Page 22 of Her Devil

Whoever found him hustles his steps alongside me, opening the door and gesturing across the car park and to the right as our phones go again. Neither of us checks them, looking at each other before we set off running. “Don’t let him throw up all over me,” I comment, doing my best to keep him still, and failing.

The adrenaline kicks in almost instantly, giving me the boost to get there, but as he holds the door and moves some cushions on the entranceway chairs, it lags. Hauling him down and into them without dropping him is a herculean task, but I manage it.

I’ve got barely fumes left as I drag my ass back out, dropping to the edge of the curb as police cars pour from the driveway, swarming through the campus as they march from building to building.

“Thanks, man,” the guy says, joining me as we watch the officers sweep from one place to another. “We got everyone in the residential buildings.”

“Good news. We took buildings one and four. I don’t know what the fuck happened with building two, but I hope to God they managed to get it sorted out in time.”

“It wasn’t looking too bad when we left,” he reassures. “And I’ve swept from the far end of campus to here. Everywhere else is good.”

“What about building three?” I panic.

“Pristine.”

“Awesome.” I sigh, my relief clear as one of the police cars pulls up alongside the two of us.

“Time to head back, boys,” the older officer says, holding the door open. He gives no indication as to what we’re heading back to, just waiting quietly for us to climb in and then heading down the driveway.

The lift is greatly appreciated, I have no idea how we would have managed to get down here without it. Both of us are absolutely exhausted as the doors unlock and we wearily haul ourselves up and out, thanking him as we go.

Grabbed from our sleep, battered, and made to fight, then pack up and move twenty-four hours later whilst attempting to get to know our new housemates, who are also incidentally the competition. The first day of lectures, broken heating, and a social event I didn’t want to be at, not to mention another night of broken sleep and nearly three hours of manual labour before the sun is even up. I’m ready to sleep for a week.

But it appears we’re not done.

We’re ushered back into the movie room, the rest of our rag-tag band already there, the door closing behind us with an ominous click.

“Not quite the level of teamwork I was expecting,” the deputy mayor comments idly from the recliner. “But I’ve seen worse.”

“It wasn’t up to standard,” the chief of police adds. “Despite some impressive last-ditch efforts.” He tips his head to where the other guy and I stand, almost looking pleased.

“You’re limited to two drinks each on Friday night,” the deputy mayor decides. “And you’re on clean-up duty.”

“You are having a laugh,” someone comments, a scoff falling from him. “I think you’re forgetting who the hell we are. More than your fucking clean-up crew, that’s for sure.” He grabs the mask, rips it off and shoves it into his hoody pocket.

“I think you’re the one forgetting your place,” the chief of police says, stalking his way to the front. “And who the fuck you’re talking to.” He closes the distance, and time itself seems to slow down. His hand flies out, a baton landing in his open palm as it flicks open, swinging back and landing the blow with disconcerting accuracy.

It takes half a second, surprise registering first as the entire room holds its collective breath, his face crumples, the pain finally registering as the bone snaps and George collapses, his pain ripping through the room. But no one reaches out to catch him.

He drank too much, didn’t sleep enough, and now he’s giving shit to the chief of police, who incidentally is also a senior member of a secret society. I might be tired and pissed off, but even I’m not that stupid. Seems like he is though, and that was an example the chief did not hesitate to make.

The officer collects his baton before hauling George up, someone coming to help him before they march the howling, whimpering and blubbering mess from the room, the silence pregnant.

“Two drinks allow you to look sociable whilst still keeping your head clear enough to deal with any issues as they arise,” the deputy mayor continues, like the incident in-between never even happened. And I’m not sure if that’s more distressing than the clearly broken bones. “Had your work this morning been sufficient, you would have been afforded a cleaning team. It wasn’t.”

Nobody argues with him. Nobody moves, breathes, or even fidgets. Accepting anything and everything without question.

“Keep your phones available at all times, masks are to be kept secure. And there is something else.” There’s an awkward shuffle somewhere down the line as we wait for the explanation that’s sure to come, whatever it is not good. “Now, I’m not about to tell a room of hormone-driven eighteen-year-olds not to have sex, I’m not that ridiculous, but…”

“The Devils of Pendleton Prep have a reputation, and the three of you that make it through to The Sect will have a big job on your shoulders. You can’t do that alone,” the chief of police continues, the other two guys still seated, silent and wearing their masks. “They’re called The Angels, and they’re your end game. They’re closer than you think. Enjoy the freedom whilst you’ve got it, boys, because your days are numbered.”

He makes a point of looking each one of us in the eye before nodding. “Now go get cleaned up, or grab an hour's sleep if you can. Classes will begin soon.”

We all file out silently, heading for our rooms. Jacob offers me a small smile as he passes, weariness seeping from his very being.

Oh, it’s going to cost us all right, one way or another.

EIGHT

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