Page 33 of Switching Graves

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

16

Raze

Beneath the halls of Ravenshurst University, there’s a mess of tunnels stretching out in all directions like gnarled, broken fingers. Most are useless, leading to dead ends packed with dirt and rock that could collapse and kill you if you aren’t careful. They’re a project the Landrys started, but never got the chance to finish, and the Midnight Syndicate purposely left untouched.

They begin at a hidden door in the chapel that opens to a set of dark, polished steps. Once you get to the base of the staircases, you’re met with a handful of tunnels that reach everywhere from the dense mountains to the town and all the way over toward a sloshy, failed attempt near the ocean. Out of a dozen planned paths, only three were successfully carved for their intended purpose.

One of them travels to the center of Nocturne Valley, spitting you out beneath the town’s bank cellar. The only entrance or exit is protected by an intricate system of locks and alarms that require special clearance to get past.

I’ve never been granted such a thing.

The second path leads to a hall of rooms carved into stone with metal bars built-in as the third wall. They’re prisons built for the gifted, enchanted to nullify any power of those unlucky enough to find themselves locked inside.

The third opens into a large assembly hall beneath the university ballroom. This is where the Midnight Syndicate holds its meetings every third full moon.

The hall has been altered to accommodate the Syndicate’s growing numbers over the past century, though they’ve kept much of the structures the same. The line of masked leaders of the Syndicate sits at a raised bench, gazing down their noses at their subordinates in the pews below. There’s a member from each of the six active bloodlines, with one empty chair to honor the Mirrane line—the lost seventh. They make up the council of Supremes for the Midnight Syndicate.

Their identities are not meant to be known by lesser members, nor should they have any sway in the matters discussed. They’re given false names, full face masks, and black robes to conceal themselves. The positions are inherited through family lines with no say from the rest of the bloodlines.

It’s mostly for tradition, honestly. We all know who they are. It’s been the same six families running the Syndicate for over one hundred years, when the cultish society was formed. Those whispers are heard by even the lowliest members.

Each time I’m down here, I want to peel my skin off my body and walk out as someone else. I despise these people. All of them.

I despise the things I’ve done to survive among them.

The resentment I hold for my father for putting me into a pit of snakes before I could consent to it still burns hot in my chest with each mandatory meeting I’ve had to attend over the lastthirteen years. Even after his death, I hate him for it. In fact, his passing only served to feed the flames.

How dare he leave me to deal with the consequences of his failed dealings? To continue another generation of the Whitlock curse?

“It’s all a part of their game,”he used to claim.“We’ve just got to play the game better than they do.”

His idea of playing more strategically is living in their shadows, committing their crimes for them as the token Null—a person born without gifts. Thanks to the Syndicate’s power-hungry greed, most of Nocturne Valley is made up of Nulls.

My father thought allowing them to think they have control was the best way to ensure they don’t turn on us. I think he missed the part over the years where they ripped that control from our grasp and we truly became their slaves.

I’m a hollowed out husk of a man—destined to lose everything I hold dear to the gifted. I’ve released all attachments in my own personal act of rebellion, leaving me with nothing but an empty black soul. A beautifully painted life filled with academic achievements and professional accolades—but all of it is sloshed onto a ripped and broken canvas. It’s a mask to hide the ugliness beneath.

There will be no atoning for my sins once I’m through with the Syndicate, as they’re far too great to make up for in a single lifetime.

I’d have to care if I wanted to make amends, and I’m not interested in either.

With the Ellery girl finally making her appearance at the university, I can complete my task and lay this all to rest. I can end a lifetime of suffering.

I’m always among the first to arrive to give myself the opportunity to take in the awkward and strained socialinteractions between members, filing them away in my mental archives for future use.

Dean Hatchcroft is an outcast. A red-faced snake slithering around the room, desperately seeking external validation from whoever will offer it.

My gaze rolls over toward the bench, where James Stanson’s masked face stares out at nothing in particular. Nocturne Valley’s current sitting mayor, his large stature easily gives his identity away. Between his wide, square shoulders and the way he towers over everyone beside him—even seated—he’s hard to mistake for someone else.

As the Supreme descendant of the Aetheris bloodline, he’s nearly six and a half feet of pure evil, with a deceitfully friendly face and a charming personality to lure you in. Aetherises are the bravest and strongest members of society, they often graduate from Ravenshurst and go on to fight in wars or excel in sports. They’re probably the liveliest group we have, though many have short tempers. James was the first to break the Payne family’s century-long run as mayor, winning the last election by a landslide against Ashton Payne, who is currently seated as far away from him as possible.

Ashton blends in with the rest of the leaders much easier, but I could always spot the difference in his beat-down stature. Even if his father weren’t sitting right before him in the audience—glaring up at the rest of the Syndicate leaders with his brutal, dead eyes—I’d know those sagging shoulders and twitching movements were him from years of school together.

The Paynes descend from the Primaris bloodline—probably the most populated, yet actively weakening of them all. They absolutely despise the Aetherises, even before Stanson ended their reign over Nocturne Valley.

Terry Florwyn is nearly swallowed by her mask beside Ashton. As the Supreme descendant of the Viridian bloodline,she inherited her notorious petite stature from her ancestors. It’s said that as healers, the Viridians needed to remain small to be able to travel with soldiers to different war camps centuries ago without taking up too much space. That’s why they’ve remained petite all this time. Terry is a middle-aged, esteemed oncologist halfway through a record-breaking career. She’s one of the few gifted who uses her magic for good.

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