CHAPTER 9 #2
I frowned, trying to sift through the blur of memory.
The night of our Sphinx initiation felt like something out of a half-remembered dream, so unreal I still wasn’t sure it had actually happened.
I remembered the bag yanked over my head, the rough hands dragging me down a flight of stairs, the air growing colder the deeper we went.
Then the smell of wax and smoke. Candles everywhere, flickering off the stone walls.
Dozens of people stood in front of us, their faces hidden behind those sleek black masks, their voices distorted and rhythmic.
I swallowed hard.
Was this membership dossier some kind of record of everyone who’d ever worn the mask? Every name, every generation, carved into something meant to last forever?
If so, this wasn’t just a file. It was their holy grail.
What the hell was I supposed to do with it? Steal it?
The question burned in my mind, wild and impossible. If there was one thing I’d learned from helping Parker with his trial and hearing Jace’s stories, though, it was that nothing the Sphinx did ever made sense until it was too late to back out.
Fuck. How was I going to steal something from Rutherford? Where would it even be?
I flipped open my laptop, the screen lighting up my dark room with a soft blue glow. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I typed Rutherford College Sphinx into the search bar.
Nothing.
I tried again, this time just Rutherford College secret society. A few hits came up, rumors, conspiracy blogs, an article about some fraternity scandal, but nothing even close to what I was looking for.
That didn’t make sense. We didn’t even have a Sphinx chapter there. So why the hell would my trial be tied to that school?
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand down my face. My mind spun through every name that might have answers, every connection that might make sense…until one stood out.
Jagger.
Jace’s older brother.
The guy who somehow knew everything about everyone and was also impossibly rich. No one was really sure what he did for a living, but the general consensus was something illegal. Probably mafia-adjacent. Definitely sketchy.
I pulled out my phone and shot him a text.
Me: So…you know anything about Rutherford College?
It took a few minutes before the typing bubbles appeared.
Jagger: The fancy one? Why the hell are you asking me about that?
That was a fair question. I’d probably just interrupted him mid-weapons deal. He probably had a gun in one hand and his phone in the other.
Me: I just need some…info.
Jagger: That isn’t vague at all, Matty-kins.
I scowled at that. The Thatcher genes were apparently strong. Jagger was just as obnoxious as his brother…although much scarier. So, I wasn’t going to tell him that.
Jagger: I know their dean’s a prick. His name’s Alfred Harrington. Old money, thinks his shit doesn’t stink.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Everyone in our group knew Jagger was a Sphinx, and whatever power the society had, he’d kept his hooks in it. If anyone would know the truth, it’d be him.
Me: Is he part of the Sphinx, by chance?
The bubbles popped up, then disappeared. Then popped up again.
Jagger: Why would I tell you that?
I stared at the screen, waiting, pulse ticking faster.
Finally, another text came through.
Jagger: Yeah. He is.
Jagger: Any other questions, or can I get back to it?
I briefly wondered what back to it meant. Sometimes Jagger would answer Jace’s calls in the middle of sex when he was bored. But back to it could also mean he was…killing someone.
I’d better not ask. Some things were above my pay grade, and body bags were one of them.
I typed out a hasty thanks, I’m good, and threw my phone down.
Tapping my fingers on my desk for a second, I frowned. If I was going to pull this off, I couldn’t do it alone. It was time to cash in a few of the unlimited favors Jace and Parker owed me.
Not only did Darla now possess exclusive photos of me in my cowboy era, and Emma, Riley’s old roommate, was possibly going to kill me and cover herself in my skin suit because of the dinner date Jace had forced on me…
but Parker’s Sphinx trial had ended with me getting chased through a damn cemetery at midnight after we dug up some dead lady’s grave for a ring.
A ring. I could still hear the shovel hitting the coffin as I felt my soul leave my body.
Ghosts were basically my number one fear, and I’d risked eternal haunting for that idiot.
A full-body shiver ran through me just thinking about it. Yeah. Those two literally owed me everything.
I picked up my phone and texted Jace first. And then texted him again. And again, each new text containing escalating levels of menace.
Me: Romeo. Drop everything now and get home.
Me: I’m serious. I don’t care if Riley’s mid-forkful of pasta. This is life-and-death.
Me: Secret-society type of death just in case you were wondering.
Me: Stop making out and check your damn phone.
Me: If you don’t, I’m giving Darla your phone number. Who knows what she will do with it.
Me: Probably hack into it somehow and see all the dick pics on there, I’m sure.
Me: Pick. Up. I WILL DO IT, JACE THATCHER.
A few seconds later, the bubbles appeared, then vanished, then came back.
Jace: I’m on a date, you psychopath.
Jace: This seems very drama llama of you, and not in a good way.
Jace: Also, how dare you threaten me with nudes. Do you want her to stalk me forever? What else would she do after seeing lil Jace?
Me: Weren’t you just complaining about not having stalkers? On second thought, I would actually be doing yet another favor for you, so maybe I need to think of something else.
Jace: Well.
A minute passed.
Me: JACE THATCHER, THIS IS IMPORTANT.
Jace: Oh, sorry. Got distracted for a second. Riley-girl was eating spaghetti.
I didn’t know what that meant. Also, I didn’t want to know what that meant.
Jace: I’ve had some time to reflect.
Me: So kind of you to do that in my time of my need.
Jace: I’ve decided I’m not sure I actually want stalkers. As you know, or as I need to remind you…I prefer to do the stalking.
Jace: Plus, I remembered that whole thing with the three-nippled woman with the tattoo of my face who was sending me pics for a while. So, I’m not sure it’s as glamorous as you make it out to be. That was…a lot.
I gaped at the phone, wondering when I had ever given the impression of glamour at any point in my life. But he had a point…I’d had to delete the pics of the three-nippled woman from his phone because he’d been too traumatized to do it…and I’d also been traumatized in the process.
His texts also made me remember something else….I’d been so busy thinking about my mystery girl that I hadn’t even looked at the parking lot once during practice to see if my stalker had returned.
Crazy.
I felt weirdly guilty about that, but also, my mystery girl obviously had magical powers of distraction, and I couldn’t be blamed.
My mystery girl…What was I even thinking?
I shook my head. Focus, Matty. Sphinx first. Girl second.
I could do this.
Me: I have two words. Iced milk.
Me: Oh, and one more. Femur.
Me: You owe me, Jace Thatcher.
It took him a minute to answer, and I almost threw my phone across the room while I waited.
Jace: Calm down, motherclucker. I just paid the bill, and we’re on our way. Of course I’m going to help you with your Sphinx thingy. I’m your bestilicious friend number one.
I got a little calmer after his text, although there was a lot to unpack in there, namely his use of the term motherclucker in the same sentence as bestilicious.
I’m glad he was Riley’s problem now.
Meet you at Parker’s house, I typed out, standing up from my desk to find some dark clothing. That was what you were supposed to wear for a heist, right?
Jace: I’ll think of some code names on the drive.
I shook my head and got dressed, and then it was time for my next task.
Dragging Parker Davis from Casey’s side.