The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (268 page)

Then something in her eyes changed, as if she realized she was speaking to the devil. She stood up straight and the scowl was back on. “I gotta go.”

“Constance—”

But she was already down the aisle and I suddenly felt a hulking presence behind me.

“Miss Brennan?”

Mr. Barber’s voice sent an unpleasant sizzle of warmth across my shoulders and down my back. I turned to face him. His dark eyes traveled over the half-empty test page on my desk, and his lips pursed ever so slightly.

“Ida M. Tarbell is not our favorite subject, I see,” he said, his bow tie bobbing up and down over his Adam’s apple as he spoke. He lifted the test sheet and looked down at it over the top of his new, gold-framed glasses.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I just . . . I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Or perhaps you’ve been spending too much time texting and Twittering and whatever else it is your sad generation does on those contraptions all day long,” he said, glancing derisively at my phone, which I still clutched in my hand.

My face burning, I shoved the phone back into my bag and yanked the strap off the back of the chair. It got snagged three times and finally I pulled so hard I almost knocked the chair over. Mr. Barber calmly reached out to steady the furniture, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. I could practically hear his silent prayer for patience.

“Maybe I could . . . uh . . . do an extra-credit assignment?” I said.

“See me after class tomorrow,” he replied, turning around and tossing my paper onto his desk.

“Okay. I will. Thanks.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I slid past him for the door, shoving my arms into my coat as I went, and found Lorna Gross
hovering outside, waiting for me. Her long, dark hair was back in a messy bun and she wore a rhinestone headband just behind her ears. Her gray cashmere sweater was adorned with glittery snowflakes and she wore about four strands of pearls. Lorna used to copy her style right out of her BFF Missy Thurber’s closet, but lately she had started to take on a look all her own, and even though it was something I could never pull off, it worked for her.

“What was that all about?” Lorna asked as she tugged on her heather gray coat and donned a pair of furry earmuffs.

“I didn’t exactly finish my test,” I replied, starting down the hall.

Lorna rolled her eyes and scoffed as she sidestepped a couple of senior guys who were barreling down the center of the hallway, oblivious to the world. “Who did? Ten essay questions in less than an hour?
Maybe
if he let us use our laptops.”

“Really?” I asked as I pushed open the door. I felt a slight surge of hope. Perhaps I wasn’t in
such
bad shape. But how many questions had I managed to answer before I started to nod off? Four? Five? I swallowed back a sour taste in the back of my throat as I realized it was probably more like three.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get an A,” Lorna said, pushing open the front door of the class building with both hands. “You’re Reed Brennan.”

The comment actually brought tears to my eyes. Was I mourning over the straight-A student I used to be, or feeling guilty because I wasn’t living up to her image of me? I had no idea. Either way, I clearly needed some sleep.

“So . . . everyone’s wondering. Are we going to have another meeting of the literary society any time soon?” Lorna asked as we descended the steps. They were covered with salt to keep the ice at bay, and our shoes made crunching sounds as we walked. Part of me wanted to shush her. It was a secret society after all. But that was the beauty of calling it a literary society. We could talk about it in public with no fear of spoiling our secret.

But the very thought of the society brought a heavy weight down on my shoulders—the weight of yet another responsibility. I wished I could just put it off until I’d found Noelle, but it had been days since we met—prank meeting notwithstanding—and since none of my Billings Literary Society sisters knew that anything was wrong, they were all still flush with the newness and excitement of our secret endeavor.

“Yeah, actually. I was going to call one for tonight,” I said, seeing my dream of crashing into my bed being pushed further and further away.

“Yeah?” Lorna said excitedly, giving a little jump from the bottom stair to the cobblestone walkway. Her enthusiasm brought a smile to my face, briefly anyway.

I nodded. “I’ll send out the e-mail after lunch.”

“Cool,” Lorna said, grinning. “I think it’s so awesome that you did all this, Reed. It would have sucked if the whole Billings thing had just died because the dorm got torn down.”

“Thanks,” I said, a flutter of pride masking my sadness for a moment. Part of me wondered what, exactly, she meant by “the whole Billings thing.” I thought most people just saw Billings as a cool place
to live, but clearly it meant more to Lorna than that—just like it did to me–which made me like her more.

Lorna took a deep breath of the crisp winter air and squinted across the quad. “Who’s that guy with Ivy?” she asked.

I followed her gaze and saw that Ivy was standing near the library steps with the shaved-headed, leather-coat-wearing dude I had come to refer to in my mind as Tattoo Guy, due to the extremely intricate tattoo on the back of his neck. I had seen them together the month before, having an early-morning snowball fight on campus. She and Josh had still been together at the time, and I remembered thinking that she was acting kind of flirty with Tattoo Guy. Inappropriately flirty. And now, here he was again, and they seemed to be having some kind of intense conversation. Ivy gestured angrily with her hands, while he had his own hands stuffed under his armpits, looking like he was about to explode.

“That guy does
not
go here,” Lorna said, wrinkling her nose.

“No. He definitely does not.”

There was an odd, twisting sensation in my gut as we drew closer. We were a few feet away, about to pass them on our route to the dining hall, when Tattoo Guy glanced in our direction. I thought he was just looking away from Ivy, but when he saw me, he simply stared. Stared as if he knew and hated me. As if he could tear me to shreds with that one glance.

Stop it,
I told myself.
You’re just being paranoid because of everything that’s going on. He’s clearly arguing with Ivy and you just happened to be in his line of sight.

Ivy touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her. She gave me a quick, almost apologetic wave. Lorna and I kept walking, but all the way to the dining hall, my spine felt tingly and cold, like he was still staring at me.

Like at any second he was going to drive a knife into my back.

“First order of business,” Portia Ahronian said, standing up. Everyone else settled in among the pillows and blankets strewn on the floor of the old Billings Chapel. We’d just finished the oath, and I was more than happy to let her take over. My eyes were dry with exhaustion and my brain was fuzzy and tired, even as my heart continued to race with nervousness. “Is anyone going to this lame V-Day dance?”

“You make it sound so attractive,” Tiffany joked, reaching for the package of chocolates at the center of the circle. Portia sat down next to Tiffany, her signature gold necklaces glinting in the candlelight, and snagged the chocolate right out of Tiff’s hands. Tiff sighed indulgently and chose another piece.

“I thought Billings Girls don’t do school dances unless they’re mandatory,” Ivy put in. There was a touch of disdain in her voice. Before she became one herself, Ivy had never been a big fan of the Billings Girls and their ways.

“We don’t. Usually,” Rose Sakowitz said. She took a sip of sparkling cider, which we’d decided to bring in lieu of champagne to prevent Vienna from showing up to any more classes hungover. “But I want to see Damon on Valentine’s Day and he wants to come to the dance, so . . . ”

Rose’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, Damon Hazelton, attended The Barton School, another private school nearby.

“Really? You’re going?” Amberly asked, wrinkling her pert little nose. Her blond hair was back in a tight bun, and her pink turtleneck sweater made her look like a prima ballerina.

“Maybe we should all think about going,” Lorna said, pulling her wide-weave wool sweater tighter around herself as a cold wind whipped through one of the broken stained-glass windows. “I mean . . . it could be fun . . . if we all go.”

Kiki and Astrid exchanged a look and rolled their eyes.

“What do you think, Reed?” Lorna asked.

Everyone turned to me expectantly. Once again I felt the weight of responsibility, of my position as leader of the BLS, pressing down on me.

“Yeah. You’re strangely silent tonight,” Ivy said, sitting up straight and dusting off her hands. Guess we hadn’t gotten the floors completely clean on our recent work night.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just tired.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think we should go.”

“You
do
?” Vienna blurted. “No way.”

“Did you guys know that Constance and London are planning the dance?” I asked.

Dumbfounded stares greeted my question. Guess that would be a “no.”

“Oh, please. No way,” Vienna said, flipping her thick hair over her shoulder. “First of all, London would never participate in something so pedestrian. And secondly, if she did, she would tell me about it.”

“Apparently not,” I said, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but seeing that it was inevitable. “I saw Constance’s planning notebook and asked her about it. She said she and London are doing it together.”

There was some uncomfortable shifting in place as everyone eyed Vienna, waiting for her reaction. She and London had been inseparable until the whole BLS thing.

“Oh. Okay,” Vienna said, her tone detached as she stared at the floor. “That’s that, then.”

She reached for the bottle of sparkling cider and brought it to her lips, kicking her head back to down half the contents as if she were trying to drown her sorrows in the nonalcoholic drink. Then she dragged the back of her hand across her lips, smearing her dark red lipstick.

“I’m with Reed and Lorna. I say we go,” she said. “We should support our friends.”

“But they’re not our friends anymore . . . right?” Amberly said, biting her bottom lip.

I was appeased when half a dozen pillows flew at her head.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll go!” she said, lifting her arms up to shield her face.

“Right. Now on to the more important question,” Tiffany said, yanking a stack of glossy magazines out from her messenger bag and tossing them on the floor with a
thwap
. “What’s everyone going to wear?”

There were a few squeals as Lorna and Amberly lunged for the magazines. The girls fell into a babble of giggling, catcalling, and oohing and ahhing. As the circle grew tighter, the better for everyone to share the magazines, I stayed right where I was, on the outskirts, staring toward the rafters of the airy, old chapel.

Noelle should have been there. Of course, if she was, she probably would have rallied against going to some lame Easton event. But still. Who cared? She should have been there.

The longer I stared up at the exposed beams of the high ceiling, the more the voices and laughter of my friends faded into the background. Suddenly, I started to feel as if I was sinking. Into the floor and out of reach. The ceiling loomed farther and farther into the distance, and the blankets sunk with me, smothering me, closing out all light, all happiness, all possibility.

Noelle could die and it would be my fault. Another life lost because I was too inept to help. Too stupid to figure out what was going on around me.

I couldn’t do this on my own. I just couldn’t. I had to tell someone. But who? Who could possibly know how to handle this?

An image of my father flashed through my mind, and suddenly, I found myself able to breathe again. My dad was the most levelheaded person I knew. And he loved me unconditionally. Plus, he
was nowhere near Easton, had nothing to do with the community, was in touch with no one at the school. I could tell him without the kidnappers knowing, right? I could tell him and he would tell me what to do.

That was it. I was going to call him right after this meeting. As soon as I got back to Pemberly. I’d use the old pay phone in the hallway just in case these crazy, spying kidnappers could somehow trace my phone. Everything was going to be fine.

“Are you okay?” Ivy said in my ear.

I flinched, sucked out of my brainstorming spiral and back into the now.

“Uh, yeah. Why?” I asked. She sat down right next to me and tucked her phone back into her bag.

“You just seem
really
out of it,” Ivy said.

“I told you. I’m just tired,” I said, which was part of the truth anyway. “Actually, I should probably head out soon. I haven’t even started my English project and after tomorrow I’m going to have an extra-credit assignment from Barber to deal with too.”

I pushed myself up to my knees and manically gathered my things, suddenly intent on my new plan. All I could think about was getting back to Pemberly and calling my dad. The thought of that creaky old phone was like a beacon, a big pool of water to a dying man in the desert.

As I reached for my cell to tuck it away, it let out a beep, indicating I had a text.

“Must be from Josh, since everyone else you know is here,” Ivy
joked. “Oh, unless it’s from Noelle,” she added, raising an eyebrow.

If only.

I swallowed hard as I picked up the phone. The text was not from Josh or Noelle. It was the kidnappers, contacting me with my new directive.

ASSIGNMENT NUMBER TWO: STEAL SOMETHING FABULOUSLY EXTRAVAGANT FROM A SHOP IN EASTON; THEN MAKE SURE TO WEAR IT AROUND CAMPUS FOR ALL TO SEE. GET CAUGHT AND NOELLE DIES. TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS TEXT AND SHE DIES.

My heart sunk into my toes. They really had to remind me about that whole silence or death thing didn’t they? Looked like I wouldn’t be calling my father after all. I dropped my things back down on the floor, and sat down cross-legged next to Ivy.