Chapter 22
We eased the door open, stepping into a large storeroom. Tall shelves packed with random event supplies, folding chairs, tablecloths, and boxes labeled “decor” or “china sets.” At the far end, the staff member was rummaging through a crate. She didn’t notice us at first.
Slipping behind a tall stack of boxes, we crept closer. My heart hammered loud enough I was sure she’d hear. The staff member was opening black metal cases inside the crate. I watched her lift out something that glinted under overhead lights, silver flasks? Or elaborate, old-fashioned syringes? My blood chilled.
She murmured into her phone, “Yes, they’re all here. Will be set up in the demonstration hall. Don’t worry, no one’s snooping.”
Anubis and I exchanged alarmed glances. Silver syringes? Demonstration hall? This did not sound like typical gala fare.
The staff member placed the items carefully in a padded box. Then, as if satisfied, she resealed the crate and rolled it farther into the storeroom, turning a corner we couldn’t see.
“Let’s go,” Anubis mouthed. I nodded, adrenaline spiking.
Staying low, we slipped back toward the door. We’d learned enough to know something was off. Carefully, we eased out into the hallway and let the door click shut. My chest heaved as I inhaled the more perfume-laden air of the corridor.
“What is that about?” I whispered, heart pounding.
Anubis shook his head. “No idea, but it’s definitely not normal catering supplies.”
“A demonstration…maybe some show for the donors, or a covert Skulls ritual disguised as part of the gala?” The thought made me shiver.
Before we could linger, footsteps echoed. A pair of guests appeared around the corner, so we plastered on polite smiles and merged with them, returning to the main foyer. Inside, the hum of conversation had escalated, and an emcee was calling everyone’s attention toward the stage.
I leaned in to Anubis. “We’ll figure out more soon, but let’s play along for now.”
He slipped an arm protectively around my waist. “We will,” he murmured.
Near the front of the foyer, rows of plush chairs had been set up facing a small platform. The overhead chandelier cast brilliant light on the podium. The Dean, Sophie at her side, and a few older trustees assembled, presumably to address the crowd. A hush fell as the Dean took the microphone.
“Esteemed guests,” she began, voice resonating. “Thank you for joining us. Tonight, we celebrate Edenvane’s commitment to excellence and innovation. We stand on the brink of a new era, one shaped by visionary donors, dedicated faculty, and courageous leadership.”
Behind her, a large projection screen displayed images of proposed new wings, labs, and even a “Center for Cultural Heritage.” All these expansions likely paid for with dirty money.
The Dean continued, “Let me also acknowledge those who uphold Edenvane’s oldest traditions, ensuring our legacy thrives.”
At that, Sophie stepped forward, offering a dazzling smile. Applause rippled through the crowd. My brand throbbed beneath the shawl, a grim reminder of what that “legacy” entailed behind closed doors.
Sophie leaned in to the microphone. “We have a short demonstration after the main reception, one that showcases Edenvane’s philanthropic collaboration with cutting-edge medical research.” She gestured to the side. “All donors and special invitees are welcome.”
Anubis shot me a look. The “demonstration” had to be linked to those silver syringe-like items we saw. The feeling of foreboding tightened its grip on my chest.
A swirl of applause and polite conversation followed. The donors seemed intrigued. None of them had a clue about the sinister underpinnings. And if they did, maybe they didn’t care.
As the formal presentation concluded, waiters began circulating with dinner plates and flutes of champagne. Anubis and I hovered near a corner, uncertain how to glean more about the demonstration without drawing attention.
Suddenly, I spotted a figure across the room that made my blood run cold: The blonde robed man from the crypt. He’d worn a mask then, but I recognized his build, the flash of a gold ring bearing the Skulls’ crest on his finger. Now dressed in a sharp suit, he sipped champagne near the piano, scanning the crowd.
My hand tightened on Anubis’ sleeve. “Look,” I breathed.
He followed my gaze, expression darkening. “One of the higher-ups. I remember him from the branding ceremony.” His posture tensed, as though he debated confronting the man directly.
But before we could decide, the robed man set down his glass and strode over to us, a polite smile plastered on. Up close, he was older than I’d guessed—late forties, hair thinning at the temples. The gold ring on his index finger bore the stylized skull with that crescent shape reminiscent of our brand.
“Captain,” he greeted Anubis in a tone dripping with condescension. Then to me, “Nubia. What a pleasure to see you both.”
I forced a thin smile, my pulse thrumming. “Enjoying the gala?”
He chuckled. “Indeed. I trust you’ve healed from your…initiation.” His gaze darted to my shoulder, though it was covered by the shawl.
My chest tightened. “Yes,” I said tersely.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Then be sure to attend the demonstration. We have big plans to share with our donors. And we expect our novices to be there, supporting the cause.” The ring glinted as he lifted his hand, a mocking gesture. “After all, you embody Edenvane’s future.”
With that cryptic remark, he slipped away into the throng.
I let out a shaky breath. “He basically ordered us to watch whatever twisted spectacle they’re unveiling.”
Anubis’ jaw was set, anger simmering. “I want to see what they’re up to, but we need to be careful. If it’s some new Skulls stunt, it might tie directly to Toccara’s murder. Or to that injection gear we spotted.”
I nodded, fighting the wave of anxiety building in my chest. This was no mere dinner party anymore. It was a stage for the Skulls to display something bigger.
We found ourselves near a side entrance to the main hall, scanning for a place to regroup. Just then, we noticed Kate standing behind a tall potted plant, wearing a sleek green dress. Her eyes darted around until she spotted us. She motioned surreptitiously for us to follow her into a smaller adjacent corridor. Anubis and I exchanged a quick glance and complied.
Inside the corridor, the music and chatter dampened. Kate let out a relieved breath. “I made it in thanks to some old favor with the Howler’s alumni. They gave me a press pass to cover the event for the campus paper. I recognized a few men carrying those crates earlier, but I couldn’t see what was inside. Did you find anything?”
I hesitated, glancing around to ensure we were alone. “We caught a glimpse of silver tubes, looked like syringes. The staffer mentioned a demonstration.”
Kate’s face paled. “Syringes? Maybe some experimental drug? That’s not typical of a philanthropic gala.”
Anubis folded his arms. “We suspect it’s a front for the Skulls to wow donors. They might be peddling illusions of miracle cures or hooking wealthy families with the promise of advanced research. This place is basically the ultimate marketing platform for them.”
Kate’s gaze hardened. “We have to keep them from misleading everyone. If it’s some sham or something dangerous—”
A voice echoed from the corridor’s other end. We all jolted, pressing ourselves back into the shadows. A pair of older donors wandered past, discussing the upcoming demonstration. Once they were out of earshot, Kate whispered urgently, “My group, the Undercurrent, has people outside. If you uncover anything incriminating, text me. We might be able to leak it fast or disrupt it.”
I pressed her hand gratefully. “We will.”
She nodded, smoothing her dress. “Alright. I’ll mingle, try to overhear more. Good luck.”
As Kate slipped away, I felt a spark of hope. We weren’t entirely alone in this fight. We just have to stay alive long enough to expose them.
Half an hour later, ushers herded the guests down a broad hallway toward a double-doored space labeled “Gallery.” It had been cleared of furniture except for rows of chairs facing a temporary stage. The mood felt curious, expectant.
From the hush of the guests and the presence of black-suited security guards near the stage, it was clear this demonstration was exclusive. I recognized some wealthy donors who’d contributed to Edenvane’s expansions. Professors in fine suits, the Dean, Sophie, a handful of older men and women with that quietly lethal aura of the Skulls. The air bristled with subdued tension.
Anubis and I hung at the back, near a pillar, scanning for any sign of the silver syringes or crates. My stomach churned, imagining what they might do in front of everyone.
Sophie stepped onto the stage, a microphone in hand. She smiled brilliantly at the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us for this special preview of Edenvane’s partnership with cutting-edge biotech research. Tonight, we introduce a concept that could revolutionize gene therapy and specialized treatments.”
My blood turned cold. Gene therapy? My thoughts leaped to the rumor that the Skulls were obsessed with bloodlines, controlling fates from behind the scenes.
A woman in a lab coat joined Sophie onstage. A Dr. Lansing, from the embroidered name tag and her introduction. She began explaining breakthroughs in CRISPR editing and how Edenvane’s donors were funding the next wave of medical innovation.
I glanced at Anubis. His expression was grim. This might be the “official” story, but we both doubted it was the whole truth.
Dr. Lansing gestured to a table behind her, where a black case rested. A familiar staff member opened it, revealing rows of slender metallic vials and syringes. My pulse raced.
“This demonstration,” said Dr. Lansing, “will show how quickly our formula can be introduced to a subject to strengthen immune response.”
A hush fell. My mind reeled. The Skulls had a history of playing with dark, antiquated rituals, but now they were merging it with modern biotech?
“I need a volunteer,” Dr. Lansing announced.
No one moved. Then Sophie, with that predator’s smile, stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” she said.
The crowd murmured excitedly. The staffer handed Sophie a single syringe, silver, elegant, too theatrical for standard medicine. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing pale skin. Dr. Lansing inserted the needle. Sophie didn’t even flinch as the camera flash captured the moment.
Whispers swept the guests: “Is this safe?” “She’s so brave.”
After pulling back the syringe, Dr. Lansing pressed a cotton swab to Sophie’s arm. “It’s perfectly safe. We aim to demonstrate that, within minutes, we can monitor changes in the bloodstream, enhanced white cell counts, improved rapid response to pathogens. This is the future of precision medicine.”
I nearly laughed at the absurdity, but terror coiled in my gut. Is this some new variant of the Skulls’ blood rituals? Are they injecting themselves with some formula that strengthens them? Or is it a scam?
Sophie faced the crowd, radiating triumph. “Ladies and gentlemen, you witness Edenvane’s commitment to progress. With your support, we can save countless lives.”
Polite applause rippled. Donors leaned to each other, eyes gleaming with the possibility of profits or accolades. The entire scene reeked of manipulation.
Anubis’ breath hissed near my ear. “They’re creating hype for some untested therapy. The Skulls might be planning to harness the donors’ money, or worse, use this formula on novices.”
I shuddered, remembering the brand on my shoulder. “We have to expose them. This can’t be safe.”
Moments later, Sophie returned to the microphone, looking uncharacteristically flushed. She sipped water from a glass, hand shaking slightly. Dr. Lansing put a hand on her shoulder, concern flickering across the scientist’s face. “Are you all right?”
Sophie pressed a smile. “Yes, just…a bit…warm.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the Dean, who stood at the edge of the stage, posture rigid.
The hush in the audience deepened. A donor in the front row called, “Is this…supposed to happen?”
Sophie forced a laugh, though sweat beaded on her brow. “I’m—fine.” She clutched the podium, knuckles whitening.
Anubis’ grip on my arm tightened. “Something’s off.”
In another heartbeat, Sophie staggered, nearly falling. Dr. Lansing grabbed her. The entire room buzzed with alarm. The Dean rushed forward, barking orders for staff to help. Security tried to usher onlookers aside.
I glanced at Anubis. “We need to see what’s happening. She might be having a serious reaction.”
His expression was conflicted, but he nodded. Despite everything, Sophie’s collapse threatened the secrecy of the Skulls. Or maybe it would reveal something crucial.
We pushed through the crowd, reaching the stage steps just as Sophie sank into a chair. Her face paled, lips parted in shallow breaths. Dr. Lansing fiddled with a portable device, likely measuring her vitals. The Dean hovered, fury and fear mixing in her eyes.
“How can this be?” the Dean hissed at Dr. Lansing. “We tested the formula thoroughly in our private trials.”
Anubis exchanged a look with me— private trials?
Sophie’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on me briefly. For an instant, vulnerability crossed her features before that old arrogance returned. “I’m fine,” she insisted weakly, even as she trembled.
The crowd pressed closer, some snapping pictures. The Dean’s glare darkened. “Everyone back. The demonstration is concluded.”
In a flurry of motion, staff and security began ushering the donors away. Confusion reigned, a swirl of shock. Anubis and I lingered near the stage, half-hidden behind a draped partition, catching bits of frantic conversation between Dr. Lansing and the Dean.
“This was never supposed to happen,” Dr. Lansing muttered, voice shaky. “I can’t understand, maybe an impurity in the batch? Or a mismatch in her DNA profile?”
The Dean spat, “Then fix it. I won’t let anything ruin this. If word gets out that our…research… harmed my daughter, the donors will flee.”
DNA profile. My mind flickered to my own suspected ties to the Edenvane line. What if the formula is tailored to certain bloodlines?
As staff carried Sophie off to a side room, the Dean barked at them to call a private physician. The entire demonstration hall emptied, leaving us in a strange hush. The donors had been told to wait in the foyer for further “updates.”
Anubis’ throat worked as he swallowed. “We just witnessed a real meltdown of their show. But the Skulls will hush it up fast. They’ll spin it as a minor side effect or dehydration.”
I nodded, a pulse of dread. If they’re messing with gene therapy… who else might they inject? Could they use me, the newly discovered Edenvane descendant?