Page 46 of All Saints: Pledge

That’s not ominous or anything. I squint my eye. "So what would these supposed powerful and wealthy elite of the world want with me?"

“Your ambition.”

I shift on the pillows to face him better. “My ambition.”

“Yes.”

“That is not a marketable asset.”

“I beg to differ.”

My lips purse as I think about Clara. About what she said to me after the tunnel party. “But not everyone who is a candidate is ambitious like me.”

Kendall seems to sense exactly who I am talking about. “Ambitions can be different for every person, but the specific ambition has to be useful to the collective. To further our cause in one way or the other.”

Ew. That doesn’t sit well. “And my grandfather. I take it he was ambitious, then.” It’s hard to imagine, given his dedication to a quiet life raising cattle and horses. To helping the downtrodden.

“I assume so. I think he was tapped to be the next director of the English National Opera. He had to turn down the position when he left England. I’d only ever heard my own grandfather talk about it a few times. It was a sore subject.”

I squint. There’s something behind those words I don’t understand. Why would my father leaving be a sore subject for Kendall’s own grandfather? I assume he took over for my own grandfather, and thus the wealth and title. Wouldn’t it have benefited him? “So my grandfather was almost the director of the English National Opera.” I can hardly picture it. “And so it was a big deal he left?”

I can tell I’ve asked the right question. “This is a lifelong appointment. The gift given in exchange for entry gains you accesstothe power, the money, the connections. All Saint’s takes people who want something and they make it happen. Once in, it’s basically impossible to leave. Too many people have favors to call in. You have obligations to other members. Promises you’ve made. Dues to pay forwardforthe next initiates behind you. You don’t just leave.” Kendall’s gaze turns dark. “Powerful people can do some pretty awful things to a person’s life if they want to.”

“But my grandfather left.” Although now I’m equating this to the mob in my head, and I’m wondering how many years my grandfather watched his back, wondering if someone was going to ruin his life for leaving. Suddenly his paranoia over my school classmates doesn’t seem so crazy.

“He didn’t just leave on his own. He convinced another member to leave with him. Someone who was promised to someone important. It was—is—an honor thing, and it hasn’t been forgotten. It’s not just all about handing you your dream, and I think you need to know it. They expect their due.”

“You say that as if someone can just hand me an ambassadorship. Or a cabinet position. Do you know how long it takes? Oxford isn't even in the United States. You have to have internships, and appointments, and people backing you in government….” I trail off, staring at Kendall. He hasn’t blinked. “You’re saying I can get these things.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. The deal itself is up to you and your sponsor. Some people just ask for a large amount of money. Sometimes sponsors can’t provide the correct connections to complete the contract. If so, a candidate goes back into the pool or renegotiates the contract. But yes, in general, I think you could be assured that. Or more. It’s done more often than you think.”

A contract. Inside help to become one of the highest ranked officials in the United States Government. This sort of stuff is fiction. And yet…secret societies are supposed to have made kings and Presidents. Ministers. Royalty. Arch Bishops. Billionaires. Celebrities. You can’t throw a snowball without hitting a conspiracy theory about any number of prominent historical figures claiming secret ties to secret societies—and accused of being puppets of shadow organizations out for world dominance.

If Kendall speaks the truth, I’m on the cusp of having everything I ever wanted. I could join this fraternity and march straight to the head of the line. My head swims with the possibility. I’ve had to work the long and hard way for everything I’ve ever gotten. I did fundraisers cutting lawns for six summers to be able to put enough aside to attend community college classes. I’d had to do three bake sales to be able to afford my debate team uniform. To have a network of billionaires and influential people to help me along the way? It’s… it’s…Kendall just verified that this opportunity comes with a cost.

What had my grandfather said? The worst sort of humanity.

No question that a fraternity based on the trading high-level favors could be or is rampant with greed, manipulation and artifice. And I can only imagine what someone would ask of me in return for a favor like mine.

“Is this a soul-to-the-Devil situation? I win the fiddle contest, or Satan gets me forever?”

“I wish I could tell you no. I mean, maybe not the literal Devil, All-Saints hasn’t been a religious organization since the 1600’s. But the rest of it?” He leans in, and I can see the stubble on his cheeks. Smell the mint of his gum. “It’s possibly as close to hell as you’ll ever get on Earth. At least for someone like you.”

“Blood letting?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Weird scientific experiments?”

“No.”

“Just…horrible people?”

He’s leaned in so close his eyes have to keep darting between mine. “These are a group of people with particular tastes that they feed through this organization. In exchange for their influence, they own you for the length of that contract.”

“Own…me.”

“Your time. Your company when it is wanted.” His eyes dip to my chest and back up. “Your body.”

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