Page 72 of All Saints: Pledge

“Tell me,” I whisper.

“My father,” Teague answers in a clipped tone that brokers no room for continued questioning.

Now that I’m looking, I can see the vague resemblance. Dark hair, though gray at the temples. The same hazel eyes.

The orchestra picks up again, this time more muted. Small conversations break out, but largely this is a silent affair until all of the jewelry-clad initiate hopefuls are in the room. We’ve made it almost all the way around the room, and come to a stop several feet behind one of the rowing twins who has a sequin-clad woman on his arm that I don’t recognize.

Behind me, I hear Clara give a small cough.

Augustine steps into the center of the room, like a showman at a circus. “Welcome all,” he says warmly, “to this time honored tradition. As always, the funds raised tonight will be used generously by our foundation to support causes and charities outlined in our charter. We wouldn’t be here without our always dedicated host, Lord Loughty. Thank you for your continued patronage and hospitality.”

There is a brief amount of applause.

Ah. So this is an annual fundraiser. And then Teague’s father raises his glass, and I realize that Augustine was addressing him. Lord Loughty. This is…this ishis house, whichmeans…

There’s a commotion in a corner of the room, and instinctively, Teague and I pivot to see what it is. I’m expecting to see…well, I’m expecting to see Kendall. But what I am not expecting is a black woman bursting through the double entry doors in a violently red ball gown, and marching through the crowd like she owns the place.

“Who on Earth?—”

Beside me, Teague sucks in a breath, and lets out a string of epithets that I think might be his version of a prayer. “It’s Bea.”

As if I’m supposed to know what that means.

You could hear a pin drop as she strides into the center of the room, her heels clicking with so much power, I hear it echo back at me from the ceiling.

“Starting without me? What poor form.” She’s got a Londoner’s accent and the face of an avenging angel.

Augustine startles. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes twice before he manages a weak, “I’m sorry, this is a private event.”

“Oh, I’m well aware what event I’m attending. I demand a spot in your auction tonight.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. I peer shamelessly around Teague who has taken particular interest in the room's ceiling, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

Augustine coughs. “Ah, unfortunately, Ms…”

“Beatrice Fitzroy, sophomore at Cambridge, daughter of Hellman Fitzroy, but you already know that.”

“Ms. Fitzroy, I wish we could oblige, but you have completed none of the necessary?—”

“That is bullshit, and you know it.” The words stop Augustine in his tracks. She gives him a mirthless smile and turns to address the room at large. “My grandmother was a member of All Saints, and your bylaws allow that any Legacy member may take part in the auction without qualifying events. In fact, only a Legacy candidate may run this institution. We protect our own. As I am a Legacy candidate, I am invoking said bylaw.”

Muscles twitch in Augustine’s jaw. He looks like he’s grinding sand into glass in there.

I gasp and it has nothing to do with why everyone else is gaping. My wide eyes fly up to meet Teague’s gaze. He’s looking down at me, not at Beatrice. He nods, ever so slightly. He knew. Kendall knew. “My grandfather…” I trail off, brain making connections. “That makes me a Legacy too,” I say to Teague.

Something in his jaw clenches, and he nods.

“So, is she right? I could have come here without?—”

Teague puts his head down near mine. “No. Well, yes. But it’s not done. You did it the right way. The respectable way.”

Yeah, sure. But. Like. I was drugged. And man-handled for these tests. And the kicker is, it seems literally everyone knew I could skip them and failed to tell me. “Kendall knew. Augustine knew. This whole time. You knew. Everyone knew.”

He doesn’t deny it. “This isn’t a good look. She still has to get a sponsor in order to make it to full membership…I don’tknow what she’s doing here. This isn’t like her. This—there’s something more to this spectacle.”

“You know her.” It’s a statement, not a question. And then I remember the black girl he was dancing with at the charity gala at the beginning of the term. Maybe not even just knew her, had hedatedher?

He flicks a look at me before looking back at Beatrice and Augustine, locked in a hushed whisper fight. “Yes. A little. Although now I have to wonder if we were really friends or if she was just planning…”

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