Page 29 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Oh.

Alfie runs a hand along the cloth of the tent, looking thoughtful. “I’m trying to get our space approved as the main showpiece this year.”

Wait, he was?

Before I can ask more about it, Alfie snaps his fingers, as if remembering something important. “You haven’t chosen a piece to add to my ensemble yet. What would you like to contribute to the official Club Bedlam look?” he asks, giving his hips a playful wiggle.

Then, an idea strikes me. I raise a finger to signal for a moment of pause before I rush out into the dark night, selecting a few plant species I knew would hold up well, ones that could withstand tough conditions but weren’t so rare that I’d disrupt the local ecosystem.

I return to the tent, clutching a deep red flower that seems to shine in the moonlight. The plant’s petals are sturdy, like they’ve adapted to thrive even in the harshest of environments. The red hue gives it an almost fiery quality. I choose this onein particular for its resilience—if it can survive tough conditions, surely it can withstand whatever Alfie’s chaos will throw at it. Maybe I see a bit of myself in it.

“This is aEchinacea purpurea,” I tell him, looking at the flower with a fondness that only a true botanist can have. “Commonly called a coneflower. It’s known for being hardy, even under intense heat.” I smile, realizing how fitting that is for the circus life.

Alfie’s eyes widen as I carefully secure the stem into the white silk ribbon on his hat. “Ah, a coneflower! How perfect! It’s got strong, vibrant energy—just like Club Bedlam.”

The flower sits proudly atop his hat, its petals just the right contrast against the white silk, and I can’t help but feel a little proud of the choice.

He twirls in place, the tutu flaring out around him, and the flower bobbing with each movement. “I do believe this completes the ensemble quite nicely. What do you think?”

The corner of my mouth lifts with almost genuine warmth. “It’s definitely one of a kind,” I say, my words rolling out a little more smoothly now. “I’m pretty sure no one else is brave enough to pull this off.”

“And that is exactly the point!” Alfie exclaims, clapping his hands together. “In Club Bedlam, we celebrate the extraordinary, the unexpected, the downright bizarre. Speaking of which…”

He reaches behind a pile of forgotten odds and ends—old scraps of paper, tangled string, and bits of fabric—and pulls out a small wooden box.

“Now, for the final part of your initiation,” Alfie says, his voice taking on a more serious tone. He opens the box, revealing a collection of small, oddly-shaped objects. Some look like gears, others like crystals, and a few I can’t even begin to describe.

“Choose one,” he says, his voice laced with a note of caution. “But choose wisely. The object you select will determine your role here.”

I hesitate, my hand hovering over the box. “What do you mean by role?”

Alfie’s shrugs an indifferent shoulder. “Each member of Club Bedlam has a unique talent or ability that contributes to our success.”

“But it’s only the two of us,” I say, dumbfounded.

“You’ve only just scratched the surface, Alex. Our club extends far beyond this little tent. We have members scattered across Altair University, each playing their part in our grand design.”

I raise an eyebrow, pretty sure this is all in Alfie’s head, but at this point, I’m out of options. My fingers hover over the assortment of strange objects in front of me. If I don’t choose something, Chancellor Maxwell has already threatened to assign me to a club herself, and I’d rather avoid that. My eyes land on a small, iridescent coin shimmering with hints of gold. It reminds me of the different charms dangling from the necklace my sister made for me—delicate, intentional, and quietly meaningful. Without thinking twice, I grab it.

Alfie makes a disappointed sound and clicks his tongue. “You made a rare choice, but unfortunately it didn’t pay off for you. Looks like you’ll be on indefinite bathroom duty,” he says, taking the coin from my hand and tossing it back into the box.

“There’s a bathroom in this tent?”

Chapter 7

Bishop

Ipark my car and enter Ashbourne mansion, a place I’ve called home my whole life. Its rooms and hallways stretch before me like the fading petals of a flower, still graceful, but slowly curling in on themselves, as though the house itself carries the weight of time.

My mother is standing by the door, her smile warm, but her presence commanding in a way that feels natural. Even in the soft light of the foyer, there’s something about her—graceful, but never weak.

“Bishop!” she exclaims, stepping forward to pull me into a hug.

“Is Dad back from his trip?”

“You know how he is,” she says. “Always off chasing some elusive idea, perfecting things to the last detail. He’s still holed up in his office, but he’ll be down for dinner soon.”

Typical of him, but her voice holds no frustration. She’s used to it. Nothing, not even long absences from my father or any challenges she faces, ever seems to shake her. Not even the memory of her greatest betrayal at the Altair games. A moment she’s long since learned to bury behind a calm façade. One I was still trying to rectify.

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