Page 85 of Tell Me Why
Shit.
Heart in my throat, I move around to a side door. It has both a card reader and a regular key lock. Thank God. Exhaling hard, I pull the keys out of my pocket and fumble with them. Which key opens the building? No idea, so I just pick one, holding my breath as I slide it into the lock…
It turns smoothly, and I hear the distinctclickof the bolt disengaging.
“Yesss,” I whisper, pushing the door open. The second I step inside, several blinding, motion-activated lights snap on. There’s a door directly in front of me that goes to the lobby, and on my left is a staircase that leads to the upper floors.
I glance down at the second key, cursing the fact that the office number isn’t etched on it anywhere. But, thankfully, the building only has three floors, and the first floor is all classrooms. Rushing up to the second floor, I move down the hallway, slipping the key into each lock and twisting. No luck.
So I move to the third floor where the offices are larger and fewer. I hurry down the hallway, working as fast as I can, my hands shaking as I try each lock. Every failure makes me want to scream. Time is closing in—if Sin and his crew get overrun, if Christian gets hurt, if I don’t find something I can use as leverage…
Shit, what if this key is useless? What if the locks have been changed? The thought makes me want to scream, or cry, or both.
Thishasto work.
Swallowing back tears, I slide the key into the last door, angry at myself for not having a Plan B. This was it. This was the only plan. And I’m such an idiot for hanging everything on this onepossiblelead.
The key fights me for a second before it finally gives in, letting me twist it all the way until I hear that satisfyingclickas the lock pops free. I literally gasp, “Oh, my God.”
Flipping the light switch on, I step inside. It’s a huge office—more like a small apartment—but I don’t have time to stop and appreciate it. Pulling in a sharp breath, I quickly scan the room for file cabinets, computers, boxes…anything that might hold official society records.
Tearing my cloak off, I toss it aside and rush over to the desk. There are several manila folders and loose papers scattered across the polished surface. Lowering myself into the leather desk chair, I start sifting through the stacks of printouts. “Please have something useful,” I whisper, shuffling through countless pieces of paper. Who prints this much shit out? Haven’t they ever heard of iCloud?
Then I stop.
The paper in my hand has an email header printed across it:Subject: Urgent: Information needed on Evangeline Verone.
My fake last name.
What the fuck?
I quickly scan the email, the pit in my stomach growing. It’s dated the same day as the hallway incident with Christian…
Liam, I need information on Evangeline Verone. Attached is a photo, and the documents I received from Campus Admissions. Confidential. Highest priority. -CW
Stapled to the printout is a grainy picture of me in class, obviously taken with someone’s cell phone. And beneath that are copies of all my ExU intake forms, which aresupposedto be private.
Holy shit.
How powerful are the Sacred Sons when even the university is just handing over confidential documents to them?
This is fucking unreal.
But it’s the next printout, dated over three months ago, that sets my pulse racing, and sends my mind into a tailspin…
Subject: Room Reassignment Request—Skye Neeson.
Janet, I am ordering the immediate reassignment of Skye Neeson to William West Residence Hall, room 312, by the end of today. This transfer is critical and should be processed promptly. Please note that while Skye will be moving to the specified location, Eve Verone will continue to maintain her current assignment and should not be moved. Confirm once the room reassignment has been completed. -CW
What. The. Fuck?
Why would Christian want to change my roommate? What does Skye, of all people, have to do with any of this? That little mystery is solved with the next several printouts. They’re all emails from Skye to Christian. Daily reports about me. Bullet points about everything we talked about that day...
She has an unhealthy obsession with her mother’s death, and references it all the time.
She went to a new yoga class, complained it was “hotter than Satan’s asshole” in the yoga studio. Will not go again.
Her most recent fling was last year; her brother didn’t approve, broke it up. No sex, but they fooled around.
