Page 69 of Cruel Saints (Lochkelvin Academy)

“I’m not being controlled,” I mutter dejectedly, running a hand through my hair and meeting thick fleece. “I know what’s on that video.”

Li’s hovering nearby, staring into the brazier and every so often at Rory.

“Give me more of that,” I say, gesturing to the alcohol in Li’s hand.

Li rolls her eyes. “You’re already off your head.” Her voice is as dry as the whisky, although she passes me the bottle anyway. Her gaze cuts across to Rory. “She won’t even remember this stupid ritual.”

“You can’t actually be thinking of doing this?” Danny says, sounding aghast. “They havenothingon you, Jessa. You have no reason to do what this prick is telling you to.”

“Yes, I do,” I mutter, taking another swig of the burning amber liquid. Despite my circumstances, I only have a few truly horrifying memories. The one where I was told my dad had died —passed away— is top. The one where we revisited our house and found it had been destroyed is second.

The one captured forever on Rory’s phone?

It’s the memory that my mind dwells on the most, a hot visceral spear of shame and loathing.

For some reason, it feels bigger than the others — although I know objectively it isn’t. Nothing can compare to the pain of finding out that my dad’s gone, that my childhood house is eviscerated.

And yet number three is the one that keeps me awake at night, the one that has me tossing and turning. Hot burning shame glitters like raw pain in my brain, the hormones and emotions captured on that video too much for me to bear.

“Tell me more about the ritual.” I take another swig to block out my mind playing that video.

Rory’s staring at me uncertainly, like maybe he didn’t think I’d go through with it. Maybe he only wanted to spook me.

But what’s done is done.

I’m going to do it.

“The ritual relies on fear,” he states carefully. “You have half an hour to reach the loch and then come back to the grounds in one piece. Usually a student collects something from the loch to prove they’ve been down there.” Gruffly, he adds, “It’s nevernothappened, so don’t let yourself be the first.”

“This isstupid,” Danny says, holding me tight around the shoulders. He forces me to gaze at the edge of the forest, where nothing but blackness awaits. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“Naw, ye dinnae,” Finlay says with a bitter laugh, arriving beside us. He’s glaring severely at Rory. “Are you joking? She’s gonna lose her shit out there.” But Rory just shrugs. “Othershave done it and have barely lived to tell the tale.”

Rory’s eyes flash over to Finlay. It’s interesting, watching them as animals — a needling little fox versus the leader of a wolf pack. “It’s a test of mettle. It always has been. Others have done it successfully for two centuries, so it may be a tad condescending to suggest she can’t manage.”

“And have you ever sent anyone down there in crutches? Whiledrunk?” Danny snaps. “At least let me go with her.”

“No.”

“Then don’t let it beJessa.”

“I’m Head Boy. She’s my choice. I’ve chosen her.”

“You’re a fucking bastard. You always were.”

I drink more to dull their bickering and find myself swooning near the brazier. Thick arms wrap around my waist and warmth cascades down me. “You will be okay,” Luke’s deep voice murmurs against my ear, and I press back into the heat of his body.

With the brazier in front on me and Luke behind me, it’s as though I’m deliciously engulfed by fire. I wonder what it’d be like to be surrounded by braziers… by bodies…

The bottle falls from my fingers and onto the grass. All I want to do is bury myself deeper into Luke’s arms, but I’m not even sure he’s still holding me anymore, or if it’s the memory of his fleeting touch that’s caused all these strange sensations to erupt within me.

“Students,” a loud voice declares, cutting off the arguments at once. “Gather around your nearest brazier.” It sounds like Baxter, but I feel so floaty that my head can’t confirm it. It certainly doesn’tlooklike Baxter. A tall figure in a black hooded robe stands in front of us, carrying a large crook and looking like the Grim Reaper. Chills pluck at my skin and I shift myself closer to the brazier.

There’s a large grayish ball attached to the wooden crook, and I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s been carved like a pumpkin, which makes me think it’s some kind of vegetable, but while every Hallowe’en pumpkin I’ve ever seen is vibrant and bright with a sunny cartoonish smile carved into the wide expanse of its flesh, the shriveling dull gray skin shows a curdled grimace of a smile and a terrifying leer. It’s horrific.

“The hell is that thing?” I mutter, and Danny answers for me.

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