27. Brontë
We’re in This Together - Nine Inch Nails
T he Isle of Hurst is shutting down when we arrive.
The final ferry departs from the isle as our private boat heads toward it, cutting through the black waters.
For the foreseeable future, the Isle of Hurst is closed to the public. All tourists have left either by ferry or small charter planes.
It’s in time to escape the impending storm. Thick clouds roll in from the east and the sea churns restlessly in response, crashing against the sides of the boat. Salt hangs in the air, both the scent and taste, as we make our way toward the small island.
I grip the railing and watch the land draw closer. The Hurst Manor can be seen even from afar, the castle-like home the biggest landmark on the isle.
Beside me, Jael’s silent. She leans forward slightly, bundled up in a raincoat, her pruned fingers curled around the rail. We’ve been drenched by the splashes of water, but it doesn’t faze her. Her face is set in concentration, brows knitted and eyes on the path ahead.
We’ve entered this new phase in an unspoken pact that we could be meeting a deadly fate. We could be in over our heads infiltrating the Midnight Games.
There’s no telling if Nolan helped conspire against us or if he truly gave his recommendation to the Hostess and other ranking members in the society.
When I met with them during the party at the Winchester, they were impressed by my size. The Hostess was amused I was even alive.
“I’ve heard the rumors. The ones about you surviving that fall all those years ago,” she’d said. “But Cornelius would never confirm either way. It seems he really was ashamed of you.”
She concluded my size was useful. The brawn and intimidation I could bring as a game keeper.
“Wear the mask,” the Hostess had simpered. The others in the room joined in, amused by the prospect of my deformities.
But I wasn’t doing this to be part of their world. I didn’t want to be included in their club.
I was no longer the boy with the silver spoon in his mouth who attended a private academy with their sons. That boy died when he stumbled off that cliff. The boy who lived was a monster.
He was an outcast destined to lurk in the shadows and never exist in civilized society again.
He’s who I have become as we approach the Isle of Hurst. We dock at the barren ghost town that’s become of the small sliver of land. The shop windows are shuttered and the roads are empty. The lights are out in every building.
Except for Hurst Manor.
The estate towers over the rest of the isle from behind its iron gates. Gothic spires reach toward the dark sky, their silhouettes jagged against migrating storm clouds. The limestone walls have grayed with age, and the narrow, arched windows flicker with the only sign of life anywhere to be found.
We step onto solid ground and start toward the manor, our boots crunching against wet gravel.
The security at the gate instructs us to an alternate path for entry. Since we’re not society members—we’re considered part of the help —we have to enter through a side entrance.
A man by the name of Timothee meets us.
“Ah, yes. The last ones to arrive,” he says in a dry voice. “The Hostess mentioned she had added a couple last-minute employees. Follow me.”
We follow the caretaker through the large home, up a wide staircase, and then into a room on the third floor. He pushes the door open to reveal a parlor that matches the rest of the house. Dark furniture, ornate wallpaper, and family heirlooms abound.
The Hostess is waiting for us.
She rises from a plush armchair in the same venetian mask she’d worn the other night—ghostly pale with crimson, heart-shaped lips and black voids for eyes. She glides toward us, the robe-like dress she wears fluttering.
“You’re late,” she says, her tone soft but haughty.
I say nothing.
I know her. Her mask could never conceal her real identity.
But that’s the difference between us—she’s hiding her face from the world out of delusion. I hide my face from the world out of acceptance.
Brynne Hurst believes she is hideous.
I am aware I am.
Beside me, Jael tenses up. She doesn’t know these people. She has no experience with the Hostess’s kind, or anyone else in the Midnight Society.
Her focus on finding her sister leaves her vulnerable to any of their nefarious intentions. But I won’t let them take advantage. I’m the buffer between her and the vultures that will inevitably come to feed.
I’ve always been her silent guardian, and that won’t change with this mission to infiltrate the games.
“I hope you’re worth the trouble. Nolan recommended you, and considering it’s my son who… well… ruined your life, I decided to take a chance. And you.” She turns her attention onto Jael for the first time since we’ve arrived. “I will be watching you closely. I’m not sure I believe you don’t know your sister’s whereabouts.”
“Where is she? Where is my sister?” Jael snaps. “Where is he? This Kaden Raskova who’s a member of your club!?”
The Hostess releases a small, derisive laugh. “Darling, your guess is as good as mine. We shall certainly see if Kaden finally makes his reappearance at these games, won’t we? He knows where and when. He has many things to answer for, including what he did to the Owner.”
We’re dismissed once the Hostess grows bored. Timothee returns to collect us while Jael signals she wants to stay and confront the Hostess more.
I grab her by the wrist and drag her along at my side.
As badly as she wishes to find her sister, confronting the Hostess won’t produce any favorable results. If we’re to find out where Kaden and Lyra have gone, we’ll have to be more strategic.
Move in silence.
Something Jael is not used to, as she blurts whatever comes to mind and is often so energetic and off-the-cuff, she’s too much to handle for most.
But it’s what’s always drawn me to her.
The spark that lives inside her. The constant hope that can’t be diminished. The uniqueness that’s her and her only.
Our rooms are underground, a few corridors over from where the players are being kept. The employees of the games can’t be seen outside of working hours. That would be unpalatable to the rich and powerful guests attending the games.
It would disrupt their luxurious fantasy.
Jael releases a breath as we enter the room that’s been assigned to her—and the room where I will be lurking like I always do, watching and observing.
“I don’t know if this was a good idea.”
“We will find out the information we need.”
She frowns. “But you heard the Hostess—my sister’s not even here. She doesn’t know if Kaden’s going to show up either.”
“We can find other ways at these games.”
“Maybe Imani,” Jael whispers. “The girl keeps claiming she’s my sister’s best friend. Why else would she be here if not to find her?”
It’s a question I don’t have an answer to as the first night begins.
We watch from outside the game room as the players fight among themselves, slaughtering each other for a chance to advance.
Blood spills as the players wielding the machetes attack those they deem a threat to their survival.
The club members roar with laughter. Their faces shine with mirth. They’re all entertained, having the times of their superficial lives.
Only one person at the member’s table seems disturbed.
Imani Makune leaps out of her chair in disgust before she attempts to flee the manor. The warden’s on the situation at once.
She’s brought up to the same parlor we were taken to for a one-on-one with the Hostess.
“She knows something we don’t,” Jael hisses. “She’s come here because she believes it’ll lead her to my sister. What does she know, Bront??”
“It could be anything,” I answer. “It’s too soon to tell.”
“Not too soon. I’m going to figure it out.”
I turn my head toward her. “No.”
“This is about finding my sister. If this Imani girl, who thinks she’s her best friend, has info we don’t… then I’m getting it out of her.”
“The Hostess has been having her followed. We are not to interfere in any plans she has for her. It will complicate our search.”
The corner of Jael’s lip quirks. “Sometimes things change.”
Days bleed into each other in the Midnight Games. The nights are the opposite, filled with either bloodlust and violence or hedonism and excess.
Players drop like flies. The club members wager their bets like they’re spectators at a horse race. They want their steed to come out on top.
The games differ. A human-sized boardgame where the players have to cross to the other side and make it out alive. Puzzles that have deadly consequences. More duels that force them to square off with only a handful of victors.
My participation is minimal, relegated to the final round of the games. I’ll be a part of the maze the players will have to make their way through.
I have no qualms about fulfilling this role. The players are aware of what they signed up for.
My mission is finding Jael’s sister. Protecting Jael and being what she needs me to be as I do so.
But it proves more difficult than usual when she insists on interfering in places she shouldn’t. She doesn’t heed any warnings about the girl she believes is her sister’s best friend.
I catch her watching Imani more than once. Following her more than once.
She’s trying to drive the girl crazy, make her think Lyra is at the manor when she’s not.
One afternoon she leads Imani on a chase through the halls and then straight into a room where she discovers some of Lyra’s childhood possessions. Photographs and journals with wild scribbles inside.
All things Jael keeps with her from her and her sister’s childhood.
She wants to break her. Push her to the limit.
But not for the reasons she’s claimed.
Imani Makune has set out on the same journey Jael has, except instead of her sister, she’s seeking her best friend.
I know Jael better than anyone; she doesn’t like to share.
She doesn’t like when others take what’s hers. She gets obsessive fixations that she refuses to let go of (usually possessions).
Imani poses a threat to the perceived closeness Jael believes she has with her sister, Lyra.
Jael being Jael, she has decided that means she must get rid of the girl.
I intervene when she takes her torment a step further and I catch her in the middle of the night harboring a butcher knife on her way to Imani’s room. The blade glints in the moonlight as Jael moves through the manor as a silent shadow.
But I’m an even quieter, stealthier shadow than she could ever be.
I catch her by surprise, wrapping a hand around her wrist and stopping her before she can twist the doorknob to Imani’s room.
“No.” My voice is low, firm.
She exhales shakily, lips parting as if to argue. For once, I don’t let her.
“You’re not the only one watching her,” I say. “Hurst and Kimura have been. You know this.”
“I can handle them.”
“No.”
It’s the final word spoken between us as I take her away. She falls silent and doesn’t protest the rest of the way downstairs. I can sense the manic energy she exudes, the desperation that rises from within.
The more time goes by, the longer we stay here without answers, she’s growing impatient. She’ll spiral soon.
“Sleep,” I tell her, drawing the door to her room open. We’ve made it underground to the rest of the sleeping quarters for the employees at the manor.
Either she’s exhausted or she’s realized it’s useless making any trouble tonight, because she obeys. She nods and steps into her room as if she’s resigned herself to her fate for the night.
I’ll know otherwise; if she should try to sneak out of her room, I’ll be there in the shadows.
But another shadow catches my eye at the end of the corridor—a familiar silhouette that’s emerged among the other dark shapes.
He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, waiting for me.
Deep and intense hatred clenches inside me as I turn to face him.
“How did I know?” my father sighs in disgust. “Something told me you would turn up here.”