Chapter 7
He stood, offering me his hand. I took it and followed him back into the corridor, where the single overhead light still glowed. Past the bar and lounge area, a set of double doors led us out onto the veranda behind the Boat House. This was where people usually jumped into the river during parties, but it was empty and silent now, the moon shimmering off the water like polished onyx.
Anubis walked down the steps, guiding me toward a smaller, inconspicuous path that cut through the trees near the riverside. The earthy scent of moss and wet leaves enveloped us. The hush of the night made every twig snap underfoot sound thunderous.
Before long, I spotted diffuse lights through the canopy. My mind raced with images, a cultic clearing, a hidden grove, some sinister shrine. But as we drew closer, I realized it was more straightforward, the old caretaker’s cottage, perched at the water’s bend, ringed by an old fence.
“What is this place?” I whispered, stepping around a muddy puddle.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key ring, fiddling with it before carefully inserting the oldest-looking key into a padlock on the cottage door. It clicked, and he removed the chain.
“A relic,” he said, pushing the door open. “Part of Edenvane’s original campus, left to rot decades ago. Now it’s used for… Well, come see.”
A wave of mustiness hit my nostrils as we stepped inside. The cottage’s interior was surprisingly intact, though dust sheathed the furniture. Large windows overlooked the inky river. A crooked painting of the earliest Edenvane founder, Anubis’ ancestor, hung by the fireplace. The furniture seemed from another era, with thick upholstered chairs and a battered ottoman.
Anubis flicked a switch, and antique lamps blinked to life, illuminating shelves upon shelves of old ledgers, books, and black binders set against the cottage walls.
“Welcome to one of the last remnants of the Skulls’ unofficial library,” he said. “Not the official campus archives. This is the part that never made it online or onto microfiche.”
My chest constricted. When Harry, the Howler’s editor, had pressed me about the Skulls, I assumed it was a rumor or at most a hush-hush club. And my mind had been spinning nonstop, wanting Anubis’ connection to the Skull to be a hoax, a trick, some way to call me out for looking into it.
But this place, this library, suggested an entire shadow network, meticulously documented across centuries that he was indeed connected to.
Anubis closed the door behind us, pocketing his keys. “I’ll inherit the caretaker role. It’s supposed to pass among certain families in the society. That includes…” He gestured to the frames of old black-and-white photographs showing groups of men and women in heavy robes, some in half-masks or holding cryptic insignias. “Everyone in these pictures was a Skull. My family used it to guard knowledge they’d rather not have in public. If my father was around, he’d kill me for bringing you here.”
I stared, speechless. It was a gold mine for anyone investigating the Skulls. The pictures alone told a story of secret traditions, from the early 1900s up to modern times. I recognized a few faces from the more recent frames, some were major public figures, famous CEOs, or high-ranking politicians. That old rumor that half the country’s movers and shakers graduated from Edenvane with membership in a secret society? It wasn’t just a rumor. It was right here, plastered on the cottage walls.
“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured.
He went to a battered side table and rummaged through a drawer. Finally, he withdrew a small black ledger and held it out to me. “Start here, if you want a lead for your Howler article.”
Swallowing thickly, I took the ledger in trembling hands. I recognized the name scrawled in gold ink on the cover: Albert Reginald Edenvane. That was Anubis’ great-grandfather, the same man rumored to have reconstructed the main campus building block by block.
I looked up, meeting his gaze. “You’re…giving me this?”
His jaw tightened. “For tonight, yes. But you can’t remove any of these records from the cottage. If you want notes, you do it here. And you have to promise me you’ll keep quiet about how you got it.”
“Alright,” I said softly, my heart pounding. The significance of this trust wasn’t lost on me. “Thank you.”
A ghost of a smile twitched across his lips before he turned away, scanning the shelves. “There’s a lot more here, but that ledger is the foundation. It’ll show you the original Skulls’ membership rolls, their philanthropic acts, and some of the dark theories about…human psychology, if you want to call it that.” His eyes darkened. “Look closely for references to the ‘Bone Trials’ that’s the archaic name they used for their initiation rites.”
The old term sent a chill through me. “The Bone Trials,” I repeated. “Sounds like something from a horror movie.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “It can be. It used to be worse. Some of it was toned down after certain…incidents. Now, the society operates more in the shadows of finance and politics. They like to test loyalty with… tasks, but it’s not all bizarre costumes and chanting. More psychological, less…visceral than it used to be.”
I raised a brow. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”
He shrugged, stepping closer. His presence radiated warmth in the chilly cottage. “I don’t know. I can’t change everything about Edenvane or my family. But I can show you this and hopefully keep you safe in the process.”
An unspoken question flickered in the air between us, Why do you care?
The tension in his posture and the raw concern in his eyes reminded me that maybe Anubis saw me as more than just a random scholarship girl he once teased. And maybe I saw him as more than a one-dimensional villain.
I cleared my throat. “Give me a minute,” I said, gesturing to the ledger. My new found journalistic instincts flared to life, urging me to start combing these documents for any mention that might connect to Toccara’s death.
He stepped back, letting me sink into an old, overstuffed chair near a lamp. I flipped open the ledger, scanning the first few pages of spidery handwriting. The text was archaic, peppered with references to old Edenvane traditions. I spotted mention of elaborate dinners, punishments for betrayal, coded language. I kept flipping forward.
My pulse spiked when I saw a subheading on page twenty: “Unrest in Crestwood.” Crestwood, my hometown. The text described how the Edenvane influence bled into local politics and singled out certain families. That sent a jolt of realization through me. The Edenvanes had shaped my hometown’s entire fate, probably controlling everything from the job market to property values. No wonder that gothic mansion on the hill overshadowed everything.
I turned another page. There, a scribbled notation read: “Lottery Program Proposal.” A pit formed in my stomach as I hunched closer. The script was difficult to decipher, but it pointed to an older version of the so-called “lottery” used to grant scholarships to underprivileged youth from Edenvane’s founder town. The rationale was couched in philanthropic terms, but certain lines suggested a more personal, exploitative motive.
“By welcoming them, we secure unwavering loyalty, or break them if they fail. The chosen either ascend as valuable assets or prove themselves unworthy, fueling beneficial illusions of goodwill.”
My breath caught. Ascend or break. The words that echoed what Anubis had claimed the other night hammered in my mind.
Even as I wrestled with the shock, a quiet memory flickered, me receiving the acceptance letter and that full scholarship. I recalled how surreal it felt. How I’d wept with a mingled sense of triumph and dread. Maybe I’d been na?ve, thinking I simply got lucky. According to the ledger, luck had little to do with it.
I must’ve made some noise because Anubis kneeled beside me, resting a hand on the armchair. “Suede?”
“They picked me,” I said, voice hollow. “They set everything up so carefully, generation after generation, for these ‘lottery’ kids. You want me to believe that’s all just a philanthropic show? Actually some kind of twisted recruiting pipeline?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His silence told me everything.
I forced a laugh, but it came out shaky. “I guess I fit the perfect mold, high enough GPA and just enough misfortune to be…tempting. Or test-worthy.” My voice cracked. “My father walked out on us when I was a baby. My mother hopped from boyfriend to boyfriend. We lived in a shoebox. I was a prime target for these ‘Bone Trials’? Is that it?”
Anubis’ features looked pained. “I wanted you gone before it escalated. I truly did. That’s why I tried to sabotage you. Yet somehow, that never worked. You kept bouncing back. And here we are.”
A storm of emotion raged inside me, anger, hurt, betrayal, and beneath it all, an unsettling spark of pride that I had bounced back, that I’d proven them wrong every time they tried to send me packing. “Toccara was also from a non-traditional background,” I murmured. “She funded herself with her influencer deals. She wasn’t old money. She was a perfect candidate for them, too. So…did that lead to?”
My eyes stung.
Anubis sighed, his hand slipping down to gently encircle my wrist. “I don’t have definitive proof. But I suspect she stumbled onto something more dangerous than she realized, or she was manipulated in ways that broke her. If we dig deep enough in here, we might find some clues.”
I blinked away hot tears. “Then let’s dig.”
We spent hours in that hidden cottage. Or it felt like hours. I lost track of time. The night outside grew colder, and I could sense the hush of midnight slipping into early morning. We shuffled through yellowed documents, leafed through volumes of old rosters, and snapped photos on my phone, though Anubis insisted I keep them encrypted, not just on the phone’s default camera roll.
He showed me how. And suddenly, the jock bad guy didn’t seem so one dimensional.
At some point, he made a pot of coffee using an old kettle on the dusty stove. The coffee was bitter and thick as sludge, but I downed two cups. Each page we uncovered was a puzzle piece in the tapestry of the Skulls, how they manipulated politics, real estate, even the arts scene to maintain generational influence.
By the time I looked up from the final binder, my eyes burned with exhaustion. “This is enough to blow the roof off Edenvane,” I muttered. “If we published even half of it…”
“People have tried,” Anubis cut in gently. “They always fail. Or disappear.”
A chill zipped down my spine. “So, what’s the point of showing me all this if it just leads to a dead end or a dead me? Are you trying to get me killed?”
He set down the binder he was thumbing through. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically weary. “Because I need you to believe me. I think you can be an ally. If you know how to play the game, maybe you can open a door that no one else has. That’s why the Howler’s interest in the Skulls is so dangerous, but also…maybe it’s time.”
I stared at him, confusion swirling with curiosity. “Time for what?”
“Time for someone to break the cycle.” His expression turned resolute. “The society was formed with certain rigid beliefs that no longer fit this century, like testing the poor or using scholarships as leverage. In my heart, I believe Edenvane could be something more than a stepping stone for the ultra-privileged.”
He hesitated, as if unsure how much to admit. But I leaned forward, silently urging him to continue.
He sighed. “Look, I know you see me as the bad guy. And maybe I am in some ways. But I want to inherit a version of this power structure that doesn’t revolve around cruelty and secrecy. Even if that means turning the Skulls inside out.”
His words left me speechless. Could the alleged poster boy for everything wrong in this place also be the key to dismantling it? It sounded far-fetched, yet as I studied his earnest gaze, my instincts told me there was truth in it.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. “Anubis, if they find out you’re betraying them.”
He gave a small smirk. “They’re expecting me to stay in line. I’m the golden child. Pun intended. But I can subvert them from within if I have the right partner.” His grip on my wrist lingered, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the cold dread creeping through my veins.
I let out a long breath, heart thudding. “What do you need from me?”
He didn’t respond right away. A quiet hush fell, broken only by the rustle of my jacket as I shifted in the chair. I felt his eyes track over me, not merely with desire or arrogance, but with the same complicated longing I’d started to sense in myself.
Finally, he stood and began tidying up the books. “Tonight, you should get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll walk you back to the Boat House, then you can head to your dorm. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about the next step.”
I frowned. “That’s it?”
Something fleeting passed across his face, like a confession he wouldn’t speak aloud. “We’ve done enough for one night. It isn’t safe to linger too long in one place with all these materials out. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to navigate the society’s…demands.”
Though I was brimming with questions, exhaustion weighed on me more. My temples pulsed from hours of reading cursive. Nodding, I helped him gather the ledgers back onto the shelves and tucked my phone away. The temptation to remain, searching every corner of that cottage, was strong, but I sensed he was right. But one thing I’d picked up from all the text was that sticking around might draw the eye of watchers. We needed caution.
Outside, the moonlight had vanished behind heavy clouds, and a breeze brushed my face, carrying an unseasonable chill. We trudged up the muddy path in silence, my shoes squelching in damp leaves. When we reached the veranda behind the Boat House, he paused, turning to me. My breath came in little white puffs as I studied his features in the faint light.
“Will you be okay walking to your dorm alone?” he asked quietly, voice laced with concern.
“I can manage,” I said. Then I swallowed, my chest tight. “Thank you…for trusting me enough to show me that.”
He nodded. “Lock your door tonight. And check in tomorrow. I’ll come find you after classes.”
We were face to face, the tension a thrumming current between us. For a moment, it felt like we both teetered on a ledge of possibility. Where a kiss might happen, or a meltdown, or both. But I couldn’t move, nor could he. We were two magnets, drawn close but not quite daring to seal the gap. Then, in a quiet motion, he squeezed my arm once and turned away.
I tried not to feel disappointed. In truth, I was too overwhelmed to add more intimacy to this already insane night. I cut across the campus pathways, blending into shadows as I let the swirl of conflicting emotions wash over me. The old dorm, my old room, was off limits, memories of Toccara’s presence lingering like a haunting. Instead, I hurried back to the new building assigned to me after the investigation.
My mind whirred with the images from the caretaker’s cottage, black robes, hidden registers, a thick ledger detailing the twisted nature of Edenvane’s scholarship. The disquieting knowledge that Toccara might have discovered something that led her into the river.
Before I turned the corner, I risked a backward glance at the Boat House. A single silhouette on the veranda, arms crossed, watching me vanish into the night. It was Anubis. Even though the distance was too far to discern details, I felt his gaze like a tether.
And I hated how, despite my better judgment, part of me hoped we’d meet again soon.