Chapter 21
A day passed in a haze of throbbing pain, not just from the brand, but from Anubis giving me the real him. I wore a loose long-sleeve sweater to cover the wound. Anubis texted me from a row team meet, confirming he was likewise sore but coping.
That evening, I received a coded email from Kate’s group, the Undercurrent. It included a link to a hidden forum page, describing partial police logs from the night Toccara died.
“Two individuals in black hoods entered the boathouse at approx. 11:50 p.m., returned at 12:40 a.m., soaking wet. Toccara’s body was discovered the following day by the captain of the rowing team, Anubis Edenvane. The Dean personally oversaw the investigation that concluded ‘suicide.’ Evidence was sealed.”
My hands shook reading it. Black hoods, fitting the Skulls’ rituals. They might have confronted Toccara or forced her into the river. My throat constricted.
I forwarded the link to Anubis with a single line: “This has to be them.”
He replied instantly: “We have to find who those two were.”
A surge of determination gripped me. The Skulls were responsible, or at least complicit in Toccara’s fate. And they were branding us, controlling us. Enough was enough.
I steeled myself. We’d gather every shred of evidence we could and pass it to the Undercurrent or the Howler. We’ll burn this corrupt empire from the inside out.
Yet the brand on my shoulder throbbed, reminding me the Skulls weren’t powerless. They’d kill us if they suspected betrayal.
By the next week, the campus buzzed with rumors of yet another upcoming event, some grand philanthropic gala. The Dean planned to host major donors to show off Edenvane’s new expansions.
Meanwhile, Sophie gave no new orders, leaving Anubis and me in anxious limbo. We continued to meet in the caretaker’s cottage, comparing notes with Kate’s group, searching for any break.
One late afternoon, I found myself scanning old yearbooks in the caretaker’s cottage, Anubis’ idea to see if we could match known Skulls members or alumni to the suspicious faces in Toccara’s logs. The brand on my shoulder itched under the bandage, but I forced myself to focus.
Suddenly, the door flew open. I tensed, expecting some Skulls enforcer. But it was Anubis, hair disheveled, eyes bright.
He rushed over, yanking a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Look what I found in the Edenvane genealogical records at the archives.”
I took it, scanning the typed lineage notes. The name Divore popped out at me, my own last name, linked tenuously to an older branch of the Edenvane family tree.
My pulse slammed. “Wait…this means…someone in my ancestry was connected to the Edenvanes?”
He nodded, excited but also concerned. “It’s centuries old, but it might explain why you were singled out in the scholarship lottery. You’re more than just a random poor girl. You’re an old bloodline they wanted to keep track of.”
My head spun. “So, I might be a distant relative? Is that why they keep forcing me deeper into the Skulls?”
Anubis exhaled. “It would align with the old practice of bringing distant Edenvane lineage back into the fold. The name changes over generations, but the blood stays the same.”
A jolt of indignation and confusion swirled in me. I never knew my father. Could the Edenvanes have orchestrated my scholarship from the moment I was born?
I set the paper down, heart hammering. “This is bigger than I realized. My entire life could be part of their plan.”
Anubis cupped my cheeks, gaze intense. “But you are not them, Suede. No matter your bloodline. You can still choose your own path.”
A tear escaped me. “I want that more than anything.”
He pulled me into a warm embrace, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the caretaker’s cottage floor.
“What does this mean for us? We’re related.”
“Barely. Back in the 1600s maybe. You’re a very very distant cousin if anything. No different from everyone else.”
As if we were scared of losing each other, our lips met in a desperate, searching kiss, the swirl of revelations fueling raw emotion. I clung to him, seeking comfort amid the chaos of discovering my past might be entangled with the very family I despised. His family. He held me tight, vowing to protect me from the destiny others tried to script.
When we finally separated, breath ragged, I found a new sliver of resolve. The lines of fate might be drawn in blood, but I’d fight for my own story.
That night, as I drifted in and out of restless sleep in my dorm, a text from Sophie buzzed me awake:
“We require your presence at the Edenvane Mansion tomorrow, 8 p.m. The Dean’s gala. Dress appropriately.”
My blood chilled. The Dean’s gala was a high-profile event. The place would be crawling with donors, wealthy alumni, and possibly unsuspecting guests. For the Skulls to call us there meant a high-stakes show.
I texted Anubis. He replied immediately:
“Got the same invite. We’ll meet there.”
I sank onto my pillow, dread twisting my stomach. A final fleeting thought drifted through my mind as sleep claimed me again: Could this gala be the beginning of the end? A confrontation that decides our fate?
Because we had only a few more steps left in this dark dance and we weren’t the only ones orchestrating it.
I stood in front of the tall, antique mirror in my dorm room, slipping on a sleek black dress that seemed too formal for a college event but perfect for a society gala. The email from the Dean’s office described it as a philanthropic soirée, celebrating new campus expansions. But Anubis and I both knew it was a power move by the Skulls.
Brushing my hands over the fabric, I winced when the material grazed my still-tender brand. The Mark of the Crescent sat high on my left shoulder, a small scab along its curved edges. I tried not to look at it too often because each glimpse brought a surge of conflicting emotion: fury, fear, and a strange sense of grim resolve. Being branded alongside Anubis meant we were, at least officially, bound to the Skulls.
A jolt of nerves twisted my stomach as I remembered the night they pressed that hot metal to our skin. Sophie watched with sadistic satisfaction. The memory fueled my determination not to let them win.
I exhaled shakily. Focus, Suede. You have a role to play tonight.
My phone buzzed on the dresser: a text from Kate, the brash Howler staffer who was also part of the secret group calling themselves the Undercurrent.
Kate : “One of our watchers saw a black SUV arrive at the campus loading dock. Men in suits carrying sealed crates. We suspect it’s equipment for the Dean’s event. Keep your eyes open.”
Sealed crates for a gala? My pulse kicked higher. What exactly is the Dean bringing in? The Skulls had orchestrated everything from library sabotage to blocking a professor’s honest research. A few crates might be innocuous. Or they might hide something more sinister.
I typed back quickly:
“Understood. I’ll do what I can. Thank you.”
Before I could slip my phone into my clutch, it chimed again: Anubis this time.
Anubis :
“I’m outside. Ready when you are.”
I forced a small smile. “Always the gentleman,” I murmured, retrieving a gauzy shawl to drape over my shoulders and hide the brand. Then I flicked off the lights and headed into the hall. Students milled around, some heading to house parties, others to the library or group study sessions. I felt like a ghost among them, living a separate reality.
Downstairs, I spotted Anubis leaning against the wall in a charcoal-gray suit, no tie, collar open at the throat. Even with tension etched in his features, he looked devastatingly handsome. That same tension echoed in my own chest: no matter how terrifying this path was, I was grateful not to walk it alone.
“You look stunning,” he said softly, eyes tracing over my dress. “Though I hate that we’re going to this…performance.”
I managed a shaky smile, stepping closer so no one else would hear our low voices. “We’ve handled everything else. This gala is just another challenge.”
He offered his arm in an old-fashioned gesture, and I linked mine with it, feeling his warmth through the jacket. “We’ll manage,” he agreed. “Let’s see what skeletons the Skulls drag out tonight.”
Skeletons indeed, I thought, recalling Toccara, that fateful night by the river, the conspirators who might be lurking around the gala. Kate’s cryptic note about the crates. My possible link to the Edenvane bloodline. Everything was converging.
This Edenvane Mansion, one of many, was the ancestral home turned administrative showpiece, glowed with a golden radiance under a star-scattered sky. Its sweeping driveway, lined with manicured hedges, was crowded with sleek cars and even a few limousines. Tall pillars supported an ornate entranceway, and clusters of well-dressed guests chatted under the bright floodlights.
Anubis parked his Porsche near the far edge of the circular drive. We both took a moment to steel ourselves. “Ready?” he asked, quiet tension in his voice.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We climbed out, stepping into the swirl of half-familiar faces: wealthy donors, administrators, sorority and fraternity elites. A few recognized Anubis immediately, greeting him with polite smiles or shoulder claps. I received cursory nods, though some stares lingered on my hair (still tinted faintly green at the tips, a rebellious leftover from weeks ago) and my no-name gown.
“Captain Edenvane! Over here,” called a voice from near the entrance. My chest clenched at the sight of Sophie, radiant in a midnight-blue cocktail dress. Diamond studs glittered at her ears, and her hair was swept into an elegant twist. Beside her stood the Dean, Mrs. Mence, a powerful presence in a tailored pants suit. Her scary black dog was with her, looking completely out of place.
Anubis guided me toward them, expression carefully schooled. I recognized the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, he loathed Sophie’s public displays of affection or authority.
The Dean’s gaze flicked between us, a tight smile curving his mouth. “Captain, Miss…Divore, is it?” Her voice boomed in that authoritative tone that commanded the entire campus.
“Yes, ma’am,” I managed, nerves spiking. This woman hated me, hated I was poor, and she had sealed the official story about Toccara’s death.
Sophie’s lips curved. “How lovely you both look.” She rested a hand on Anubis’ arm in a gesture of easy familiarity that made my stomach tighten. “We’ll be inside shortly, giving our welcomes to the guests. Please mingle. Enjoy yourselves.” Her tone dripped with that false warmth I’d come to despise.
Anubis forced a polite nod. “Of course.”
The Dean snapped her fingers at a staff member passing with a tray of champagne flutes. She pressed one flute into Anubis’ hand and another into mine. “To Edenvane’s bright future,” she declared.
I raised the flute. “To Edenvane,” I echoed, though my mind seethed with contradictions.
“Miss Divore. You are playing your part well. Keeping Anubis warm, preparing his path for finer things.” She shot a look between Sophie and Anubis. “No hotdogs on the menu tonight.” She spoke to Anubis. “See she doesn’t embarrass us.”
With that, mother and daughter moved on to greet more VIPs.
“What was that about,” he leaned in and asked when we were out of earshot.
“Isn’t it obvious? I have my part to play until you choose her daughter.”
“I mean the hotdogs.”
“Mrs. Mence hates me because I won the lottery. She used that line before, thinks I must only eat hotdogs because I’m poor.”
Anubis sputtered a laugh. “I love hotdogs.”
I wiped the Dean’s words from my mind. I exhaled, scanning the crowd. Even outside, waiters circulated with trays of tiny food. There was an undercurrent of anticipation in the air, big announcements, big money. The Skulls thrived on these illusions of power.
Anubis angled his body toward me, voice low. “Think we can slip inside discreetly? We should see what’s going on with those crates Kate mentioned.”
“Agreed.”
We downed our champagne, just enough to appear social, and made our way through the double doors. Inside, the mansion’s grand foyer was decked in gold-and-white drapery, with a small stage set up at the far end. Attendees browsed art displays, old Edenvane family portraits, and architectural plans on easels.
Through a side corridor, I glimpsed staff pushing a large cart topped with equipment cases. My pulse kicked. Might be the crates Kate saw. I nudged Anubis, and we maneuvered through the throng, trying to stay inconspicuous.
We slipped down a less-crowded hallway adorned with paintings of past Edenvane patriarchs, all sporting stern gazes and regal poses. The hum of conversation faded, replaced by the hush of thick carpeting underfoot.
Anubis stopped in front of an old portrait of a woman. Rubbing his chin, he said, “She looks familiar.”
“What?” I stopped to look.
He went on, nudging me. “Looks like you. Maybe she’s your great great great great grandmother.”
I elbowed him. “Not funny.”
A single staff member paused by a set of double doors, marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” She typed a code into a keypad, then pushed a wheeled crate inside. A glimpse of black metal cases caught my eye before the door clicked shut.
Anubis and I exchanged looks. We needed to see what was in there.
Checking over my shoulder to ensure no one else was watching, I stepped forward, faking confidence. The keypad glowed red, awaiting a code. Anubis gently touched my arm. “Let me try,” he whispered.
He tapped a few numbers, maybe gleaned from memory or his father’s frequent passcodes. The lock beeped in protest. Another try. Another beep. My nerves spiked. A third attempt, beep. Then a final press, and it clicked green.
“You remember your father’s birthday?” I asked, half-bemused.
He smirked grimly. “It’s not just a birthday, he reuses old codes for everything. Let’s hurry.”
“Is he here tonight?” I asked him.
“No. He was already at one event. Oversaw the start of the Blood Trials, so he’s probably back in D.C. or New York. The Dean will catch him up later.”