Chapter Ten
Alexandr Miroslav
The doors to the grand theatre of Castle Hill echoed shut behind me as I slipped into the closest seat; hidden far in the back and obscured from anyone’s wandering eyes within the dark room.
The only light was that of the stage shining down upon the students hard at work. I looked down towards them from the balcony, and a sense of superiority fell over me, a feeling I shook off and made myself careful not to get lost in.
Focusing on the few familiar faces I could make out from the distance, I found Ayana Savané and Cole Coldwell, with his permanently neutral features, holding what could only be scripts in their hands.
I seemed to have walked in just in time for rehearsal.
I hadn’t planned on joining the Queens Club, in fact, I wasn’t particularly interested in anything they might be engaged in.
It was an art form that never piqued my interest, but the scenes before me did.
“Why can’t we just… I don’t know, do Romeo and Juliet or something,” A boy’s voice rang clear throughout the theatre. He stood tall, his plain brown hair tied back in a perfect man-bun, the sides of his head shaved.
Callum, standing in the middle of the calm, as he could only be the storm, watched him for a moment before letting out a breathy laugh and looking around at the crowd loitering on the stage.
I was sure they had been busy practicing their own lines or working on backstage chores, but all movement stopped when Callum began to speak.
He spread his arms wide and turned in a circle to look at everyone around him. “Yeah… why don’t we just…” He shook his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug before letting his arms fall and slap against his thighs. “Do Romeo and Juliet.”
He said it as though it were the most obvious thing, with furrowed brows and a smile, before he turned to face the boy again. His lips curled in disgust. “Are you an animal?”
“W-what?”
Callum didn’t spare his words any attention. “Because I don’t even know what to classify you as anymore. I thought your mediocre acting was perhaps a setback in your already lacking human talents. So, what is it? Are you an animal or are you just a failure?”
His words manipulated the boy into believing that it is better to admit that you are an animal than to be a failure.
But it didn’t matter, because there was no returning from provoking Callum’s supposed love for theatre.
Whether he was either or, Callum would be placated by neither.
“I don’t believe you deserve to act on my stage,” Callum was speaking to him, but it was as though it were directed at everyone on that stage.
“Theatre is the most raw and truest form of art. It is entirely human. Human emotion, human thought, human intellect, human creativity. It is… It is the ability to move the heart of others and work their minds. You lack that simple ability, and it is something you clearly will never have. So, I suggest you get off my stage and piss off back to wherever you crawled out of.”
The boy, however, didn’t have time to protest, let alone turn and walk away, because Callum had already crowded his space and pushed him right off the edge.
The stage was high enough for the boy's fall to do some damage and I could only stand abruptly, startled, when he wailed in pure agony, watching the scene with my mouth slightly agape.
I hadn’t known why I pushed up from my chair. It wasn’t as if I was going to voice any protest, but my body moved of its own accord. Wanting to release any kind of movement towards the injustice.
Thankfully, Callum didn’t seem to notice me. He only watched the boy with indifference before turning to a girl with a clipboard. “Clean him off the floors. We have a show in less than four months, and we don’t need guests catching whiffs of animal blood from the wood.”
He then turned to Cole Coldwell. “Congratulations, you’ve graduated from understudy to centre-stage. Ayana will get you a fresh script.”
He walked down the stairs in quick steps as two stage members quickly hauled the poor boy up, heads bowed and most likely whispering to him about his mistake.
My eyes didn’t follow him, because my guest of honor had arrived and I was too eager to see how the next few minutes would play out to continue watching.
The click of Rain Atlas Jett’s heels sounded as she moved closer until we were standing side by side, her posture, impeccable, and her hair pin-straight down her back.
The epitome of perfection and grace. And a quick reminder of why I had come here.
She didn’t entertain me with pleasantries. “You have something for me?”
I didn’t remove my eyes from Callum Queen, sitting in the front row with his head bowed. “The cracks of Castle Hill run deep, it seems.”
She didn’t speak, and for a moment, I thought she was waiting for me to get to the point. “Castle Hill does not have cracks. It was never an institution painted as a fairytale.”
She didn’t allow me any moment to consider her words before shifting to face me. “You have something for me.”
She wasn’t asking anymore.
I mirrored her movement. “I do.”
She was silent for a beat before she asked, “Will it cost me?”
I shrugged, looking around and taking note that she hadn’t allowed her sidekick to accompany her this time. Or perhaps the time didn’t allow for it. “That depends on what you have planned.”
A beat, maybe two, passed before a small smile cracked through her cold facade. “You’re learning.”
“I wouldn’t say learning is the right word. But alas, news through the grapevine says Marigold is a thorn in your side.”
Rain Atlas Jett’s hands against the bannister overlooking the lower level of the theatre tightened, but her features remained smoothed out as she pushed her hair out of her face. “I doubt that’s news to anyone.”
I tilted my head, blowing out a breath with a contemplative look. “What also isn’t news, however, is that you’re in need of leverage.”
She raised a brow, refusing to give an inch; the sound of working students calling out their lines and replaying scenes sounded down below.
Again, I mirrored her.
She must have concluded that the information I insinuated in having was far too important to pass up. “And what, pray tell, is this so-called leverage?”
A Cheshire grin stretched across my lips almost subconsciously. “Well, I believe showing is a far better option than telling, don’t you think?”
I turned away, walking back up the row to the exit when she spoke, “Why did you ask to meet here?”
I tilted my head back, looking over my shoulder. “I have… an appreciation for theatre.”
Only a half hour later did we find ourselves facing the dorm 6-4. The white wood almost taunted us, until I slipped out the worn bobby pin I’d kept in my trouser pockets for situations such as this one.
Perhaps one day I’d find myself with enough time to break into Wolf’s dorm.
Rain stood unimpressed when, only a few moments and a familiar click later, I held the door open for her to enter. “Ladies first.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
I raised a disconcerted brow at her sharp tone as she unfolded her crossed arms and slid inside, me along with her.
The door closed behind us, and for a second, before I reached for the light switch to the side, we were left in complete darkness.
Turning on the lights was like entering a different world. The red lights didn’t do much, dark as they were, but they illuminated enough.
It didn’t look like a dorm anymore. It looked like a laboratory with a bed for the evil scientist to rest on, in the event of extreme fatigue.
Jars lined every wall, and developed photos hung from the ceiling.
A small shrine, or rather a summoning circle, was situated in the corner, where a liquid looking rather similar to blood was used to draw unidentifiable signs.
Rain Atlas Jett seemed to be in a trance, turning in a full circle to take in the room around her.
It might have been the only time I’d seen Rain Atlas Jett in disbelief.
Well, there were many occurrences that followed, but this moment in time seemed to be the first domino.
“It’s almost fascinating, isn’t it?” I poked at a jar on the shelf next to me, watching the liquid inside wave ever so slightly, though the unknown object inside remained still. “Nobody could have suspected that the sweet and reserved Marigold Walter could muster up such dark thoughts.”
Rain hummed but otherwise remained silent. She lifted a pen from the desk against the far wall, with two picky fingers, and poked at the shape laid open on the surface. “What–… Oh my god.”
Her words came out breathless, and only upon further inspection, squinting my eyes under the dark light, did I figure out what it was.
Marigold Walter liked to mutilate rats.
It wasn’t a sight that shocked me, growing up the way I did, but the image Marigold portrayed was too much of a contrast to swallow the thick truth I was witnessing.
I hadn’t inspected the room further than the doorway, finding the red light and shrine to be enough, and decided to cash in what I could from Rain.
But this was something else entirely.
I wondered if she would bring in rat blood for the next task provided by the Founder’s Society.
I glanced around the room, at the jars filled with what I now knew were animal parts, or animal wholes.
Now, I was glad that the lighting concealed most of what we could see. I wasn’t sure I could fathom a room full of dead creatures.
Funnily enough, it made me queasy, imagining such a sweet girl with blood splatters across her cheek, undeterred by the squealing of the fearful animals.
“How does it not smell?” I wondered quietly.
Rain dropped the pen with a clatter. “It’s 6-4.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
Unfortunately for me, despite the dark lighting, I was still privy to Rain’s eye roll. “It’s on the highest floor, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the smell rising. And it’s 6, so it’s a corner room.” She lifted two fingers. “Two windows.”