Chapter 2
two
CULT CARDS AND BIRTHDAY CAKES.
It’s my birthday.
I stared at the text on my screen, the first one I’d sent since Logan told me not to contact him. I’d sent it an hour ago. There had been no response.
There were so many people here. I wasn’t even sure who’d been in charge of sending out the invitations, probably one of my father’s assistants, or an event planner who had never even met me.
The hall glittered with gold. It bubbled in glasses. It draped from chandeliers, necks, and wrists. No expense spared, as usual. And yet everyone seemed to be enjoying my party more than I was.
There were faces I recognized: Tristan, Henrik, Andor, Bianka, Miksa… Jarred. There were also people from previous events my family hosted, charity galas, or the media. I knew their names, their reputations, their portfolios, but I didn’t know them. And they definitely didn’t know me.
“Happy birthday, Harper!” someone called, much too loudly. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. I was certain I’d never met him before. I nodded and smiled anyway.
A crowd of elegant strangers surrounded me.
I’d never felt more alone.
Birthdays used to be fun, but never because of these parties. Logan made them fun.
I kept to the upper level of the two-story hall, perched at the railing so I was visible. Dad wouldn’t like it if I wasn’t easily seen by guests, but it had the bonus of being away from the bulk of the crowd below.
“Happy birthday, darling,” my mother said as she approached, a champagne flute in either hand. She held one out to me. There was a soft smile on her lips that didn’t reach her glazed eyes. She was high. She was always high.
“I’m eighteen, Mom. Not twenty-one.”
She blinked slowly and spoke slower. “Right. Yes. I know that.” She pushed the flute into my hand anyway. “Well, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Rosanne.” My father’s stern voice, right on cue. “Why don’t you go mingle… somewhere else?”
Mom’s jaw tightened. “Enjoy your party, dear,” she told me as she turned and left us, because she always did whatever he said.
My father snatched the champagne glass out of my hand, his disapproval clear. The way he looked at me always made me feel like I was guilty of something. “Mom gave it to me.”
“You didn’t have to accept it. You know your mother gets… confused sometimes. It’s on you not to allow her to cause a scene.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go socialize.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not with that Archer, Harper. Bianka.”
I nodded and stepped away before he could demand any more. Archer wasn’t even here yet, and he’d been ignoring my texts all day.
I descended the stairs to join the crowd as my father watched from on high. Always watching. I’d have to at least try to make small talk with Bianka, even though neither of us wanted that.
These people had a talent for talking without saying anything. Every conversation felt the same. “Happy birthday, how’s business?” and other rehearsed lines. I’d approached Bianka, only because Dad was still watching, and she’d given me a disdainful once-over like I was intruding at my own party.
Now she was talking to Jarred, and she seemed far more thrilled by his company. I didn’t blame her.
“You look so fucking bored,” said a voice that made my eye twitch. Tristan.
“No I don’t.” I responded, a practiced smile on my lips.
“Hmm maybe, but you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
Tristan stood much too close. His six foot two to my staggering five foot four always irked me.
The Lorens’ were plentiful in wealth but severely lacking in the height department.
My father was five foot six, and my mother five foot.
I think that was at least part of the reason he chose her, so he would never have anyone in his house standing taller than him.
Too bad we couldn’t buy better genetics.
“Well, I’m bored.”
“That’s a you problem.”
Tristan chuckled. “And here I was, about to give you the greatest birthday present you’ve ever received.”
“I highly doubt that.”
The gift table sat by the entrance, piled high with boxes and bags of various sizes.
I doubted most of these people even knew what they’d bought me.
They’d probably sent their assistants out to get a gift and package it, and mine would open them and send thank you cards theirs would receive and toss away, and we’d continue the same dance for every birthday and event without ever once having a direct or meaningful connection with each other. It was perfunctory.
“How’s Jarred?”
I raised a brow as I side-eyed him. “I suppose you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“That Kovats chick he’s talking to is pretty hot, right?”
“She’s… fine.”
“Jealous?”
I glared at him. “No.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Harpy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Whatever. Here.” Tristan pulled something from his pocket and flicked it over to me between two fingers.
Hesitantly, I took it from him. The card was deep burgundy in color with a shimmer that felt luxurious rather than tacky as glitter often was.
I’d seen nothing quite like it. Something about it was almost hypnotic.
There were only two words embossed in silver—“The Veil”—and a phone number on the back.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
I glared at him, and he laughed. “It’s an invitation. An escape, Harper. A place where you can be who you really are, and no one will ever know. Secrecy is assured. Just call the number and The Master will handle the rest.”
“The Master?” I deadpanned. “Is this some type of cult?”
Tristan shrugged. “Logan thought it was cool.”
I swallowed. My brother had been involved in whatever this was? Was he still? I pocketed the card.
Tristan smiled. “Invitation is only for you. If you tell anyone else, I’ll deny I know anything about it.” He winked and downed the remnants of his champagne, smacking the glass down on a nearby table before walking off, leaving me alone.
People continued drinking, dancing, laughing. Happy on the surface. Were they really? Was it only me wearing a mask?
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ripped it out quickly, hoping Logan had responded and sighing when I saw Archer’s name.
Archer
Need to talk to you. Ride with me later tonight.
My apartment was cold and quiet when I returned home, but no more so than the house I’d lived in with my parents.
I’d had renovations carried out so that Celestine could have a floor-to-ceiling enclosure that took up the entire wall of the living room.
She was a big girl, at thirteen feet and nine inches, so she appreciated the extra space.
I also had two others, but I kept their tanks in my bedroom.
Matthew, my assistant, trailed in behind me after driving me home, running over my schedule for the next week. I was hardly paying attention as we walked in, only because I’d already memorized it earlier. I stopped once I saw what waited for me in the kitchen.
My chest tightened, my stomach twisted, and grief combined with unwelcome nostalgia made me want to hurl. “What’s that?” I spoke through clenched teeth.
There was a tradition we had before Logan left.
On both of our birthdays, after the parties our parents forced us to attend, Matthew would buy us some cheap box cake mix, and the three of us would make an absolute mess in the kitchen while baking it.
It was always hideous when it was finished, but it tasted better than the artisan cakes my parents spent thousands on.
We would all wear cheap party hats with strings that rubbed uncomfortably on our necks. Logan would even alter one for Celestine. And then he’d perform a birthday song like he was hoping to get a Grammy out of it, singing with all his heart until I’d shove cake in his mouth to make him stop.
Last year, Matthew had tried to make it with just the two of us, but I’d gotten upset and told him to leave. I thought that would be the end, but clearly it wasn’t.
“I thought this year you might like to—”
“I told you last year I didn’t want to do that anymore,” I interrupted.
“I know you miss your brother, Harper, but I thought—”
“You thought wrong, Matthew. Logan is gone. He doesn’t care about us anymore, and I don’t care about him. Stop clinging to those stupid traditions.”
“I’ve upset you. I’m very sorry.” Matthew dipped his head in apology.
“I’m not upset. I’m not anything. I’m just done. Logan isn’t coming back. The sooner you accept that and forget about him, the better.” I threw the words my father had used to hurt me at Matthew, and I regretted them when they landed. Matthew wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as I was.
“I understand. I’ll refrain from such traditions in the future.”
Before I could decide if I wanted to apologize or double down, Matthew had scooped up the box cake from the counter and was on his way out.
“If you change your mind, you only have to call. Happy birthday, Harper,” he said as the doors opened for him to leave.
I said nothing. I didn’t even move until the elevator doors closed, providing a much-needed barrier, and I was alone.
The invisible mask fell and shattered at my feet, and I broke along with it, free to let my feelings erupt now that there was no one here to witness them. Why did I still let it hurt me? Why did I still care so much about someone who didn’t even care enough to respond to my text?
I didn’t want to miss Logan anymore. I didn’t want to keep waiting for him. I didn’t want it to keep hurting like this.
When I’d let out enough of my emotions that I could push the rest back down deep inside me, I got to my feet again.
I showered off the remnants of the evening and dressed in something more casual.
The card Tristan had given me was too much to think about now, so I put it at the back of my desk drawer to consider later.
I still planned to meet with Archer, but right now there were only three living beings I wanted to be around—my snakes.
I cared for little as much as I cared for these snakes. While cleaners came in for my apartment, I trusted no one with their enclosures and handled all their care personally. They appreciated not being messed with constantly by strangers.
Celestine was coiled lazily, flicking her tongue in greeting as I checked her tank’s temperature and offered her fresh water.
“How was your day, pretty girl?” I asked, running my fingertips over her bright yellow scales.
Then I visited the others: Aurelia, my blizzard corn snake, small and delicate, always eager to be held; and Juliette, my Mexican black kingsnake, who preferred not to be handled, though she was always extra active when I had my hands in her enclosure, moving around with what I liked to believe was excitement as the heat lamp reflected off her iridescent black scales.
They calmed me more than anything else could.
They trusted me, and I trusted them. I talked to Archer about a lot of things, but only when we met up in person, which was every couple of weeks at best. Text messages could be traced, no matter how encrypted.
There were still things I couldn’t tell him, though.
Things I’d probably never tell anyone. But I told my snakes. My secrets were safe with them.
I told them everything, because there was no one else.