Chapter Eight #2
His words wiped the smile off her face like melted butter, and her quick reply was spoken through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t a kilo, or is memory loss a symptom of your birth defects?”
If I remembered correctly, wasn’t it Paris who spoke of the social suicide one undergoes when caught breaking academy rules?
He curled his lips. “I don’t have birth defects, addict.”
Rain began to massage her temples at least a minute ago, and the arguing pair seemed to be getting more vicious with every passing second. “Your dad died at ninety-two… ten years ago.”
I felt my lips curl in disgust on their own at the information, Wolf sharing my sentiment. I wondered how someone so old could still… I didn’t want to think about it.
It seems I was naively misled when I assumed I was the only outlier.
Upon further thought, August seemed to be the only honest one.
Ajax was getting riled up now. “At least my father is cold in his grave, the very one I could visit. Tell me, is your mother dead to you, or are you to her? Things like divorce confuse me?”
His voice was condescending, and so was the sarcastic, confused look he sent her. That seemed to hit a nerve, and perhaps that's why she hadn’t noticed her clenched fist creating what I was sure were marks on my thigh.
The sting was easy to ignore when the show in front of me kept me well occupied and distracted.
The thread holding Rain Atlas Jett together snapped as her voice cut through the noise like a sharp sword, “This is getting inappropriate. The Founder’s Society should not hold such hostility among its members. It’s unbecoming.”
She spoke with authority, perhaps ingraining into the minds of the student body she governed that her word was law, because not a noise was made afterwards. Well, except for mine. “How would you know? Is there something you should be sharing?”
Her gaze jumped to meet mine, but she didn’t dare speak–straightening her posture further, if that were even possible.
“Tell us what you know, Jett.” Wolf’s hard voice came from my side, a shift in the calm tone I was used to.
Despite the space between us, I was sure she tensed, tension radiating off of her in waves. Her interlinked hands tightened further, the edges of her fingers turning white.
But she didn’t get the chance to answer when the sound of a key clicking into place rang throughout the room.
Quiet, yet well heard.
Rain, at the slide of the door, released her hands with barely a glance my way and cleared her throat, as if none of it had happened.
A speedy escape.
And yet, something told me she was plotting her future words carefully as we all waited with bated breaths at who would enter next.
Another student?
I looked around at the seats available and found only one. A single leather, studded armchair sitting next to the fireplace, facing us.
Footsteps approached, and from the darkness emerged a man, a large, unrecognizable man in an unblemished, deep blue three-piece suit.
A memory of a plane ride emerged, but I shook it away, not understanding its relevance.
He paused under the arched entrance and regarded each one of us with an impassive expression.
For a long moment, a moment which allowed me to assess him, no one seemed to breathe.
He reminded me of an unsuspecting serial killer. No one I knew of, but rather an archetype. Those villains you’d never feel an ounce of trepidation towards until it was too late.
Though I wouldn’t go as far as saying the likable villains in novels, the ones that always had a quick tongue with an underside of comedic relief. The ones you feel guilty for hating to see lose when you should be rooting for the hero.
I found myself noting everything wrong with him in hopes of ignoring how perfectly put together he was.
His nose looked as though it’d been previously broken. He was lean and came off as someone who’d prefer winning with their sharp words rather than their sharp right hook. Though, the dark edge in his eyes told me that if it weren’t an option, he wouldn’t mind things getting dirty.
His face was too angular, cheekbones protruding. Everything about him, I decided, looked wrong. His eyes didn’t match his mouth, his mouth didn’t match his nose, and his nose didn’t fit his face at all.
Perhaps I was acting on pure inferiority.
I’ll admit that I lied about the last part. He was impeccably well-proportioned.
From the way I was describing him, one would think I was in love with him, though I feel Paris had already beaten me halfway there.
Everyone else, aside from myself, seemed to know who this man was from the way in which their eyes widened, and Marigold’s mouth, from where I sneaked a glance, was hanging open.
August must have been tapping Ajax incessantly, maybe in shock or in excitement, but Ajax had had enough.
I watched as he grabbed August's pinky and rammed it back until a muffled cry sounded.
Right on cue, a clearing of a throat pulled my attention back towards the man. He watched for a few seconds longer before a gleam shone in his eyes and a wide grin spread across his full lips.
“I see all seven of you made it. Perhaps this year will be promising.”
His voice was low but strong, as though it were travelling in waves throughout the walls. A contributing factor might have been the thick and posh English accent he held.
When he turned to remove his long black coat, I turned to Paris and whispered, “Who is that?”
She opened her mouth to whisper; her eyes remained following the man’s movements as if in a trance. “That’s–”
He answered me, or rather the room, before she could, “My name is Thaddeus Saltford-Windsor. And as per tradition, welcome to the seventeenth class of the Founder’s Society.”
He threw his coat over the back of the chair and turned to face us as he sat down, quite gracefully, might I add, into his respective seat.
At the responding silence, he lifted his hands before tapping them back onto his thighs. “I expected there to be at least a few questions, but this is wonderful. We’ll be finished in…” he checked his watch, “barely ten minutes, if I manage to monologue that quickly.”
Rain, having not moved a muscle, spoke as though for all of us, which was great because it didn’t look like anyone had the air in them to do as much, “Sir, it is an honour to be considered for such a role. We can only promise and attempt to the best of our ability to meet your standard.”
A dreadful feeling was settling in my gut like thick tar. I didn’t want to join a cult. And I wasn’t keen on having anything tie me down.
Considered for such a role.
To the best of our ability.
I didn’t remember signing up for anything of the sort; all of this had been…
I turned to glare at Wolf, but he didn’t seem to notice the heat of my stare; his eyes almost glazed over as he refused to look away from Thaddeus Saltford-Windsor. As if he’d seen a ghost.
Pompous name.
Thaddeus blinked slowly with a nod towards Jett, but he didn’t respond to her words when he spoke.
Instead, he looked at each and every one of us.
“I wouldn’t want anyone wandering into the wrong room and settling into someone else’s place, so let me do a quick attendance check before we begin.
Simply raise your hand when I call out your name. ”
Marigold shifted, accidentally bumping her legs with Paris, who recoiled away before turning to her with a click of her tongue.
“Rain Jett, I’ll already ta–”
“Atlas.”
Thaddeus blinked, but Rain Atlas Jett didn’t shy away from his stare. “I prefer going by my full name.”
He nodded. “Of course. Rain Atlas Jett. Paris Vega?”
The blond raised her hand.
“Marigold Walter?”
The poor girl barely found it in herself to raise her hand. It only made it halfway before dropping back onto her lap, but Thaddeus seemed to accept that as an answer. Or maybe he’d expected it.
“Wolf Kingsley.” That didn’t sound like a question, more like a conclusion on settled dust, and perhaps it was only me and Rain who’d noticed, our heads turning from Wolf to Thaddeus, and back.
Rain noticed our twin movements and did a small double-take before rolling her eyes.
I didn’t spare her a glance.
I was too busy watching Wolf blink, then blink again, before raising his hand in reluctance.
Thaddeus smiled, but only a small one, before he moved along.
He called out to August and Ajax next, both moments uneventful.
August seemed to almost, though impossibly, trip over himself at the call of his name.
Ajax raised his hand in a manner of laziness I’d never seen before.
Like the mere act had exhausted him. Or perhaps it was the aftereffects of Paris’ unsuspecting yet sharp tongue.
For a moment, I considered not being on the attendance list he was rattling off from the top of his head. I wondered if I’d received the invitation by mistake.
I wondered if I belonged here.
“Alexandr Miroslav.”
My hand raised without a second thought. Almost too similar a feeling to eagerness filled me. And I knew then, I should have remained in my dorm tonight.
“Let me be perfectly clear,” Thaddeus began. “And this will be the only time I ask, if you feel as though you do not or will not belong in such a place, now is the only time in which I am offering you the door out.”
His words didn’t sound like an offer, and I was sure, from the gleam in his eyes, we’d be sacked for the knowledge of the Society’s existence alone.
No one moved, not a single muscle twitched. Thaddeus smiled. “Excellent. Then let us begin.”