Chapter 5
Quill
“Destroy. Obey. Kill.”
I repeat the words endlessly, standing in formation between Liam and Dane.
“Blood brothers.”
My mouth is forming the words, but my mind is far away, on a red-headed girl with bug-eye glasses. On her cute little ass, the outline of which I can always guess at, no matter what frumpy outfit she’s wearing. On her non-existent breasts, but I don’t mind that. I’ve never been a breast guy anyway.
On her eyes. That’s new. I’ve never thought of her eyes before. I can barely see them behind the thick, permanently foggy, scratched lenses of her glasses. Her eyes are green, I think. But I’m not sure. Sometimes they look a bit blue.
I’d like to know for sure. I wish I could take off those glasses and see her eyes, and then, maybe…
No!
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Lately, I can’t trick myself into thinking my obsession stems from pure hatred anymore. Since we started senior year, my urge to kill her has been tempered by an urge to do… I don’t know what, exactly.
I don’t just get aroused anymore at the way she cries after I’ve bullied her. I get… sad. Like I want to comfort her.
But that’s crazy. I hate her. I despise her.
“Destroy. Obey. Kill.”
I force my thoughts away from my possibly green-eyed obsession, just in time as Tragen, the leader of the Devil Soldiers, begins to walk down the ranks, eyeing each of us in turn.
Then he calls the names of four soldiers, including me. Liam and Dane stay back in the general formation.
I march forward with the other guys, only one of whom is from my high school. The other two must attend West Astley High, on the other side of town.
The guy from my high school—Finn Austen—gives me a curt nod, which I don’t bother returning. I don’t like him. I don’t like anyone, but he bothers me more than most people, maybe because people have a tendency to draw parallels between us.
He’s a brooding, sullen type of guy, who spends most of his time smoking weed in the boys’ bathroom.
I’ve heard it said that he’s the drug dealer of Astley High, and he certainly looks the part, with the shaggy, jet black hair that falls around his face, his left jeans pocket that bulges with whatever illicit substance he’s currently distributing, and the bomber jacket he never takes off.
He’s got a stick and poke tattoo on the side of his face, small but present.
It’s an open secret that he smokes and deals, but as with me, no one would think of stopping him, let alone go near him.
Astley is full of rich, snobby cowards with a mob-like mentality.
When someone comes along who doesn’t conform, everyone waits on everyone else to react.
Sometimes there’s a general movement to put down the guilty party.
Other times, the mob hangs back, watching passively.
I wonder how Finn Austen got into the training program for the Devil secret society.
Nearly everyone else strictly conforms to the soldier aesthetic, not too smart, not too stupid, close-cropped hair, tailored clothes.
I know Tragen likes me, and that’s why he allows my presence.
But I’ve never seen him so much as spare a kind glance for Finn.
Still, he’s been chosen by Tragen for this new thing…
whatever it is. Something weird, like nerves, tugs at my stomach as we enter a small adjoining room, then follow Tragen down a series of corridors.
I remember these greyish-white, sickly walls that have a hospital feel to them.
But the strange thing, the thing that’s got my heart beating painfully, is that I don’t remember much else.
I should probably wonder why that is. But I guess the soldier training has had its effect on me. Obey, don’t question. Act, don’t ask.
Maybe that’s just my personality, though. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a real question in my life.
I follow the others passively down the long hallway, which grows narrower as we reach the end of it, as if the walls are closing in on us.
The only physical sign of my growing anxiety are my sweating palms, which I keep close to my sides.
Finn looks entirely unbothered, and I wonder if it’s a facade for him, like it is for me.
The other two are easier to read. They both look like they’re a second away from shitting their pants.
At last Tragen stops outside a small, unassuming door.
“Attention, soldiers!” he barks.
We all stop and stand stiffly, including me.
Then, abruptly, he leaves, shuffling back down the corridor as we wait in front of the door.
From the side of my eye, I notice his expression as he walks away.
For the first time, I seem to read something like…
guilt in the features of his face, before he passes me and the dying sound of his footsteps tells me he’s gone.
Moments later, the door opens onto someone I suddenly recognize.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen the thick-set, double-chinned man in a white overcoat, but I know without a doubt his name is Al Campbell.
He gives us a jovial grin, though his beady eyes glint menacingly, as he opens the door and gestures for us to walk in.
We’re in a very large room, with lots of test tubes, wires, and the thick stench of chemicals. On one side is a small office, entirely encased in glass. On the other, a bunch of wires connect to what can only be described as… some sort of bondage apparatus.
An X-shaped machine, with cuffs on the arms and legs, and a metal half circle on the top that looks like it’s made for someone’s head.
It’s like I’ve walked straight onto a porn set or a crazy sci-fi movie. Or both.
And the strangest part is it feels like I’ve been here before.
I don’t remember a thing, but when Al Campbell tells us to each take a chair and sit down, I’m sure he’s said it before.
In fact, this is exactly like the first and only time I drank.
I’d downed an entire bottle of vodka, and I was grey-out drunk.
Not remembering a thing until something reminded me of a specific moment, and then, it would come flooding back.
My fragmented memory pieced itself together over time, and right now, it feels like the same thing is happening.
It’s very unsettling, and I can tell it is for one of the West Astley High idiots too.
The other guy just looks confused, like he’s drawing a complete blank.
Whereas Finn Austen is impossible to read.
Until the sound of two girls’ voices has his head snapping up. His shock must be a mirror to my own.
Because Cass Henley has just walked in. Accompanied by Piper Day.
Cass looks bored as her eyes take us in. She barely glances at Finn, and his black eyes grow, somehow, blacker at that. He looks as furious as I feel when my gaze stops on Piper.
What the hell is she doing here?
She seems just as confused as me when our eyes meet, but instead of the fury that seethes in my veins, she looks… scared.
Good.
But then she quickly diverts her gaze. Even though my soldier brain is trained to do exactly what Al Campbell says—sit down until further order—I have to fight the urge to jump up, go over to her, and…
I don’t know if I want to strangle her or get her the hell out of here.
Probably both.
What the hell is she doing in Devil Tower? Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is?
I need to remember every single thing that happens tonight. I can’t allow myself to black out again.
Piper is here, it’s dangerous, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to let myself go into zombie mode, or whatever the hell usually happens here that causes my mind to go blank. I need to protect her.
For the first time since I’ve met her, I don’t feel confused. My body hums with a single, all-powerful resolution.
I’m going to protect her. I’m going to protect her. I’m going to protect her.
My mind feels like it’s fracturing under the strength of my resolve.
“What’s she doing here?” Campbell questions, frowning at Cass, his throaty voice cleaving through my thoughts.
“She’s struggling in science class,” explains Cass nonchalantly, slipping into a white lab coat and tossing one to Piper. “Thought she could come and watch.”
Campbell frowns. “We’re working on something strictly confidential, Cassandra. You should know that.”
Cass shrugs, the kind of shrug that could only come from a smug person who gives absolutely no shits. “She’s so stupid she wouldn’t know what we’re doing if it hit her in the face.”
Campbell keeps his scowling gaze locked on Piper, while I strain all my muscles to keep from attacking Cass over her insult. But something tells me it’s a good thing if Campbell believes Piper is stupid.
And Piper certainly looks the part right now, her eyes blinking lazily as they fix themselves on the glass-encased office on the opposite side of the room.
Is Cass insane for bringing Piper to… whatever this is?
“I wanted to try the injection on her,” she whispers, her voice so low that only Campbell and I hear. “Tragen said we couldn’t try it on…” she cuts her sentence off and nods toward us, before resuming, “... so I thought she could be our test subject.”
Campbell hesitates for a beat before nodding very slightly. “Alright. I’ll go talk to the guys upstairs.”
They’re speaking so low I have to read their lips to understand. It’s a good thing I’ve been proficient at that since kindergarten, eavesdropping on adults’ hushed conversations.
“There’s something wrong with him…”
“He’s not normal… “
“We should put him in an institution…”
“Bob, I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving.”
Those last words belonged to my mom, a refrain she frequently repeated before she ended up abandoning me in first grade.
Her other favorite words were, “I’m not going anywhere. Believe me.”
Empty words.
But my promise is far from empty as I silently direct it at Piper.
I’m going to protect you, Piper. I’m going to protect you.
The object of my promise is strictly oblivious, though, as she keeps her eyes glued to the far wall.