Chapter 4
4
“ W here are we going?” Clara hisses in my ear as I drag her to the shelf. I peek around the door. There’s no guy with a tray out in the gloomy hallway. So where did he go?
Pictures of men and women in fur stoles, many of them wearing crowns, line the hall. Kings. In a corner. I push Clara back into the room, enough to study the lamp the black-haired guy touched.
“Have you lost your marbles?” Clara yanks her arm away from my hand. “It says to be here at eight. We’re here at eight. We can’t leave. What if our attendance matters to the scholarship?”
“Don’t you think it’s odd they don’t spell out how we get our scholarship renewed? It’s so vague.” My words are directed to the lamp I’m fiddling with. There are two chains. I pull one and am rewarded with a face full of amber light. I pull the other one and there’s a click like something opening, but nothing about the lamp or table changes.
Clara sniffs. “That’s just how the English do it.”
I tug at my hair in frustration before I see it. Just beyond the table, a paneling in the wall hangs loose. It’s a door. A secret door.
I don’t ask questions. Looping an arm through hers, I pull poor Clara into the dark. Which it turns out, is actually a staircase. So we trip and fall down a short flight of stone stairs until we collide with a wall. We both push up off the wall, and Clara yanks her arm from mine for a second time. Above us the door clicks shut, and we’re plunged into further darkness.
“For God’s sake, Helena, what is wrong with you? Where are we?”
Face pressed to cool gritty stone, my eyes adjust to the dim lighting—and there is lighting beyond the staircase. We’re on a landing, and to our left, a short flight of stairs leads into a room. I leave Clara to make her own decision and step down the stair just as someone starts speaking. It stops both of us in our tracks. It’s Kendall.
“If you’re here, you’ve passed our first test. Welcome to Alpha Tau Epsilon, or as we call it, All Saints.”
The ornately carved stone chamber holds around twenty people, all seated at tables with name cards. Tables draped in heavy velvet, set with crystal goblets and fine china. A far cry from the cheap-feeling reception upstairs.
I wind my way through tables, looking for my name. Maybe ten other spots with place cards sit un-filled—likely people who hadn’t found the secret entrance. My card sits next to Clara’s, finishing out a table of four. I slide into the chair, and turn to face Kendall.
I swear his gaze glitters as it passes over me. I give him the sweetest smile I can manage. Clara opts for meek and quiet as she slides in next to me, studying the table instead of Kendall’s face.
“As I was saying, if you’re here, you’ve passed the test. Some of you had help. We permit help for this first test only, as a means of helping distinguish preferred applicants and Legacy applicants whose families have been here before. If you received help, consider yourself lucky.”
My eyes slide from Kendall to the server in the corner, holding a tray. He meets my gaze and winks. I’m floored. Why would this beautiful man help me? I don’t have time to wonder much though, Kendall continues.
“The meeting sorts those who want to leave voluntarily from those seeking full membership. All Saints is not merely a scholarship committee, but a sacred fraternity. An Oxford Dynasty. We’ve operated in honor and secrecy here at Oxford since 1443—in conjunction with the founding of All Souls college. Part of the paperwork you signed to receive the scholarship for this term is an ironclad NDA. You may not ever speak about this meeting, nor anything else you experience to anyone but myself and the other pledges in private. The punishment for doing so is…unpleasant. We would not have invited you here if we were not confident in your ability to follow the agreement.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Record screech. A…what now? A secret fraternity? I’ve heard of Oxford’s resident Secret Society, Bullingdon. Everyone knows Bullingdon is mostly a drinking club for rich kids that dabbles in philanthropy. I’ve never heard of All Saints, and there is zero air of frivolity or jocularity.
“I am Kendall, and I am the prefect for our pledge year, and I am a Legacy, selected as prefect because of my Legacy status. I will act as a liaison between the members, who often wish to remain anonymous to non-members, and our class. ASC will select candidates from among you to become full members of the fraternity. Likely anywhere from five to ten of you, though there have been years where we’ve gone without selecting anyone. You can be an initiate for multiple years, but if you are ever passed over for re-selection in any test but the final, you may not re-apply. There will be four tests to pass, three after tonight, and at each point moving forward an individual may leave of their own accord. Monetary rewards are given to every participant of every test, including those who are not selected to move on in our process. As the test progresses, the payment increases. If you gain full membership, your compensation varies by individual, but let me assure you, we’re talking about life-changing amounts of money. And access to the full compliment of what the fraternity can do to assist you in your life outside of Oxford. ASC will be paying your tuition in full—and have detailed our academic expectations on our agreement—up until you fail to pass a selection criteria or leave of your own volition.”
A murmur breaks out, but Kendall holds up his hand. “As a fraternity, we work hard serving our school, our organization, and our philanthropies in that order. It will not be easy. Does anyone here wish to excuse themselves?”
Holy shit. Tests. Does he mean hazing? The ambiguity gives my stomach a turn. People have died in hazing rituals at American universities. I cannot fathom what hazing for a secret society looks like. The promise of life-changing rewards certainly keeps me in my own seat.
No one moves.
“The identity of full members is secret until you are a member yourself. Their communication to me is in writing, and through encrypted e-mail so don’t ask me questions about them, I only know what they wish to tell me.”
Bullshit. If his father is in on this, and I suspect he is in leadership given my formal interview, Kendall knows a whole host more than me.
“I cannot stress enough that you will be observed in how you conduct your every day life. Only people of the highest moral excellence can gain entrance to this fraternity, and for those willing to pay the cost, the gain is immeasurable. Virtus solas potestas. Virtue alone is power.”
Clara and I exchange glances. It’s so…medieval. I’d be bonkers to stay. I should get up and walk my butt out of this room…virtue alone is power, my ass. But my heart beats a little faster at the mention of monetary gain. Life changing money is likely in the millions. So much good can be done with millions of dollars. I could graduate with no loans. Donate to charities. Create political superpacs with a chance at actually changing policy. Run for office. I square my shoulders. I could change the course of history.
“Someone will be in contact soon about the next test, please enjoy the rest of tonight.”
Kendall steps down from the dais and the waiters circulate in the room dispensing beautiful bottles of champagne, wine, and scotch.
Clara’s eyes are wide when I turn to her. “Did you have any idea?” she hisses.
“None.” The dark haired server heads our way. In this room, he’s more electric. More magnetic, like he owns the room. I can’t take my eyes off of him, though no one else spares our servers a glance.
“A drink for you?” He asks, reaching our table.
Oh my God, he’s Irish. The lilt to his voice does things to my inside. I nod, unable to trust my voice, and hand him my goblet. Our fingers brush, and I swear electricity zings through our fingers. He studies me a moment before filling my glass with wine and turning to fill the other glasses at our table.
Her gaze is still on Kendall, who is in turn, glaring at both of us.
“What if we have to sell a kidney or something?” Clara asks, her voice low as she turns to me. “Did you catch that whole thing about having to pay a cost? Maybe that’s why Kendall is so mad I’m here, he doesn’t want me getting hurt.”
The hope is palpable so I don’t point out that he’s furious I’m here too. He could not care less about my kidneys. “I don’t think that’s legal? To pay people to donate organs. At least not in America.”
Clara gives me a look like I clearly missed the part about this being a secret society . And she has a silent point. These people may not be operating under fully legal paradigms.
“At least we know it’s not the liver,” I say, cheersing her with my glass before taking a big long drink. I swear the dark-haired server watches me drink my wine, his eyes following my lips on the rim of the glass and then as they pucker together against the tanin. Can you get a hot flash from a glance? Our gazes collide, and feeling uncharacteristically emboldened by the overwhelm of the evening, I hold his gaze while I take another sip of wine.
His gaze leaves my lips and trails down my throat, following the pass of the liquid. My skin tingles and tightens. How is everyone in the room resisting the allure of this man? I’m about to ask his name, but someone walks between us and when I lift my gaze again, he’s gone.
The boy from across the table, a big brawny kid with tousled hair and ruddy cheeks of an athlete, leans over to Clara. “So, are you going to stay? This is bullocks, right?”
Clara doesn’t answer so he glances at me and I shrug. “That’s a lot of money.”
He nods. “I’ve got a rugby scholarship, and I can’t risk missing practices. Do you think their tests will interfere? Should I give them my match schedule?”
I don’t have any idea, but Kendall’s presentation didn’t seem open to skipping scholarship functions. “Um, maybe?”
He tosses his wine back in one throaty swallow and turns to the fourth person at our table. “How about you, mate?” David, or so his name card says. David Jinesh. He’s slender, but attractive with big dark eyes behind hip black glasses. His outfit is tasteful, and elegant. It screams old-world money.
David raises his eye brows. “My cousin came to the first meeting last year. She told me how to find the room. She made a tidy sum just by participating in the first test, then quitting. I’m here to do the same. I’ll either fail out or drop out.”
Our table inhales as one. David has firsthand knowledge. He feels our interest and lowers his gaze to the table. “I don’t know more than the location of the room. That part is true, she wouldn’t tell me more.”
Clara’s eyes are on Kendall as he talks with two boys at a table next to ours—clearly identical twins. Athletes by the look of them. Her answer goes to them, instead of to Rugby Guy. “I’m staying. At least until we find out more.”
Her intent is clear: where Kendall is, she will put herself there also.
My bank account has eighteen dollars in it, and I’m living in one of the most expensive towns in England. And I plan to stay here long enough to turn myself from a duckling into a swan. This little duckling can use all the help she can get. I can’t afford not to press on— if they stop paying my tuition right now? I’ll have to go back home, I don’t think I can even qualify for enough loans to cover four years at Oxford. I’m rich in ambition but poor in dollars. I almost don’t care what this secret society is peddling.
I toss back the rest of my wine.
I’m in.