Page 37 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
“I shouldn’t have sent you my location.” I wiped my face. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t—”
“Just ignore it. I have to go.” I hung up before he could say another word.
I walked slowly toward the wooden door. With the Uber gone and no street lights, it was pitch black out here. I brought a hand up and held it in the air, taking a couple of deep breaths in hopes to gather the courage to knock. I was already here. And it was dark, which I didn’t like. And I wanted answers about Lincoln. Maybe they were the ones behind the creepy texts too. It was that thought that made me tighten my fist and pound the door with the side of it three times.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The door creaked open slowly. It smelled like incents, the kind I’d only smelled at Sunday church, or when my crazy Mexican grandmother decided she needed to cleanse a new property my parents acquired. I had a clear view of candles scattered all over the floor, the only thing giving light to the otherwise dark house.
“Hello?” I stepped inside, looking for someone behind the door, but it was empty. I walked toward the center of the room. “Hello?”
The door shut loudly behind me. I jumped, heart pounding wildly as I whipped around, looking for whoever shut it. There was no one there, or more likely, I couldn’t see them in the dark.
“This isn’t funny,” I yelled out, wrapping my arms around myself as I walked forward, looking up at a big circular window that covered the entirety of the center of the ceiling.
It had the perfect view of the stars. I was almost at the center of it, surrounded by candles on either side of where I stood, when four tall figures cloaked in black gowns from head to toe stepped into view. I rocked back, my feet nearly stumbling over themselves as I tried to give myself distance from the people before me.
“We didn’t intend for it to be funny,” one of them said.
“What do you want?” My hands shook. I clasped them in front of myself.
“What do we want?” He chuckled. “It’s more a question of what do you want?”
“What does that even mean? You’re the ones summoning me, which by the way is absolutely ridiculous. I’m not a freaking witch or vampire or whatever.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?”
“Yes. I’m not an idiot.”
The two in the middle looked at each other, though I couldn’t imagine they could see much out of the things covering most of their faces. They turned to me again.
“Rule number one: you speak to no one about this.”
“Maybe you should’ve written that in the invitation,” I said, sounding much more confident than I felt. “Why am I here?”
“We’d like you to be a part of our club.”
“What kind of club?”
“The secret kind.”
“I gathered that much.” I signaled at their wardrobe. “You look like satanic monks.”
“Is that a yes?”
“What do I gain from joining?”
“Loyalty for life. The keys to any city, in any country you may want.”
“I don’t need your loyalty.”
“Don’t you?” They all seemed to cock their heads in the same direction at the same time. It was as if they were all puppets being controlled by an invisible string. My insides quivered.
“You also get $50,000. In increments. Until the end of the year.”
“Was this the offer you made my brother?” I pulled out the card with Lincoln’s name on it.
“Yes.” They cocked their heads in the other direction. I felt a chill wash over me. “And he took it. Do you know why? Think about it for a second. Do you know why?”
I bit my bottom lip. My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I didn’t dare touch it out of fear that I’d lose sight of one of them. If one of them came at me, I could try to defend myself. If all of them came at me, I was done for. No amount of Tae kwon do could’ve prepared me for this moment—not the four years of classes, not the black belt, not the sparring or the older brother who flung me around any chance he could. This was real life and it was absolutely terrifying.
Did I know why my brother didn’t turn down the money? No. Before the accident, my brother wanted to go pro in the NHL, despite my father’s plans for him in the family business. Lincoln could’ve been free to live out his dream. Why would he have been willing to sell his soul for money? Why was I considering it? Was this how much we were worth? $50,000? Maybe. Maybe for me, anyway. My older brothers didn’t escape Dad’s control. I didn’t—couldn’t—until I had money of my own.
“Do you know why?” he asked again.
“No.”
“Don’t you want to find out?” he asked. “Don’t you want to find out what happened?”
