Page 103 of The Forever Crew (Adamson All-Boys Academy 3)
All around us, couples are collapsing to the ground. Here and there, a person or two seems completely unaffected by it, but that’s the exception, not the rule. Even most of the staff members are swaying or falling over.
“What …” I start, lifting my gaze and searching the room for the rest of the boys.
A sound behind me, like stone scraping against stone, draws my attention around to a girl in a yellow prom dress … and the awful, grinning visage of the Fellowship’s fox mask. She’s standing in the black void of a doorway that wasn’t there before.
Another hidden door, like the one in the antique shop, I think before she takes a step toward me.
“Catch for us the little foxes,” she whispers, grabbing my wrist and yanking me into the tunnel with her.Cold water drips onto my forehead, waking me with a start. For a second there, I’m convinced that I drank too much at prom and ended up with a hangover. That’s it. Everything else, that was just a nightmare.
But then I blink myself fully awake, staring up at a ceiling that’s painted with bizarre imagery, people in robes, in masks. There’s a lot of blood. Oh yeah, a hell of a lot of blood in that art. What in the actual fuck? My pulse starts to race, and I struggle to sit up, but my arms and legs aren’t budging. Turning my head to the right, I can see that my wrist is tied in place. In fact, both of my wrists are bound. Both ankles, too.
Candles flicker from metal torch stands, evenly spaced around the circular room. We’re very clearly underground here; there are no windows, just murals painted to look like them. The ceiling is chiseled stone, as are the walls, and I’m pretty sure the thing I’m lying on is made of rock, too. It’s cold against my bare shoulders as I shift slightly, testing my bonds and blinking through a thick haze.
What happened to everyone at the dance? I wonder, suddenly more concerned for the boys than I am myself. Tobias was barely responsive, last I remember.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty chamber. There’s nobody here that I can see, but clearly, I didn’t tie myself up on this stone altar.
Altar.
My mind flickers to Jason Lambert, drip, drip, dripping blood from his curled fingers.
Shit. Looking around again, I spot a table draped in assorted items. There are ties, and bouquets of dried flowers, old t-shirts, barrettes, framed photos … including the one of Jenica that went missing from the girls’ dorm. It’s all gathered there together, trophies of dead students collected into a glittering shrine.
Uh-oh.
The sound of a door opening draws my attention to the opposite side of the room, away from the raised stone dais and toward a group of people, dressed in black robes and fox masks. Just like that day in the woods when Spencer and I were running for our lives.
Fear flashes through me, ice-cold and definite.
The Fellowship of the Divine might have the creepy cult cliché thing going on, but it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all. It’s terrifying.
The people file into the room without speaking, walking down a narrow path with pools of dark water on either side. There are statues sticking out of the water, draped in moss, faceless monsters watching over their procession. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, and crumbling white columns dot the room here and there, little hints of neoclassical architecture that remind me of the auditorium.
The cultists start lining up against the walls around me, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the oversized chamber. Another cool droplet of water hits me in the forehead, leaking from the stone above me.
This, this is where the tunnels lead. I wonder if this place floods when it rains, too?
I blink a few more times, and then pull against my restraints, the flouncy pink dress fluttering as I move. But even if I weren’t tied up, I’m not sure I could get out of here. They must’ve drugged the food and drinks with … something. At least that means that everyone else is okay, right? Because even in that moment, it’s not about me. It’s about my dad and the boys.
Exhaling sharply, I try to focus on what’s happening without letting panic set in. Whatever drug they’ve given me must be dulling my emotions because I’m not freaking out. I’m scared, but … not panicked. Think, Charlotte, I snap at the dulled edges of my brain. If you don’t, then you’re dead. That’s it. No college, no future, no more happy moments and stolen kisses and sweet nothings whispered in the dark.
Shit, that was markedly better poetry, huh?
Too bad I’m not exactly in a position to appreciate it.
One of the robed assholes moves to the front of the room, several others fanned out on either side of him. A student dressed in a suit appears first, his mask firmly in place, and kneels down before the dais.
