18. Bishop
Chapter 18
Bishop
P rescott stands inside the black-and-white striped tent, arguing with someone whose hair is red enough to guide lost ships back to land.
I catch a snippet of her saying something about a key being useless and defective before she disappears behind a cloud of white smoke. Her curses and coughing echo through the space as she exits in a hasty rush moments later.
“Stupid smoke, stupid club,” she grumbles before stomping back in the direction of campus.
I step inside, making myself welcome in the now-empty space. The acrid scent of smoke lingers, stinging my nostrils as I venture farther into the tent. Dim lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows on the striped walls.
“Jeez! I wouldn’t be surprised if we passed the boundary line with how far out this place is,” I hear Sly grumble as he and the rest of the Legacies make their way inside.
“You know the entire campus is fenced off like a goddamn compound.” Sutton reminds her brother.
Sly retorts, “I know. It’s called sarcasm, dear sister. My mistake, I forgot you don’t speak fluent irony.”
“No, yours just needs subtitles because I sure as hell can’t make sense of what you just spit out,” she quips back just as quickly.
“Well maybe if you were wittier, you could have pulled off some lines with believable finesse the other night,” Sly retorts, faking a sniffle and mimicking Sutton’s awkward performance from Prescott’s dorm with exaggerated flair.
It's a spot-on impression that only seems to anger his sibling more.
Sutton scowls. “Please, I didn't see you coming up with any brilliant ideas when Maxwell took her side, Mr. ‘I Could’ve Done Better.’”
“I could've done it better in my sleep, with one eye closed and still had time to be more convincing than you.”
“Really?” Sutton challenges, “How about I put you in a coma first and then we’ll see how well you can do after taking a dirt nap from the other side of my fist?”
I choose to distance myself from their tired bickering, focusing instead on the strange objects scattered around the tent. Antique mirrors line one wall, their surfaces clouded and warped. In the far corner, a circular table covered in a silky cloth holds useless trinkets and forgotten knick-knacks, just like the other objects in that part of the room. Everywhere I look, there are abandoned things strewn about, neglected by their owner.
“Wow, and you wonder why our parents favor me over you?”
Sutton lets out an angry gasp. “They do not! Take that back.”
“It’s true. Ask anyone.”
“It is not true—”
“Will you two give it a rest already? I had to listen to you argue the entire way over. My ears are tired,” Camden complains, before coming to a halt beside me. “So why did you feel the need to drag us out here, Bishop?” he asks, being direct.
One of the traits I appreciated about Cam was his ability to cut through the clutter and get straight to the point. There was no dancing around the issue with him, no sugar-coating or beating around the bush. He was blunt and efficient in his communication, never wasting words or time. It was a quality that I found both irritating and appreciated in equal measure.
“Yes,” Sutton agrees, her mouth twisting as she takes in the surroundings. “I have better things I could be doing than gallivanting in the woods and nearly losing a perfectly good set of shoes with how far you dragged us out here.”
“What? Like one of your little art projects?” Sly asks, sighing dramatically.
“Yes, exactly,” she hisses.
“You do one summer internship at an art museum and suddenly it’s all you can eat, sleep, and breathe about,” her brother fires back, his disapproval clear. The same criticism he had every other time it came up in conversation. Which was a lot.
And although Sly was correct in saying that Sutton had changed after her summer internship at the museum, it didn’t mean it was for the worse. And depending on how the future played out in the next few weeks or so, with Prescott it could finally prove useful. The whole dress situation was a complete disappointment in comparison. One I was still refusing to process.
I clear my throat, silencing the bickering siblings and drawing everyone’s attention. “I brought you here because I wanted to give you an update on what I found.”
“Come on, that’s not the real reason.” Sly says, unconvinced.
Cam swats a dismissive arm in Sly’s direction to quiet him. I’m not at all surprised that he’s the first to show interest, raising an eyebrow and encouraging me on. He wants her gone as much as I do. It’s the twins that were starting to show small, irritating cracks when it came to Prescott. Sympathy, a pointless emotion.
“You know that letter I found in Prescott’s mailbox? Well, I was able to hunt down the information inside it.”
“And?” Sly asks, his tone almost disinterested. For some reason, this unsettles me. We’re supposed to be in this together.
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the unease Sly’s tone has stirred within me. “And it’s good. Really good…well, for us anyway.”
I pause for dramatic effect, because I like being an ass and for absolutely no other reason. Cam’s eyes are locked on mine, intense and unwavering. Sutton’s brow is furrowed, a mix of curiosity and concern etched across her features. Sly, however, remains frustratingly impassive.
“I did some digging and was able to figure out Prescott’s mother’s name. Turns out she hasn’t had the same address as the rest of her family for the last few years.”
“Interesting. Go on,” Cam muses, fully invested.
I lick my lips, struggling to contain my excitement. “The address for her current residence is a behavioral health hospital.”
“So basically, Alex’s mom resides at a nuthouse?” Sly asks confused.
“They call it a place for wellness and revival,” I repeat the slogan I found from an old brochure. “But yeah, basically,” I confirm to everyone.
Turns out Prescott’s mom is nuttier than a fruitcake. Or at least that’s what her file reflected once I got ahold of her medical records.
Sutton’s eyes widen, a mixture of shock and intrigue flickering across her face. “Wait, so you’re saying Alex’s mom is in some kind of mental institution?”
I nod, feeling a surge of satisfaction at their reactions. “Exactly. And not just any institution. This place specializes in severe cases—we’re talking paranoid delusions, violent outbursts, the works.”
Cam leans in, his voice dropping. “How long has she been there?”
“From what I could gather, about three years now,” I reply, savoring each word. “Right around the time Prescott would’ve graduated high school.”
Sly, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks up. “And how exactly does this help us get rid of her?”
I turn to him, a slow, menacing grin spreading across my face. “Think about it. Mental illness can be hereditary,” I say, watching as understanding dawns on their faces. “If we can prove Prescott’s got the same issues as her mom, it’s game over for her at Altair.”
Cam’s eyes light up with a predatory gleam. “The school would have no choice but to expel her. They can’t risk having a potentially unstable student on campus. Could you imagine the scandal that would ensue?”
“Exactly,” I nod, feeling a rush of excitement. “And I’ve got more. According to the records, Prescott’s mom had her first major episode the summer between high school and her starting college. Imagine the trauma that must have caused.”
Sutton shifts uncomfortably. “This feels…wrong somehow. Using someone’s family history against them like this.”
I turn to her, my voice hardening. “Remember what’s at stake here. Prescott’s a threat to everything our families stand for.”
“I agree with Sutton,” Sly says. “This seems to be pushing it.”
A slight frown tugs at my lips at Sly and Sutton, feeling a flicker of annoyance in my chest. “Pushing it? Are you kidding me? Prescott’s the one who’s been pushing us since day one. She doesn’t belong here, and you know it.”
Cam nods in agreement. “Bishop’s right. We can’t afford to be soft now. Not when we’re so close.”
Sly shifts uncomfortably under my gaze. “I just…I didn’t think we’d have to go this far.”
I take a deep breath, trying to reign in my frustration. The guy has been acting weird since the night he got back from taking her to the cliffs. I suggested it, hoping that if the story of our joint families’ history didn’t scare her, maybe seeing the drop below the water would.
“We just have to find the right button and push it,” I state confidently.
“Yeah, and how many times has that actually worked for us so far?”
“Watch it,” I snap at Sly.
Cam sighs deeply. “Look, maybe we need to approach this from a different angle. Sly, if you're so frustrated with our current methods, why don't you try something else?”
“I'm not frustrated,” he interjects sharply. “I'm just pointing out the reality that you all seem to be ignoring.”
“Fine,” Cam concedes with a pointed glare in our friend’s direction. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, why don't you try to seduce her? Listen to my advice for once, and get inside her head, fuck her, if that’s what it takes. I don’t really care. We just need to find a way for Alex to leave.”
I swallow hard, trying to contain the growl that threatens to escape my throat at the mention of someone having sex with Prescott. What was happening to me? This is why we needed her gone; she was making me react in ways I normally wouldn't even bat an eye at.
Sly hesitates, clearly weighing Cam’s words, and the delay only makes my anger simmer more. When he finally speaks, it’s not what I expected.
“You know she accused us of being corrupt… Said our blood was poisoned for wanting to partake in the games,” he explains further.
“So?” Cam asks, genuinely not understanding the problem.
“So maybe she’s right.” He has the audacity to seem sheepish over it. “It’s just been on my mind a lot. I mean what she said, nothing else,” he clarifies.
As opposed to another reason Prescott would be on your mind for?
“You think she’s right?” I spit, unclenching my jaw. “Our families have upheld these traditions for generations. It’s not corruption, it’s legacy. Honor.”
Sutton steps forward, her eyes blazing in defense of her twin. “Bishop, maybe we should consider—”
“Consider what?” I cut her off sharply. “Throwing away everything we’ve worked for because some traitor can’t handle the heat? No way.”
Cam steps between us, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Let’s all take a breath here. We’re on the same side, remember?”
I force myself to inhale deeply, trying to calm the rage bubbling inside me. Cam’s right, of course. We can’t afford to fracture now.
Sly runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his posture. “I get that, I do. But using her mother’s illness against her…it just feels like we’re crossing some sort of line.”
“Sometimes lines need to be crossed,” I argue, my voice serious. Intense.
Sutton bites her lip, conflicted. “What makes you so sure we're not mistaken about her?”
I shoot Sutton a withering glare. “We’re not wrong. She’s the one who doesn’t understand. Our traditions, the games—they’re what make us who we are. They’re what keep us strong.”
Cam nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Bishop’s right. We can’t start doubting ourselves now. The games have always been about pushing limits, testing our resolve. If we back down now, what does that say about us?”
Sly opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “No. I don’t want to hear it. Whatever Prescott said to you at the cliffs, whatever doubts she’s planted in your head—you need to shake them off. Now.”
Cam nods slowly, his expression grim. “The games are sacred. They’re what bind us together, what make us who we are.”
“Exactly,” I say, feeling a surge of gratitude toward him. At least someone here still has their head on straight. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about preserving our way of life, our traditions. If we let her tear that down, what’s left?”
Sly looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue further. Good. The last thing we need right now is dissent in the ranks.
Sutton sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping. “Fine.”
I extend my closed fist between us, and the rest of our group follows suit. A sense of relief washes over me. “So we’re all on the same page?”
Cam responds with a nod, while Sutton and Sly waver only for a moment before also nodding. I concur silently, and we each raise our thumbs and twist our wrists to the left, forming a square with our connected fingers.
“It’s decided then.” I confirm.
A thick silence blankets the room as we break apart, our promise hanging between us like an invisible thread. I can see the doubt lingering in Sly’s eyes, the hesitation in Sutton’s posture. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve agreed, and that’s what counts.
“So what now?” Cam asks, cutting through the quiet.
I look around the hideous black and white circus tent once again, my lip curling in disgust. “Well, this is the club Prescott decided to enroll herself in, so I say first chance we get we burn it to the ground.”