Page 36 of Call It What You Want
“Oh,” I say awkwardly. “I’m just observing, actually.”
“Listen, I don’t make the rules,” she says with a laugh. “I was told to get you ready, so—” She motions for me to follow. “—Let’s go.”
Okayyy.I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. From what Jackson said, the society’s rules can be incredibly strict, especially when it comes to the rituals and ceremonies.
I follow Lindsay as she picks her way through the crowded kitchen, down the hallway, and past the entryway, then down the other hallway, toward the living room. Only, we don’t turn right, we turn left, and she ushers me past an open set of double doors. Inside, the walls are lined with books, floor to ceiling, like someone raided a museum library. I’m hit with the smell of old paper and dust, underlined by something warm and sharp—whiskey, or maybe just aged wood polish.
It’s pretty dim in here, and there are a few people hanging around. A couple of guys sprawled on the leather couch catch my attention—I know them, kind of. They’re the other Sacred Sons, and I only know that because Jackson showed me photos when we were dating. I’ve never actually met them face-to-face.
There are a few other random people scattered around, slipping long, navy blue robes over their shoulders. I follow Lindsay into a little dressing room that’s off to the side. She sifts through a bunch of robes that are draped in plastic before pulling one out and handing it to me.
“Okay, strip down—panties and bra, too—then put the robe on,” she says, glancing down at her phone. “We only have aboutten minutes before the ceremony starts, and they’ll be pissed if we’re late.”
I blink at her, still trying to understand the first part of that statement. “Strip down?Is everyone naked under their robes?”
I’d say that’s weird, but secret societiesareweird. It’s kind of their brand.
Why does anyone care what I have under my robe? I’ll be tucked into a dark corner, watching silently. No one will even know I’m there.
Lindsay grabs my shoulders, looks into my eyes, and gives me a playful shake. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them,” she repeats. Then she pauses, her eyes traveling down my body. “Did you shave?”
Um. What?
“Like, my legs?” I ask, confused.
“You know what, never mind. Doesn’t matter. No one will be looking at your legs.”
Exactly.Thank God we’re finally on the same page. I was getting worried there for a second.
I follow her edict and start tugging off my sweatpants. Lindsay spins around to give me some privacy, and when someone tries to step into the tiny room, she waves them off with an irritated, “Hello! Occupied!”
I strip everything off, except for my bra and panties. I’m keeping those on. And before Lindsay can turn back around and insist I remove them, I quickly pull the robe over my shoulders, cinching it closed.
“Okay, ready,” I chirp.
With a quick smile, she grabs a gold mask off a shelf, then ushers me back into the library. Everyone is gone, and on the far side of the room, one of the bookshelves is open to reveal a black, cavernous space behind. There’s a mysterious amber glow flickering just beyond the door.
Oh, my God.A hidden room. Okay, now, that’s cool.
Lindsay puts her mask on, then takes my wrist and pulls me past the bookshelf and into a circular room. I suck in a breath when I see it, because it’swild.The walls gleam with white marble that catches and reflects light like polished bone. Intricate tiles cover the floor, spelling outSemper Fidelisin an elegant Latin script. And overhead, there’s a stunning fresco—angels and demons locked in a chaotic dance around a golden crown engulfed in brilliant flames.
After taking it all in, my gaze is pulled down to the twenty or so people forming a circle in the center of the room, each wearing the same gold mask as Lindsay, dark hoods drawn over their heads. They chant in a low, hypnotic monotone that thrums through the air. It sounds like Latin, so I have no idea what they’re saying. It’s creepy, though. I’ll say that.
Lindsay drops my wrist and joins the circle, leaving me alone on the edge of the room. No instructions, nothing.
So, not knowing what to do, I just stand here like an idiot, clutching the robe tighter. Am I supposed to join the circle or just…stand off to the side?
The chanting continues in a rhythmic hum that seems to vibrate through the tiled floors and into my bones. A few of the masked figures turn their heads slightly in my direction, and I can’t tell if they’re curious or annoyed that a non-member is in here, watching them like a circus sideshow.
Anxiety pools in my stomach. The room is huge, and yet, with each repetition of whatever they’re saying, the walls seem to close in, making it feel smaller and smaller. And I won’t lie, a part of me wants to run back to the relative safety of Jackson’s bedroom. But, in all honesty, I’m too afraid to move.
This whole thing is giving meseriousold-world cult vibes.
So I stay put, shifting my weight, trying to look like I belong here while my brain screams at me to cut and run.
Then, like something straight out of a horror movie, the circle opens up, revealing someone standing in the dead center. One of the Sacred Sons, I’m guessing. He’s wearing the same dark cloak and gold mask as everyone else, but he’s holding a gold ball on a chain, tendrils of smoke drifting out, filling the room with a sweet-smelling fog.
And if that weren’t creepy enough, to make matters worse, he’s looking right atme.Is it Jackson? Or one of the other Sacred Sons? My heart crawls up my throat, and I try to swallow it down, but it’s stuck there.
