me in the face with it?”
“A girl who was blackmailed.” Ivy grows serious. “Callie, Chase has picked his side. Only someone like him could make a girl be so grotesque. He either promised her a world of sex, or…” Ivy purses her lips, “used her worst nightmare against her, same as what happened to him.”
Fiend (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 3) Page 21
