TWENTY-SEVEN
Gigi
Many, many weeks pass and I hear from no one. Not a single sign from anyone within the Circle.
I feed Mia a faultless story, leaving no stone unturned, and it seems to work. She doesn’t question my odd behaviour or bring up the two men who cornered us in the alley. It breaks my heart, the thought of lying to her and distancing myself from our friendship. But I’m protecting her life, and I hope she’ll forgive me one day. I’m not sure if I trust Richard to leave Mia alone, but the only thing I have right now is his word.
And it’s wearing thin.
I withstood one of the biggest tests of loyalty and I’ve had nothing in return. Nothing. It’s driving me utterly insane. Along with Harry acting more secretive than ever, I feel like I’m losing myself. I think he’s tearing himself up, blaming himself for what happened. As the wound on my neck heals with each passing day, I’m more convinced it was all some wild lucid dream.
By the time a full month has passed, the mark on my neck has faded to a light pink, and Harry and I have kept our distance from each other. I’ve given up all hope.
But then one day, a small rectangular card is left in my parents’ letterbox. It’s no bigger than a business card and instantly draws my attention .
An invitation. No address. No time. One date.
“Where art meets the sky,” the card reads. The logo on the front is a masquerade mask – an elegant one with lace and ribbon.
I flip it over with intrigue. There’s no location. The invitation gives no inkling of who it was from, but something in me knows instantly. I hold it close to my chest, treasuring it as if it might puff into smoke in front of my eyes.
They haven’t forgotten about me.
If I want to fit in like the other society members I must dress accordingly. Thank God I paid attention to what Poppy, the fiery redhead, was wearing at the private event. If my calculations are correct, members of the Circle typically wear black.
At first glance, the material of my dress is as black as the steel rod that scorched my skin, but under the crystal chandeliers it’ll reflect the light and appear as a kaleidoscope of colour. Spaghetti straps give way to a sweetheart neckline, and my mask is made of the excess fabric. A few pieces of hair frame my face, but the rest is pinned back to reveal the mark on my neck, which I wear with pride.
I’m making a statement, and I know it.
I’ve avoided telling Harry about my invitation out of fear he’ll try to stop my attendance. Therefore, my only option is to avoid him at all costs this evening.
Taking a big risk with the business card, I direct my driver to the location of first ball I attended. And I’m second-guessing that decision until the gates of the mansion give way to grand doors and an abundance of guests wearing luxurious masks to conceal their identity. Relief sweeps through me like a gust of wind, having deciphered the card correctly.
As I exit the car and traipse up the marble steps, people look at me like I’m supposed to be here, allowing me to walk with a confident stride and my shoulders upright. I smile at the guards positioned at the front entrance, and they nod silently, allowing me entry. My thumping heart threatens to overtake the ambient sounds of chatter and elegant music as I walk through the hall, past the artwork in the sky, towards the bar.
When I approach a waitress and ask for a signature vodka and cranberry juice, I take the opportunity to scope the floor. There’s something dangerously sexy about everyone’s dark attire and the masks they wear.
Hundreds of people fill the room, increasing by each second, so I’m taken aback when I spot Harry through the crowd. He’s wearing a mask like everyone else, but the length of his body, his posture, his midnight-black hair, and just his sheer confidence draws my head to him naturally. He stands out as if he’s under a spotlight. He’s heavily engaged in conversation, capturing all attention as if he’s God Himself. Even in a crowd his presence is compelling.
I know because I fall for it every time.
But I’m not here to see him. My mission hasn’t changed.
Before I become his next victim, I down the rest of my drink, calculating how I’m going to slip out of the room without drawing attention to myself. Turning to leave, I excuse myself from the person sitting on the bar-stool beside me .
A hand darts out, its iron grip capturing my wrist and halting my escape.
“You know … that get-up isn’t fooling anyone.”
I keep my eyes forwards, my jaw tensing.
“What are you doing here, Gigi?”
FUCK.
Andy.
“What gave me away?” I ask, trying to play coy.
“I only know one person foolish enough to show off the mark,” he says, referring to my neck.
I scoff, trying to pull free. “It’s rude to lay hands on a woman.”
He stands up, tightening his fingers. “Did getting fucking branded not teach you anything?”
“Clearly not,” I say, finally ridding myself of his hand. “Why do all the men around me think they can make my decisions for me? This is my life.”
“Then you’re pretty stupid. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I think I do.”
Andy’s eyes flicker over my shoulder in panic.
“If you’re looking for Harry, I think it’s in both our interests not to disturb his evening.”
“He’s going to flip his shit when he knows you’re here.”
“That’s why you’re not going to tell him.”
I’d be a fool to think Andy wouldn’t tell him. That’s why I need to get out of here quickly.
Placing a hand delicately on his shoulder and making sure not to waste any more precious minutes, I slip past him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
Refusing to hear what he has to say, I bow my head, scurrying past the people on the dance floor and feigning disinterest in the multiple offers of champagne.
I need to talk to Richard.
And I refuse to let anything get in my way.
Thankfully, no one follows me down the hall, meaning I can slip through the office door and close it silently behind me. Approaching the desk carefully, I run my fingertips over the surface and feel the ingrained birch wood beneath my nails. While it’s not the same one I clutched to for dear life until my throat went hoarse, it still sends a shiver through me.
I wander around the desk peering at its contents, deciding it best not to snoop unless I want to be decapitated. I turn to the bookshelves. Books decorate the space, and a singular framed photograph sits on one of the higher shelves. I creep closer, my lungs constricting for a solid few seconds as I eye the image where it sits beside some special-edition works of Charles Dickens.
The photo is of Jack.
I take it in my hands instantly, my knuckles turning white as I grip the edges. In my flush of sadness I fail to hear the door open, but awareness pricks the back of my neck as a heavy presence enters the room.
Richard says, “I thought I’d find you in here.”
I carefully return the frame back to its place.
Acting unshaken, I ask, “Am I that predictable?”
“I’d recognise a Thomas anywhere.”
I turn around to him, but his gaze is on the photograph that sits perched on the shelf.
“There was something special about your brother. His death really was a tragedy.”
“It was.”
“What can I do for you, Gigi? I doubt you’re here to trade stories about your brother. While we can, I must admit, you probably won’t like what I have to say about him.”
When his mouth forms a smile I feel my confidence wavering. The emotion seems far too authentic for a man like him. But I’m desperate to hear his stories, so I say, “He was always a troublemaker in school.”
Richard chuckles, taking a seat opposite the desk and nodding towards the lush office chair I should occupy. I do so hesitantly. It feels peculiar to have the roles reversed, but for this confrontation I embrace it .
“I’m not sure how much you know about Jack’s time with us – very little, I suspect – but he was one of the best members we ever had. He was one of the most notorious criminals in Europe. But he lost his sanity in the madness, and his own incompetence got him killed.”
“Europe?” I ask, my eyes wide.
He smirks.
Surely not. Not Jack. The idea seems preposterous. Every morning when he’d come home exhausted I imagined he’d had a heavy night drinking, or when he came home grinning from ear to ear I expected he’d scored lucky with some woman.
While I’m upset by the secrets he withheld, there’s something else I find equally disturbing.
Lost his sanity in the madness …
“How …?”
Richard lifts a brow. “How did he die?”
I nod – even if I’m not fully convinced I want to know the story.
Richard sits back in his chair, rubbing his hand against his chin. “How’s the scar healing?”
Taken aback by the change of subject, I refuse to let the shock deter me. I hold up my chin. “Fine.”
If he thought I was going to call for mercy, he’s wrong. The scar is a branding, but it’s also a trademark of everything I’m yet to achieve.
He smirks. “It seems we got off on the wrong foot before. I’m happy that you’re taking your role in the society seriously. But we don’t allow entry to just anybody. There’s an initiation you must pass first.”
Initiation?
No one mentioned anything about an initiation.
“Like a test?”
“If that’s what you want to call it. It’s tailored to each individual. They – or you, in this instance – must go through a series of tasks to see whether you’re a good fit for the team. Get St. James to show you the ropes. Even he won’t know what you’ll be expected to face, but he can prepare you with some knowledge from years of witnessing initiations. And even if I was fond of your brother …” He leans forwards on his elbows. “I will not be taking it easy on you. You have big shoes to fill, Miss Thomas. And I must warn you, there is a codex of rules that one must abide by with the utmost importance.”
“Anything,” I say, nodding eagerly.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
It doesn’t matter , I think. I want in.
“Your eagerness is admirable, so it shouldn’t be an issue for you that I don’t allow fraternisation within the Circle.”
While my smile merely falters at the edges, my stomach completely plummets. I imagine the feeling is something akin to jumping out of a plane with no parachute. I’m struck speechless, any meaningful response stuck on my tongue.
“That won’t be a problem, now, will it?”
Fuck.
My mind instantly gravitates to Harry. Harry with the piercing eyes and dark hair. Harry who sealed my fate and my ache for danger the moment I found him in my brother’s room. Ever since laying eyes on him, I’ve been destined to chase a villain.
But perhaps the villain was me.
Forcing a swallow, I barely recognise my voice. “Not at all.”
“Very well.” Richard grins, standing to leave. He opens the door to his office, turning to me as he adds, “And if I find out you’ve gone behind my back again, Miss Thomas – whether it’s spilling secrets or fraternising with people like St. James – then I promise you that you will pay.”
After Richard leaves the room I sit in the chair for hours turning the decision I made over and over in my head. My hair is practically a bird’s nest from running my hands through it so many times.
What am I going to tell Harry? is the main thought running through my mind. But he knows the rules – this will be just another secret he’s withheld. We were never fully exclusive anyway. I was in a relationship just a month ago. Harry and I were two people letting off a bit of steam.
Lie.
When I finally get the courage to leave the room, I realise Andy must not have exposed my presence, otherwise Harry would’ve come to find me. The thought instantly turns to ash, however, when I exit the mansion and spot a figure waiting at the bottom of the marble stairs.
There he stands, legs slightly parted, hands pushed deep in his trouser pockets as he stares straight at me – right into my soul. His mask conceals harsh lines, but his eyes are piercing and full of rage. He charges up the steps, temper flaring. Even on the step below mine, his height still towers above me by several inches.
“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”
“Let me guess … Andy told you I was here.”
Coward.
Harry’s eyes cling to mine. “What did you expect?”
“I’m not your dog to boss around. This is my life,” I say faintly, drawing closer to him. “I want to experience it with you. Just let me.”
He rises onto my step, and I stumble back, forced to accommodate him. Harry moves closer to me until there’s no room left at all .
“Whatever this is between us, it can’t go on any longer. He told you that, right?” he asks, his voice cold and as clear as water.
I crane my neck to look up at him. “Yes, I know.”
“Then why did you agree to it?”
The words taste bitter on my tongue as I say, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Harry shakes his head, his jaw clamped tight as he forces his eyes from mine.
Throughout the time I’ve known him, I’ve seen several emotions pass through Harry’s eyes, but this is the first time I’ve witnessed him experience hurt. It lasts a flicker of a second, and I debate whether or not I’ve misunderstood the emotion before he blinks it away.
He drops his head and says, “The initiation alone could kill you.”
I don’t doubt it for a second.
But through it all, I must make sure of one thing …
Don’t lose your sanity in the madness.