Page 68 of The Prom

I’m such a hypocrite and hate the double standards playing out here. If anything, I kind of understand Jesse more and I’m probably worse than him because I’m crazy about Drake willingly and not because he drugged me into submission. That makes me guilty and Jesse a victim, and I’m increasingly uncomfortable about that.

Summer groans. “This place is creepy as fuck and the battery is low on my phone. Let’s head back to the tunnel chamber. There’s nothing to see here, anyway.”

“Literally.” I laugh softly. “It’s crazy to think of the monks patrolling these tunnels back in the day, subjecting their prisoners to despicable acts while they pretend to be holy as fuck.”

“Sometimes evil is wrapped in innocence, Imogen. I happen to trust an openly corrupt person way more than one whopretends otherwise, and then lulls his victim into a false sense of security before inflicting the killer blow. It’s black and white in my world with no gray shadows in between. If anything, that’s more honorable than those who pretend otherwise.”

I don’t miss her warning and wonder what else Luca told her, but something about the way Jesse looked at me tonight was different. There was sincerity in his expression and a willingness to do right, and I wonder if somehow Jesse has found a way to break free of all this and put himself first for once.

It changes nothing between us, but I will be a good friend to him. He deserves that because nobody should be alone in a crowd. Not on my watch, anyway.

THIRTY-TWO

DRAKE

Sometimes life throws up challenges, and last night was definitely one of those times. The fire closed things down and the party, for want of a better word, ended early when one of the guests literally went up in flames.

Angela called time on our attendance and I’m still none the wiser who my guardian angel could be.

I made certain to send my findings to Ryder and I can only imagine his astonishment at what went down last night. It’s sick as fuck and I’m still not sure what would have happened in the moment because sure as I’m not a fucking history teacher, I was not going down on Angela flaming Constable last night. Even the thought of it turns my skin green. No way would I subject myself to that, no matter the mission.

I’m used to fighting with my hands, my mind and my body, but that physical act was definitely a step too far.

When I returned home, I received a text from Imogen reporting in on events during her evening. She told me Jesse had decided to take a step back and wanted to start again, finishing up by inviting her to the prom as his date. I attempted to read between the lines because I still don’t trust that guy, but at least he is backing off from anything else, for now, anyway.

Prom night is looming ever closer and something is prickling at the back of my mind. At least I’m expected to be there in my professional capacity, but if I was planning something, that would be the perfect night to execute it. The students are buzzing at the thought of it, but I can’t share their enthusiasm. We are no further forward in discovering the secrets of this place even though I have my suspicions about Angela.

When I’m at a wall with no place to go, I use physical exercise to channel my mind and as I return home after a two-hour run, I notice a white slip of paper tucked under my front door.

It’s simple words offer no clue to the sender.

I’m waiting at the boathouse.

There is no indication of what time it arrived, but I’m guessing that means now, so after chugging down some fluids, I turn around and resume my run, this time in the direction of the boathouse that sits some way from the academy.

I proceed with caution, my training kicking in and I move stealthily through the trees that frame the riverbank, watching out for any signs of danger, but not really expecting any.

It’s early. Most of the academy is still in their beds, especially on a Saturday morning. Students party hard and evidently so do the teachers and, subsequently, aren’t early risers. It’s probably the perfect time to arrange a secret meeting and part of me hopes its Imogen because I am desperate for more time with her.

I note a small figure crouched low against the edge of the boathouse, its crumbling dock definitely a health hazard. They are dressed in black, their head concealed by a baseball cap and I can’t tell from this distance whether they are male or female. I approach with caution and as I draw near, they raise their eyes and I detect a young woman who I have never seen before.

She appears anxious and glances around her nervously and as she catches my eye she beckons me to join her.

She moves into the shadows and as I follow her, something about the way she is nervous tells me she is fearful about something.

I maintain my guard and edge inside the boathouse, making certain not to back myself into a corner.

We head into the shadows and I’m surprised when she parts a curtain of greenery and enters what appears to be a cave in the side of the riverbank. As we head inside, she turns to face me and whispers, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Why did you ask me to?”

She is nervous, her eyes flicking into every corner, and her frightened expression tells me she has a lot to lose from coming here.

“I wanted to warn you.”

“Of what?”

Her tongue darts out, and she nervously licks her lips and she is almost shaking as she whispers, “I was there last night. I saw everything.”

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