Page 28 of House of Hearts
“Moment of truth,” she whispers as we take the first steps toward the Cards’ comically ominous front door Monday night. The panels are intricately decorated with linenfold designs, the wood carved to resemblearched cathedral windows with flourished hearts at their centers.
It swings open immediately after the first rap of the brass door knocker to reveal Tripp leering down at us.
“You’re lucky, you know that?” he says before taking a hit off his weed pen. I know for a fact he’s not allowed to vape on campus (some of us actually read the school rules before we break them), but I bite my tongue. “Should’ve seen the others when they got suspended. One dude cried like a goddamn baby.”
I’m not sure if I feel lucky. I don’t know what I feel other than haunted.
I offer my Queen of Hearts card to him now. “This is our door pass, right?”
He grunts before stepping aside to let us in. “You look like shit,” he says, zero filter. “That maze did a number on you, huh?”
“Something like that.” I can’t blame him for the insult. My arms are littered with red scratches, cuts from where branches sliced through my bare skin, and I swear I can still feel the dirt crusted under my nails. I’ve left the maze, but in many ways, I feel like I haven’t.
“Oh thank God, I’m so glad you guys made it.” Mallory strolls our way with a swish of her hair. “Things were beginning to get boring. And, ew, Tripp, you reek. Hold still.”
He grits his teeth and gags as she whips out a pink bottle and drenches him in an equally noxious spray of Tom Ford perfume. “There, you’re welcome.”
Tripp barks at us, “Hurry up and follow me.”
I was expecting a lot of things: a medieval torture chamber where Tripp would say “gotcha” as he tied me to a wooden rack; a seedy,Prohibitionist lounge where they all smoked cigars and talked exclusively about how rich they were; an Illuminati cult meeting with robes and pyramids and Gregorian chanting. I just wasn’t expecting this.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” Mallory says, which is a massive, massive understatement.
The room is a cyclone of news articles, pages strewn across couch cushions and stacked haphazardly by the mantel, newspaper cutouts pinned to corkboard-covered walls and photos circled in red ink. It feels like I’ve been thrown into a cliché crime drama, the perfect backdrop for a daytime television detective—There’s a method to my madness, officer, I assure you.
Except I don’t think there is one here. The only perk about this room is that none of the papers are oozing blood onto the floor. That definitely does some atmospheric heavy lifting.
“What is all this?” Birdie’s the first to speak. She might be a mess herself right now, but even she sounds strained at the sight.
At least she can talk. I’m currently at a loss for words. I’ve never been so overstimulated in my life, my tired eyes darting past the chaos to the Cards members draped around the room.
Sadie scowls at us from a buttoned armchair; Oliver waves from one of the black-painted walls, his free hand pinning a new piece of information against a corkboard; Ash pats his knee like mall Santa, and Mallory sprawls disgustingly across his lap; Tripp takes another hit off his weed pen.
And Calvin stares directly at me.
“Sit down,” Sadie instructs, gesturing for us to do as she says and shut up. The vintage Sorrento table between us is littered with papers, and Birdie has to push a manila folder out of the way to even sit beside me.
“First things first,” she says, like a stereotype of a mob boss, “theinformation we tell you won’t leave this room. Neither of you will say a word.”
Fat chance of that.
My thoughts must be smeared across my face, because Sadie frowns in my direction. “And if you do talk, things won’t be pretty. Scholarships revoked. Suspensions. Your parents blacklisted from all places of employment, be they corporate offices or gas stations. Make no mistake, we will find a way to ruin you.”
My head jerks at the mention of gas stations. If the maze wasn’t proof enough, this is no ordinary club and these people are way past serious. A flicker of apprehension slithers up my spine as I think of all the possible ways this could backfire on me: Losing my scholarship is one thing, but ruining my mom’s job prospects is another. I always knew they were influential, but I guess it really is true that money has the power to make or break you. I’m over here sweating, and somehow, someway, Emoree actuallyenjoyedbeing in this weird club?
“Now, on the flip side,” Sadie continues, sliding a fat check across the table. There are more zeroes on this piece of paper than I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s enough to give me heartburn. “The Lockwell family will sign a personal check to every club member if they succeed in helping us with our mission.”
“Helping you with what?” Birdie blurts out. Her eyes are glued to the check in a way that suggests that this is an astronomical amount for her, too.
I swivel to meet Calvin’s look as he clears his throat. His eyes are overcast, and his lips are pressed into a grim line. He dances around the answer initially. “We need your help breaking the Lockwell family curse.”
“Your family curse,” I echo, and even Birdie is struggling not tolaugh. “Don’t you think you’ve screwed around with us enough already? Besides, how does dancing in a ballroom and running amok in a maze suddenly make us good candidates for curse breaking?”
“We need people who don’t shy away from the supernatural,” Sadie answers, like it really is that simple. “Members who are willing to get their hands dirty and look in every possible avenue for answers. That’s what we need. You two refused to back down from the start.”
I brush the compliment off my shoulders and sneer back in Calvin’s direction. “Are we talking poison apples or cursed spinning wheels?”
“Neither.”
