Page 24 of They're Watching You

“But I don’t even know what you look like.”

“You will,” I say, my head slumping. By the next society meeting, he’ll realize exactly who I am and what I did. Moments ago, I was critical of Remington for playing with someone’s emotions. But I’m no better than him.

Donella strides up to us now, smiling smugly. “Nice try, you two. Guess this means you’re out.”

“There’s still time,” Remington says unconvincingly. He hooks an arm around mine, and we amble away together.

“You failed?” I whisper.

He shrugs against my side.

“Good thing I got this, I guess.” I unfold my fist, revealing the silver chain, its tiny pendant dangling off my palm. A linchpin.

Remington gapes at me and then breaks into a perfect smile. “That’s my girl.”

Whatever was smashed and battered inside me moments ago buoys up weightlessly now. We push through the dancers, and I almost feel bold enough to ask him for a slow dance while we wait for the next task to appear.

But Dr. Sandoval, the world history teacher, stops right in front of us. His beady, dark eyes narrow at us from the slots of an ink-blue mask.

We’re caught. He watched that whole charade, and now we’re going down for thievery. “Good evening,” he says, an unexpectedly pleasant lilt to his voice.

“Good evening, Dr. Sandoval,” Remington says. “Lovely night.”

“The Masquerade Ball is one of my favorite traditions.” His catlike smile sends a squirmy sensation up my arms. “Traditions are what make this academy so special, don’t you think?”

“Mmhmm,” I say, shivering as the feeling reaches my neck. “Definitely.”

“Enjoy yourselves.” Dr. Sandoval salutes us before wandering off, shoes shuffling over the floor in a little jig.

“What was that about?” I ask Remington. But before he can respond, a girl in a mask and electric blue fairy wings thrusts a new envelope in front of us. I startle, then take it as she flutters off.

“Are these fairy girls members of the society or paid help?” I tear open the envelope, handing Remington the second coin. He pockets it as I read: “‘Congratulations. Your final task is to spike the punch with the society’s special brew.’”

Remington takes the card and squints at it. “How are we supposed to find this ‘special brew’?” He flips the card over, like the answer will be scrawled on the back.

On the wall opposite the room, I spot the fairy girl, who gestures for me to follow her. “I think she might know.” I tug on Remington’s arm and we weave through the dancers after her.

Ben Davies—an enormously tall guy from the boys’ basketball team—shimmies in front of me, laughing when he blocks my attempt at a left feint and a dive right to pass him. But he spots my fingers on Remington’s arm, arches a brow, and lumbers back to his group.

I’ve lost sight of Fairy Girl. When we emerge on the other side of the room, she’s gone. “How did she—?”

That’s when I see it. A faint score mark along the wainscoting panel of the wall. “Be my lookout,” I say, stealing over to examine it closer.

“You’re clear,” he whispers, so I give the panel a little nudge.

It moves. Hinging along the left side, it functions as a tiny door.

“She disappeared through the wall,” I say. “The brew must be back here.”

“I’ll stand guard.” Remington takes my clutch, stationing himself, his back to the wall beside what’s likely a porthole to a magical realm. Before I can refuse to be the guinea pig, he whispers, “Okay, go.”

I sigh and count to three. Crouching low, I push through the door and find myself in a dark space the size of a closet. Now I’m certain that if I push on one more wall, I’ll be in Narnia. Because Fairy Girl didn’t very well come back out the way she came. I press my fingers to the back of the wall, feeling around.

I can’t see a thing. Remington has my phone, and this is going nowhere. I turn back to the entrance, tugging along the seam, but the wall nearly topples me as Remington eases into the room.

“What happened to playing lookout?” I whisper.

“Sorry, I wanted to see what was back here.” Fabric rustles, and his phone light casts a glow about the room. The walls in front of us and to our right are bare. The wall to our left, however, contains two shelves stocked with bottles. The ones on the top are little apothecary vials that look like medicine, but the lower shelf contains a variety of wine, liquor, and cordials. Remington lifts his light as I squint at the labels.

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