Chapter Fifty-Four The green-eyed monster #2
“You were the reason he loved art, and history, and literature, but never tried to pursue them. He was afraid of being in your shadow or taking away something you loved. You were the reason he was smarter than anyone else in his school from an early age. But you, Jojo, you always had to put yourself second. Westfield was the only thing you had to hope for, your last connection with your father. And when you both got older, and people started comparing you, that’s when things changed, when everything you did out of love for him became poisoned with resentment.
You were there in the meetings with the Board and the conservatorship, and you were old enough to understand. ”
He’s getting older now. In a few years, he won’t be a problem once the curse manifests. But what about the younger one? He’s rebellious. Listens to no one. Does as he pleases. We’ll have trouble with him. He is the one we should be worried about.
Over and over, Jojo had been in elite rooms with the Saint James family and the Board, where whispered conversations of his nothingness were all he could hear. Eventually, the thoughts rooted in his own heart, in his own mind, despite how hard he tried to fight it.
Yet at the car, on that fateful night of the stabbing, still, Jojo demanded that Pete and Jay take him to his brother.
“Everything that’s yours, your brother covets,” Pete had said, trying to reason with him. “Help us. You’ll be free too when he dies.”
“I saw more than enough with the locator incantation,” Jojo said, pushing past them. He’d find Kasem himself, even if it meant exploring every alleyway and corner of Center City Mall.
But in the alleyway, with his back to them, Jojo hadn’t seen Pete and Jay’s return. Together, they’d slammed Jojo against the wall. Jojo tried to fight them off, but his head cracked against the concrete wall, so hard that he was left winded, his head bloodstained.
When Jojo woke, there was a figure standing over him, watching him in silence. He wore leather gloves that were splattered with blood. When he took them off, a series of rings gleamed on his finger. One of them was gold and engraved.
The man wiped the bloodied knife along his folded gloves. Jojo’s vision cleared. Kneeling above him, his lips curved in a sneer, was President Saint James.
When the president spoke, his mouth moved like a rag doll’s, like his voice wasn’t his own, like a ventriloquist was pulling the strings.
“I’ll need you to clean up for me, Ojore. You can do that this time. Correctly. The Board won’t be pleased if you’re caught, like his two friends nearly were.”
“What are you talking about?” Jojo said. “Uncle—”
The president spat at Jojo’s feet.
“Don’t you dare call me that, boy.”
The president leaned over Jojo, using the tip of the blade to pull Jojo’s shirt up.
“This was the price of the ritual of disinheritance, this scar that binds you to me. Made by this blade, my favorite from the war. Duncan believed he’d defeated me by killing me in that skirmish.
But my rage kept me tethered to this blade.
Fueled by vengeance, I took his body and trapped a part of his soul, binding it with mine.
And when I had no use of him anymore, I slit his throat. ”
The skin of Jojo’s scar glowed a bright silver and gold.
Jojo screamed, his body thrashing against the president’s hold over him.
“Your brother won’t have much time if you plan to say your goodbyes.
He’s bleeding out fast. You can feel him dying, can’t you?
” he said. “If you finish him now, then you’ll be free of your bind.
He’ll be dead and you’ll be able to return to Westfield.
Can’t you at least admire how well I always prepare?
I got you that job, didn’t I? The Board prefers that a disinherited heir at least remains as a symbol of the school.
You’ll be perfect for it, Ojore. See how we all benefit in this? ”
He turned the blade, holding it out for Jojo to take. But disappointment flickered in the president’s expression when Jojo didn’t move.
“Very well.” He sighed. “We’ll do this the hard way.”
He tossed the switchblade at Jojo’s feet, leaving without the discarded weapon.
For a long time, Jojo stayed there, his hands trembling, his breath caught in his throat.
But then his phone rang.
It was Angelica.
“Have you heard from Kasem? Honey doesn’t know where he is. She was practically in tears last I heard from her.” Angelica’s voice was taut with worry as she explained how Honey and she believed that something had happened to Kasem.
Around the corner, footsteps approached and Liam emerged, observing Jojo’s next move on behalf of the president.
“I told you,” Liam whispered, as if he too was tethered by an invisible force. “I work for them.”
Jojo cut Angelica off. When he spoke, his voice was cold, his words directed to Liam. It was as if, despite himself, he was bowing to the president’s will. “How should I know where he is? Kasem does what he wants. I’m not my brother’s keeper.”
I pulled away from Jojo, returning to the present. His eyes were glassy, guilt-ridden.
“You covered it up,” I whispered. “Kasem’s attack. Who the killer was. We thought it was Alaster, but we were wrong. It was the wraith of General Winhall. He’s been controlling the president. This whole time he was the one behind it and you just covered it up.”
Jojo gasped. Again, his choking fit ensued, but relief flooded over him. Now that I had unlocked a part of the secret he’d been bound to keep, the truth spilled from his lips.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. He watches all and is more powerful than Sigma or Theta or the ?nhye or any of us.” Suddenly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and foam teemed from his mouth.
I screamed, wrapping my arms around him, calling his name over and over again, as if that could wake him from his torment.
When Kasem had tried to speak of Sigma’s rituals at the estate, something had stopped him too. An incantation. One of loyalty and secrets. Jojo was under the control of one now. But this was one of rancor and malice, something vile and sinister.
“It’s okay,” I pleaded. “You can stop. Don’t try to say it.”
Blood trickled from Jojo’s mouth. He coughed, gasping for breath, his eyes fluttering as slowly he returned to himself.
Barely managing to speak, Jojo explained in a whisper. “I’m bound to Winhall, to the curse, because of the ritual of disinheritance. He has a piece of my soul.”
I reached for him, pulling him close to me, holding him, as if in some way the beads of protection could shroud him too.
This was why he’d been so distant. It was why he’d stayed away, even as Kasem and I had researched Westfield and the curse. For generations, his lineage had fought the curse and always found a way to withstand it. But it didn’t have to end like this. It didn’t have to end with them.
“It’s only two hours until midnight,” I said. “If we perform the binding ritual, Kasem will live and the curse will be broken.”
He made to answer, but suddenly, there were screams in the distance, voices shrieking in bloody terror. Footsteps raced down the hall, and one of the waiters rushed to where we were.
“The greenhouse,” he said, gasping. “Someone poisoned the drinks.”