Page 86 of The Diávolos: Part Two
I decide to cut right to the chase. “I just recently found out how mymamadied—was killed,” I correct myself, my heart skipping a beat. “And I was wondering if you could shed some light on a few things. Could you tell me about my mother? What happened to her at the Sisterhood?”
Lydia’s forehead creases as she nods. She takes a deep breath and begins.
24
IRIS
Over 30 years ago
“Lydia, where the fuck are we going?” Iris whisper-shouts to her best friend who’s currently guiding her down a dark circular stairwell to the basement of the Artemis Cathedral of Learning.
The pitter-patter of their steps can probably be heard throughout the building as they scurry all the way to the bottom. Lyd leads the way as if she’s already been there before.
Clueless as Iris is, she follows her friend without question. “Lydia, where are you taking me?”Almostwithout question.
“Shhhhhhh!” Lydia scolds.
They hear the faint murmurs of people talking. The sound resonates in the damp space around them.
If they don’t hide soon, they’ll be found and get in serious trouble, especially since they’re supposed to be in sister studies.
Really, Iris shouldn’t complain. When Lydia found her in the library and urged her to follow her, she welcomed the distraction. Studying about the importance of celibacy and obedience, and reading scriptures aren’t her idea of fun as aneighteen-year-old woman. She hasn't had real fun—which the Sisterhood considers a sin—since she was brought there.
So, sneaking into the basement of an old creepy building is the most excitement Iris has had since Lydia, herself, and a couple other sisters slipped into the dining hall’s kitchen to steal wine two years ago. It was New Year’s Eve and the establishment was hosting a lavish dinner party for the founders and sponsors. They were caught and had to do the equivalent of what community service is to others. Iris had to be the priest’s servant for six whole months.
Lydia grabs Iris’s arm and tugs her behind a brick pillar in the tunnel-like corridor.
“Lyd! I’m seriously getting the creeps. It looks and feels like we’re in fucking catacombs,” Iris complains.
“I overheard the Dean speaking to Sister Selene. Apparently, there’s a new guy in charge and he’s being shown around the property.”
A new guy? Confused, Iris asks, “Is Dean Kouvalakis leaving?”
“More like retiring,” Lydia replies in a hushed voice.
Iris ponders that for a moment while trying to catch a peek of the people that are now walking in the direction of their pillar. She’d never heard of the Sisterhood getting a new leader, but she guesses it will be officially announced soon. What will that mean for them?
“It still doesn’t explain why we’re underground.”
“Shhhhh!” Lydia shushes again, and Iris rolls her eyes.
The individuals are now in earshot. Iris recognizes Dean Kouvalakis’s voice. He’s joined by two other men who sound younger. Still behind the pillar, the girls remain hidden and listen to the conversation.
“I’m glad to have you on board, son,” the Dean says proudly.
“It was only a matter of time,” one of the young men responds, deadpan.
Dean Kouvalakis lets out a low chuckle, but he doesn’t sound amused. “I know this isn’t your ideal career choice, but the torch is yours now. Youwilldo this.”
The girls peek out from around the column. The young man lets out a huff of air and looks around. When he turns their way, they duck hurriedly, but are too late.
His eyes lock with Iris, and she freezes, her heart leaping into her throat.
The man’s gaze is penetrating, causing fear to pulse through her and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. They are so screwed.
Lydia urges Iris to hide, to dosomething, but her body is numb. Adrenaline pumps into her heart from the way the man’s eyes pierce through her skin. Iris wants to run, but her feet are cemented to the ground. He must notice the sheer panic on her face because the corners of his mouth turn up.
Iris expects the man to tattle on them, but he simply turns his head and continues talking to the other men, occasionally glancing their way.
