The Third Lie's the Charm (2 page)

I blinked heavily to ensure that my eyes were truly open. They were. It was the darkness that pressed down on us as we soldiered through the thick woods that snuffed out my sight. I held my arms out in front of me, zombie style, to avoid losing an eye to a tree branch. I liked my eyes. They're kind of important.

The shift was subtle and I felt it before I was able to see anything, but I sensed we were at the end of our journey. The trees thinned and spread, and finally we spilled into the open, each girl stepping aside to let me through, forming a sort of tunnel.

And finally the ruins came into view.

The breath was ripped right out of my lungs.

I had no idea the place where my best friend had been killed was this close to my house. It was like someone had spun me around faster and faster and faster and let go, standing back to watch me topple right into Grace's tomb. You'd think that I'd have been drawn here before, pulled by some sort of magnetic connection, but I had never pushed through those woods before. I avoided the ruins of the chapel that we had all watched burn more than a year ago, just like I avoided going to Grace's actual grave. I preferred to remember Grace dodging bushes and diving into Pemberly Brown Lake in nothing but her bra and underwear.

Taking in the charred bricks and burnt beams of wood, I wished more than anything that I could turn around and walk back home. Screw the Sisterhood. Screw revenge. Surely my memories of Grace were more important than destroying the societies that had killed her.

I took a deep breath through my mouth, careful not to inhale through my nose because the smell of smoke would surely invoke a full-fledged, stage-five panic attack. As I stood at the edge of the clearing, poised to run, the girls' robes billowed at their ankles and their heads bowed one by one.

One of the younger sisters lost her hood to the breeze. Her long, dark hair danced in the wind. She caught my eye and smiled shyly. I recognized her as one of the first-years I'd seen tagging along after Taylor and Bethany in the hallways, and I knew I couldn't leave, I couldn't run. This girl trusted the Sisterhood. She trusted them with her life. She had no idea how quickly they'd turn on her if she fell out of line or couldn't keep up. She had no clue how little her life was worth, how little Grace had been worth to them.

And so I stayed. For Grace, for that first-year, and all of the future first-years who the Sisterhood would surely lure into its ranks like some kind of gold-plated Venus flytrap.

Reperi
tua
fata.
“Discover your destiny.”

The girls' voices nudged me forward to do just that. As it turns out, my destiny was hanging from a tree branch—a robe that billowed like a puffy white cloud against the night sky. I made my way toward the robe through the tunnel of chanting girls. When I reached my fingers up to touch it, the chanting grew louder and more fevered. For a second, my fingers faltered. I couldn't bring myself to touch the fabric, the robe that stood for all that I'd lost, for everything that I'd given up in my quest to avenge Grace.

I could still run. I could still change my mind. Go back home and try to be normal again, call Liam. But the decision was made for me when two of the figures in white carefully pulled the robe over my head. In that moment, choice was replaced by destiny. I reminded myself of the look on Liam's face when I told him I needed space. I tried to channel all of the anger and hurt I felt when he couldn't understand why avenging Grace was so important to me. I felt the robe flutter across my shoulders and float over my leggings.

Reperi
tua
fata.
I grew more resolute with every slip and pull of the silk.

The breeze picked up just as Taylor cupped her hand around her candle in an attempt to reignite its flame and continue the initiation. She was the leader of the Sisterhood who had sacrificed Grace, left her for dead, destroyed the Brotherhood. And now she thought she had everything she wanted. She thought she had me.

Under different circumstances, the flickering candle and her cascading robes would have been beautiful. But my friend had died in a fire. A fire started at this very ceremony our first year, so to me the flame looked like a threat. A promise of tragedy to come.

“
Unum
, one,” she said. The candle danced. Bethany Giordano stepped forward and angled her candle to Taylor's. “
Duo
, two,” she whispered. Naomi Farrow was next, followed by the remaining girls in white. They each whispered their respective Latin as they lit candles, the glow illuminating the pride on their faces. I was last.
Sedecem
. Sixteen.

When my candle flickered to life, the girls raised their chins to the sky.
Memento
vetus, excipe novum.
“Remember the old, welcome the new.” I wondered if they'd added the line to remember Grace. Probably not. Taylor gathered every candle together. As each touched the next, the flame became one, growing, feeding off the previous candle. If the hot wax dripping down on her hand burned, she didn't show it.

Taylor's crystal-blue eyes met mine for a beat before she breathed deeply and blew the candles out. A line of smoke twisted upward. I had to choke back a dry heave as the scent wound its way into my nose.

And I was in.

“Congratulations!” Taylor tore off her hood and pulled me in for a hug, the gesture so jarring and unexpected that I almost forgot about the bile in my throat. “Let's celebrate!”

The girls scattered to set up a party, pulling food and drinks from bags that had been set out beforehand. Music thumped and laughter punctuated the end of one song or the beginning of another. The only thing missing was a campfire and a beach. Even as girl after girl approached me to say congratulations, my legs twitched and my fingers dug into the soft earth, my body still poised to launch myself back to the safety of my house.

“I know it must be hard.” Naomi's voice startled me, and I was on my feet in a flash. “I've told them a million times we need to stop coming here.” She kicked a charred piece of wood with the toe of her shoe.

“I just…I had no idea.” It was the truth. I had no idea about how close this was to my house. I had no idea that in spite of the ruins, in spite of the flames and the smoke, I'd actually be able to force myself to go through with this. I had no idea.

“It's almost like they've forgotten it even happened, you know?” Naomi's voice was barely above a whisper and she looked around nervously, scared that someone might overhear.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Sometimes being here, I just wonder if maybe there's a way that we could honor her. Make it so she didn't die for nothing.”

“You're kidding, right? You think there's any possible way to make Grace's death okay?” My voice was shrill and loud. I couldn't help it.

“Shhh…they'll hear.” Naomi backed away from me slowly, regret written all over her face. “That's not how I meant it at all. I just…there's bigger stuff going on here, you know?”

It almost sounded like she might share my goal of destroying the Sisterhood. Bradley Farrow, the former leader of the Brotherhood, was her brother, after all. But before I could respond, she disappeared into the woods. Naomi Farrow was either my biggest enemy or my closest ally. Something told me it wasn't going to be easy to determine which.

I wove my way through the clusters of girls. Quiet. Listening. Trying to get my bearings, collect information.

I paused near Bethany Giordano whose back faced me, her body hunched toward the thick trees and whatever else lay beyond.

“…Need to be disabled…already in place…Brotherhood…eliminated.”

I could barely hear over the music but I recognized Dorothy Bower's sharp voice drifting out from Bethany's phone. Formerly Ms. D., PB's badass security guard, Dorothy now went by “Headmistress Bower,” and despite her more powerful position, she maintained serious ties to the Sisterhood. After the Brotherhood was overthrown, the Sisterhood managed to secure Ms. D. the headmistress position at the start of the spring term.

Our previous headmaster, Mr. Sinclair, and I weren't exactly BFFs, but as faculty leader of the Sisterhood, Ms. D. stood for everything that was wrong with PB. Oh, and she was one of the only adults I'd ever trusted until she lied to me and manipulated me to get the Sisterhood back in power. Minor detail.

Bethany looked up before I could walk closer and catch any more words. “Hey, Kate,” she purred. Her voice was raspy like she'd smoked a pack of cigarettes and spent the entire night screaming conversations in some dirty bar. “I don't think I congratulated you yet.” She swiped off the phone, cutting Ms. D.'s voice in half. “So…congratulations.” Her smile pulled at all the wrong places.

“Thanks.” My voice held the sick sweetness of sugar-free syrup. Hopefully you catch more flies with aspartame. “I'm so glad we're Sisters now. You can tell me all your secrets.” I gave her a hard, “playful” punch on the shoulder.

Bethany rubbed the place where my small fist had bitten into her arm. “Ooh, you're so right. In fact, I've got a secret for you already.” She bent down and put her mouth to my ear. “You can cover up your nasty hair with a white hood and you can say all the right things in Latin, but you'll never be a real Sister.”

She said it to hurt me. She couldn't have known it was exactly what I needed to hear. I repeated the words in my head.

I'll never be a real Sister.

I woke up the next morning to sunshine and the grinding buzz of my phone vibrating on my nightstand. I slapped at the phone to silence it and pulled my thick, down comforter back over my head.

It had been after 4 a.m. when I finally got back home last night, and already the choice I'd made felt scarier, more real in the light of day. Parading around with the Sisterhood at night was one thing, but the idea of joining their ranks in the halls of Pemberly Brown on Monday made me burrow deeper into the safety of my bed. At least for the weekend.

My phone buzzed again. It was probably Seth, my neighbor who doubled as bodyguard, lap dog, or best friend, depending on the day. He'd want details of last night. Excruciating details that he'd be able to write about on his weirdo conspiracy-theory, secret-society-obsessed blog. I needed an IV drip of caffeine before I'd be ready to deal with any of it.

Or maybe it was Liam.

I'd already been over hundreds of different scenarios in my head.

Me: Hi, Liam.

Liam: Hi, Kate.

Me: I miss you.

Liam: I miss you too.

Me: Let's get back together.

Liam: Awesome. So you're done with that whole obsessive revenge thing? Whoo-hoo!

Me: Um, yeah, about that…

Liam: *Click*

There's a version where he asks me to marry him, a version where he drives to my house and tries to whisk me away to Paris for a romantic weekend, and my personal favorite, a version where he decides to get my likeness tattooed on his chest, radioactive hair and all.

But every fantasy ends the same way—Liam wanting something I can't give him.

Reality really sucks sometimes.

I threw the covers off and kicked myself out of bed in one quick motion. I wasn't sure if it was yet another Liam fantasy or my craving for coffee that got me out of bed. Did it really matter? Either way, I was up.

I snatched my phone off the nightstand and headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Thirty-four missed calls. Jesus. Seth must be on a mission. I began scrolling through the names after I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth.

Seth cell (4)

Maddie (1)

Naomi (2)

Seth home (3)

Alistair (21)

My eyes widened as I scrolled through an almost endless list of missed calls from Alistair. Twenty-one calls. Whoa. It's not like he and I were besties. I didn't even realize he had my number before last night. I had totally forgotten that he called, and even if I hadn't, there was no way I would have called him back. It had been so late and it just didn't seem important. I took a gulp of water, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and dialed his number.

One, two, three, four, five rings.

“Yo, it's Alistair…”

Voicemail.

I thought about leaving a message but hung up. It couldn't have been that important if he hadn't bothered to pick up his phone. I headed downstairs to find my parents sitting at the table with matching coffee mugs and vacant stares.

They both straightened up and exchanged a meaningful look when they saw me walk into the kitchen. Shit. I was in trouble. I had to be. They never lounged around in robes on the weekend. If they weren't volunteering or starting some house project, they were buried in notes preparing for some epic case that would require as many hours as they could possibly bill in a week.

“Um, good morning…” I moved as quickly as I could to grab a coffee mug and filled it to the brim. Something told me this conversation would require a major caffeine buzz.

My mother's arms were around me before I could even turn back around. “Oh Kate, honey. I'm so sorry.”

“Um, hey…wow…” My voice was still light, but a pit began to form in my stomach, small, hard, and impossible to ignore. “What's going on?” My mind flashed to all the missed calls on my phone.

“Oh God, you don't know.” My mother pulled back and rested her hands on my shoulders. “It's Alistair Reynolds.”

The pit in my stomach grew until it felt like I'd swallowed a softball.

“Alistair? What about him?” I raised my hands and took a step back from my mother, watching her expression carefully. The slack muscles around her mouth and the way she closed her eyes and took a deep breath told me everything I needed to know.

“There was an accident, honey.” My father's voice was calm. Unemotional. If I hadn't seen the way his jaw clenched and twitched, I might have believed that everything was going to be okay, but instead, the now basketball-sized lump was caught in my throat. I dropped the steaming coffee, hot liquid splattering on my bare legs, shards of glass biting into my feet, as I ran back upstairs. Back to my phone.

I swiped Alistair's name again.

One, two, three, four, five.

“Yo, it's Alistair…”

I hung up and redialed.

One, two, three, four, five.

“Yo, it's Alistair…”

The next time, I stopped listening to the rings and began counting. I watched the timer tick through the seconds and counted just like I'd done after Grace. Only this time as the phone rang, I stared at Alistair's face and counted.

Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

“Yo, it's Alistair…”

I paced back and forth in my room, calling over and over again only to hear the same stupid message. By the time my parents managed to unlock my door, I was on my twenty-first call. The exact number of times that he'd tried to call me last night.

“He's gone, Kate. It happened last night around 3 a.m. We didn't find out until this morning. I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

I pushed past her, locked myself in the bathroom, and dialed one more time, staring at Alistair's straight nose and wavy hair.

Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

This time, I left a message.

“I'm sorry,” I gasped into the phone. “I'm so sorry.”

And then I threw up.