Page 20 of They're Watching You

The sparkle dims. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I start to argue, but Gavin pulls ahead, leading us around to the south side of the cathedral. He plays lookout while I push through the false door, crawling on hands and knees, trying not to tear Polly’s expensive dress as the cement path converts to worn stone.

Once through, I stand up, brushing off the delicate fabric and making sure the V hangs in the right place. My linchpin pendant is fastened onto my bracelet, hidden among the other baubles I’ve received from my parents every year since I was eight—a rabbit from the year I was obsessed with bunny memorabilia, the panda from the year we went to the zoo, the heart from a year my parents didn’t know what I was into, et cetera. Where is Gavin hiding his pendant? I examine his suit, his shiny black shoes, the coat. It’s probably easier for guys, with all the pockets on their formal wear. The plunging V of my dress, on the other hand, leaves very little storage space.

I approach the trapdoor, and my heart sinks. The basket is there, and I’m all out of those rocks.

Gavin catches up with me, and before I can say anything, he grabs my hand. I start to wrench it away, but a series of cool, slick objects press into my palm. “Peluio,” he says. “Translatedpebbles, they represent the ones used in a common Greek game.”

“And you just happen to carry a stash of these pebbles on you?”

“You were supposed to take a few last night on your way out. We recycle them.” Sensing my frustration, he smiles, his eyes warm as he slips his hand onto my lower back. “You’ll see,” he says with a gentle nudge. “The society is really just about games. There’s this huge tournament finale coming up next week. You’re going to love it.”

“I didn’t come here to play games,” I whisper, dropping my pebbles into the basket.

Down below, the lanterns are blazing again. This time, instead of hooded cloaks, the crypt is decked in sparkling formal attire. In place of silver chalices, bite-size hors d’oeuvres adorn the display.

The members are huddled off in dark corners, sipping from what I hope are non-poisoned glasses. Gavin grabs a shrimp and sidles over to chat up some guy.

Annabelle, draped in a red floor-length gown, her hair coiled on top of her head, blond wisps perfectly draping the front of her face, breaks away from her group to greet me. “Maren,” she says, leaning in for a hug, “you look just divine.”

“As do you,” I return, trying out the posh-speak once more to no avail.

“We’re just about to get started. This is one of my favorite society games. I can’t wait for you to partake.”

She squeezes my hand and drifts over to the display. There, she lifts a glass, clinking a knife against it. “May I have your attention, please? Our game is about to begin. The rules are simple. Once everyone is partnered up and given their firstillicittask, we will head over to the ball. Each time you complete a task, you will receive a gold coin. The first team to obtain three gold coins wins. Take note: opening your envelope before entering the ball is expressly forbidden. Also, if you are caught by any of the teacher chaperones or the other students at the ball, you will be disqualified. Are you dying to hear the prize?” The room breaks into applause and howls as Annabelle keeps them in anticipation.

“The winning team will move up an entire station.”

A collective gasp sounds, followed by another round of applause. An entire station. Meaning I would become a Minor Supreme. Just like Polly. My mind floods with thoughts of my dad. The tired, worried edge to his voice on the phone earlier today. I know he’s afraid of disappointing me.

What if he didn’t have to be? If Minor Supreme means calling in a favor, would the society be able to pay off my loan? I look to Gavin to ask, but he’s leaning against the opposite wall.

“When I call out your names,” Annabelle says, reaching behind her for a stack of envelopes, “you will step forward. First up, Donella and Paul.”

A blond girl wearing a fluttery black dress approaches Annabelle, followed by a tall guy with russet-brown curls and a sharp gray tux. They are handed a single envelope and dismissed to wait back by the trapdoor. Annabelle continues to announce the teams. When I hear Gavin’s name, my heartbeat races in hope. Gavin might be tired of my questions, but at least I know him. And, if I’m honest, I have fun with Gavin. When he isn’t annoying me. “And Larissa,” Annabelle coos. My hope dies like an ant under a boot. Now who am I going to be partnered with? Up at the display, Gavin glances over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable.

A new thought sneaks its way into my head, bolstering my spirits. Maybe Annabelle paired herself with me. She did seem rathernicewhen she greeted me. The more time we spend together, the better chance she’ll spill what she knows about Polly. “Maren,” Annabelle calls out, looking up to beam at me with brilliant white teeth. “And Remington.” Excitement clashes with disappointment in me. “Best of luck to the neophytes.”

On the one hand, I get to spend the evening with Remington Cruz. On the other hand, the society paired me with another newbie. Now we have no shot at winning. But I guess as long as the losers aren’t forced to drink poison or spend the night in the catacombs, I don’t really care. I just have to pretend to play, so I can get closer to these people. These people who will hopefully lead me to Polly.

I spot Remington across the tunnel, and together we make our way to the front to retrieve our task. He takes the envelope, and we meander to a clear space by a pillar.

“So, are you ready to smear cake in fancy hairdos?” he asks, waggling his brows.

“I thought we were going to pin tails on the backs of girls’ dresses.”

He laughs. “Speaking of dresses. Yours is nice.”

“Better than the sweatpants, you think?”

“Not better,” he says, tilting his head. “Just…different.” In the winking lantern light, I try not to blush.

When the last members are paired and the tasks dealt, Anabelle clacks down the tunnel toward us. “One last thing,” she adds, that wicked grin on her ruby red lips. “Thwarting your opponents is highly encouraged.” All around, murmurs ripple through the room, the atmosphere sharpening. “Masks on, everyone. May the gods grant you favor tonight.Victory or dust.”

The mantra is repeated. As the teams begin clambering up the stairs, the words still hum in my ears.

Eight

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