Page 60 of Dig Your Grave

He smirked grimly.“It’s not just a birthday, he reuses old codes for everything.Let’s hurry.”

“Is he here tonight?”I asked him.

“No.He was already at one event.Oversaw the start of the Blood Trials, so he’s probably back in D.C.or New York.The Dean will catch him up later.”

Chapter 22

We eased the door open, stepping into a large storeroom.Tall shelves packed with random event supplies, folding chairs, tablecloths, and boxes labeled “decor” or “china sets.”At the far end, the staff member was rummaging through a crate.She didn’t notice us at first.

Slipping behind a tall stack of boxes, we crept closer.My heart hammered loud enough I was sure she’d hear.The staff member was opening black metal cases inside the crate.I watched her lift out something that glinted under overhead lights, silver flasks?Or elaborate, old-fashioned syringes?My blood chilled.

She murmured into her phone, “Yes, they’re all here.Will be set up in the demonstration hall.Don’t worry, no one’s snooping.”

Anubis and I exchanged alarmed glances.Silver syringes?Demonstration hall?This did not sound like typical gala fare.

The staff member placed the items carefully in a padded box.Then, as if satisfied, she resealed the crate and rolled it farther into the storeroom, turning a corner we couldn’t see.

“Let’s go,” Anubis mouthed.I nodded, adrenaline spiking.

Staying low, we slipped back toward the door.We’d learned enough to know something was off.Carefully, we eased out into the hallway and let the door click shut.My chest heaved as I inhaled the more perfume-laden air of the corridor.

“What is that about?”I whispered, heart pounding.

Anubis shook his head.“No idea, but it’s definitely not normal catering supplies.”

“A demonstration…maybe some show for the donors, or a covert Skulls ritual disguised as part of the gala?”The thought made me shiver.

Before we could linger, footsteps echoed.A pair of guests appeared around the corner, so we plastered on polite smiles and merged with them, returning to the main foyer.Inside, the hum of conversation had escalated, and an emcee was calling everyone’s attention toward the stage.

I leaned in to Anubis.“We’ll figure out more soon, but let’s play along for now.”

He slipped an arm protectively around my waist.“We will,” he murmured.

Near the front of the foyer, rows of plush chairs had been set up facing a small platform.The overhead chandelier cast brilliant light on the podium.The Dean, Sophie at her side, and a few older trustees assembled, presumably to address the crowd.A hush fell as the Dean took the microphone.

“Esteemed guests,” she began, voice resonating.“Thank you for joining us.Tonight, we celebrate Edenvane’s commitment to excellence and innovation.We stand on the brink of a new era, one shaped by visionary donors, dedicated faculty, and courageous leadership.”

Behind her, a large projection screen displayed images of proposed new wings, labs, and even a “Center for Cultural Heritage.”All these expansions likely paid for with dirty money.

The Dean continued, “Let me also acknowledge those who uphold Edenvane’s oldest traditions, ensuring our legacy thrives.”

At that, Sophie stepped forward, offering a dazzling smile.Applause rippled through the crowd.My brand throbbed beneath the shawl, a grim reminder of what that “legacy” entailed behind closed doors.

Sophie leaned in to the microphone.“We have a short demonstration after the main reception, one that showcases Edenvane’s philanthropic collaboration with cutting-edge medical research.”She gestured to the side.“All donors and special invitees are welcome.”

Anubis shot me a look.The “demonstration” had to be linked to those silver syringe-like items we saw.The feeling of foreboding tightened its grip on my chest.

A swirl of applause and polite conversation followed.The donors seemed intrigued.None of them had a clue about the sinister underpinnings.And if they did, maybe they didn’t care.

As the formal presentation concluded, waiters began circulating with dinner plates and flutes of champagne.Anubis and I hovered near a corner, uncertain how to glean more about the demonstration without drawing attention.

Suddenly, I spotted a figure across the room that made my blood run cold: The blonde robed man from the crypt.He’d worn a mask then, but I recognized his build, the flash of a gold ring bearing the Skulls’ crest on his finger.Now dressed in a sharp suit, he sipped champagne near the piano, scanning the crowd.

My hand tightened on Anubis’ sleeve.“Look,” I breathed.

He followed my gaze, expression darkening.“One of the higher-ups.I remember him from the branding ceremony.”His posture tensed, as though he debated confronting the man directly.

But before we could decide, the robed man set down his glass and strode over to us, a polite smile plastered on.Up close, he was older than I’d guessed—late forties, hair thinning at the temples.The gold ring on his index finger bore the stylized skull with that crescent shape reminiscent of our brand.

---