1. Unforgivably Late
Unforgivably Late
Desdemona
It’s my final year at Spearcrest, and I hit my first failure before September even ends.
I used to hate it here, but Spearcrest made me into the person I am, and even the old, isolated campus has grown on me over the years.
The red brick buildings under their curtains of ivy, the old clock tower where I’ve caught so many kids smoking or kissing over my years as a prefect.
The library—my favourite place—with its lush monsteras and bronze railings and enormous glass cupola.
On quiet Sundays, you can hear the church bells in the nearby village, Fernwell.
But quiet Sundays are rare in Spearcrest—especially for me.
Especially today.
I step off the tennis court to find a flurry of texts waiting for me.
Blaise Blackwood: You didn’t respond to my invitation. Party, tonight, 8pm. Old Botanical Studies building. The Brotherhood will be providing the best liquor available, naturally.
I wince at the mention of the Brotherhood—but keep reading, part in annoyance, part in morbid anticipation.
Dimitri Kavinski: You coming tonight or what?
Blaise Blackwood: Don’t be late, darling. This party will be so boring without you.
Dimitri Kavinski: Come put a leash on your Head Boy, cuz. He’s doing my head in.
Blaise Blackwood: Where are you?
Blaise Blackwood: One hour late, Dess. Bad form, darling.
Austen Sutton-Knight: Don’t be mad, sis. We’re at the party. We’ll behave.
William Sutton-Knight: Hi, just wanted you to know we’re at the party. No need to panic, though! I’m making sure Austen stays out of trouble. You have nothing to worry about. We’ll be back in our dorms by midnight.
Austen Sutton-Knight: Dess. Something’s happened. Call me back.
Austen Sutton-Knight: Please.
One moment ago, on the court, I could feel my racket handle warm in my hand, the grip strong and familiar.
My ponytail sticking lightly to the back of my neck, the droplets of sweat whipping free from my skin.
My lungs pulling air in, deep and perfectly measured.
My calves tightening as I sprang into motion, shoulders rolling with each serve, the clean line of tension from my spine to the racket’s edge.
Now, the hot surge of adrenaline becomes a flow of ice in my veins. My body, alive and elastic a minute ago, becomes hard and brittle as a gown made from porcelain.
Grabbing my things, I turn and run off the court, praying I’m not too late to fix things.
The old Botanical Studies building crouches amongst the dark trees, spilling out lights and music through broken windows and loose slats. I don’t want to go in, but what choice do I have?
I’ve been trying to call Austen and William non-stop, but neither of them answers. Both are at the party—which they absolutely shouldn’t be.
I catch a breath, and plunge through the doorway.
Brotherhood parties are always more chaotic than any party ought to be.
Heavy metal music, strobe lights, hard liquor.
The smell of alcohol and perfume and sweat is so dense it’s almost suffocating.
In the flashing, pulsing, crashing darkness, everyone seems stripped of their identities, reduced to bodies.
Bodies dancing, writhing, yelling, making out.
My own blood rushes in my veins in a sudden surge that almost feels like panic.
I push my way through, scanning faces as best I can.
Still nothing. My shoulders tighten, muscles seizing, already sore. Two girls try to drag me between their dancing bodies, and I lurch back before realising they’re two of my closest friends, Mira Rajahn and Emerald Carver.
“Have you seen my brothers?” I yell through the music, but Mira’s already being dragged away by two boys, and Emerald is watching her, laughing.
I turn and force my way through the dancing bodies, to the other side of the room.
My brain, unhelpfully, is conjuring up all the things the twins are capable of, all the times they’ve gotten themselves in trouble over the years.
I love them, but sometimes I wish they knew how exhausting it is to be their sister.
I’ve almost reached the calmer side of the party when an arm curves around my waist, startling me. For a split second, I imagine a blood-stained hand, a hot trail of red across my stomach. I turn, heart hammering. A wet mouth presses against my cheek, sending a shudder of disgust through me.
“Knew you couldn’t stay away,” Julian Langford mumbles. “I miss you, baby.”
I pull away from him. It’s been almost two years since I broke up with him. Even now, I still can’t get over the disgust I felt watching him throw knives at someone’s face. Every time I see Julian, I can’t help but think about…
No. Not now.
“Have you seen my brothers?”
“Who?” He looks me up and down, eyes glazed. “God, you’re so beautiful, can’t we just—”
The truth is that I know it’s not really me he misses. It’s being with me—and the spotlight that came with it.
God, I sound pathetic. I jolt myself out of it and bypass him before letting him finish his sentence, plunging into the crowd. A hulking figure nearby tells me I’ve found Dimitri, and wherever Dimitri is, Blaise won’t be far.
When I reach them, Dimitri has his back to me.
He’s pressing a girl up against a wall and seems to be trying to perform some sort of surgical procedure that involves removing something from her mouth using his tongue.
I look away quickly, and a wave of relief washes over me when I spot another face.
Blaise.
He’s dressed in perfectly tailored slacks, his short black curls crowning his ridiculously handsome face.
Even though he founded the Blood Brotherhood with Dimitri, he’s not hanging out with the rest of them.
He has a flute of champagne in one hand, and his other arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a pale girl.
My gaze catches on her, and I’m almost stopped in my tracks. Natalya Valenkova—that poor girl. She’s striking: beautiful, fragile, almost painfully perfect. A doll made of glass. Her blonde hair is so pale it almost looks translucent, and her eyes are so icily blue they’re almost grey.
Blaise is stroking her back comfortingly, but her eyes are fixed on Dimitri.
Her fiancé.
And I can’t tell if she’s hopelessly in love with him—or if she wants to kill him with her own hands. Maybe it doesn’t matter; it’s not like they chose to be engaged in the first place.
My heart catches, but I don’t have time to check on her. Not right now. I make a beeline for Blaise and tap his shoulder.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“Desdemona!” He turns, face lighting up. “There she is! My favourite cousin—even if you are unforgivably late.”
“Have you seen Austen or William?”
Blaise rolls his eyes and throws a dramatic arm up.
“Ugh, those two idiots. I told them not to come.”
“You could’ve not told them about the party.”
“I didn’t. The Inquisitor posted about it.”
I wince. I should’ve known the Inquisitor would be involved somehow.
“Do you know where they’ve gone?” I ask.
“No idea, darling, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve had my own—”
I whip around and walk away before he finishes his sentence.
My ribcage feels tight, like the bones are pressing too close together. I can barely breathe, the noise and chaos of the party closing in on me. I check my phone again—nothing. I push past dancing couples, search the building, but to no avail. They’re no longer here.
I check the time. Almost eleven. Maybe they’ve returned to their dorm?
It sounds unlikely, not the kind of thing they would do. But with no other leads to follow, I decide to go and check, swallowing back a fresh wave of anxiety. On my way out, Julian makes another grab for me, but I’m already out of reach.
The door closes behind me. I stand for a second, trying to catch my breath in the sudden, blissful silence of the arboretum. All around me, trees loom, colossal and dark, watching indifferently.
And that’s when hands clamp around my arms—and I’m dragged into the trees.