Page 90 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
“What about the other building? The first one I went to when I was summoned?”
“The Sphynx.” She grinned. “We acquired it a couple of years ago. It belonged to The Sphynx society originally, but they’ve tapered off. There are talks of some kids wanting to bring it back, but I’m not sure there’s any truth to those rumors.”
“When do you use it?”
“Only to summon. We don’t want to bring people here unless we know for sure they’re going to be initiated.”
I followed her to the top of the stairs, she paused by the door and turned to face me. “For the record, you’re not allowed up here, so pretend you never saw any of this.”
She put the key in the hole and turned. It unlocked with a click, similar to the sound the front door made when Logan unlocked it. Nora walked inside and waited for me to take in the room—a dome ceiling that reminded me of the Sistine Chapel, with paintings of naked people sitting on clouds in a blue sky. I tried to make out the faces, but couldn’t really, so I figured they must be actual saints. The room itself, covered with wall-to-wall books, was smaller than the library Logan had shown me, but somehow seemed to contain more things. There were eight white busts on top of pillars that circled the library.
“I guess The Eight really loves to read,” I said, looking around.
“These are photo albums.”
“What?” I walked up to one, pulling it out of the shelf.
That was when I noticed the gold numbers on the spines. This one said 1924. I opened it carefully, not wanting to leave any grease from my fingers on the pictures. They were all covered in plastic, as if to preserve them.
“There were women in the group even back then.” I looked up at Nora.
“We were the only society to do that.” She smiled proudly.
I shut the book and put it back in its place. I wasn’t going to know anyone who attended in the twenties. My father had been the first of his family to attend college in the United States. His mother always joked that he was too much of a genius for their city, even though their city had its share of intelligent individuals, but of course, Abuela Maria would think her son was the most intelligent of all. Not to knock him, despite all of his questionable choices, my father was extremely smart and business savvy. I moved to the years he would’ve been here—seventies. The first page I opened, there he was, standing with seven other people—The Eight of that year. Beside him, Ella Valentine.
Maybe it was because I’d just seen a portrait of them together, looking like they were a couple, but seeing the young, college version of themselves together hit me hard. They weren’t even touching, but I could just tell they were together. I reminded myself of what she’d told me—they had actually been dating before he met mom. I kept turning the pages. In some pictures, they wore cloaks, in others they were serving food to the homeless, picking up trash around the park, reading to children. I kept turning the pages. My attention stayed on the next picture. It was a couple I’d seen before, maybe at one of my parent’s Christmas parties. They were laughing, looking at the camera, but it was the background that caught my eye. It was my father and Ella Valentine back there, looking like they were caught in the middle of an argument. I shut the book and opened another one, and then another one, and then moved on to the one labeled Alumni—1999. I’d been a toddler then. This photo album was thinner and showed mostly photos of various parties that occurred that year. I didn’t find my father until I reached the tenth page, but there he was, holding Ella Valentine’s hand.
My heart was in my throat as I looked at the picture. I shut the album with a thump and looked up at Nora.
“This is disgusting.”
“My father is this one.” She opened up the book and pointed at the familiar couple I’d seen in the other book. “This is not my mother, who he’s still married to, by the way.”
“Geez.” I shook my head. “Disgusting.”
“I promised I’d draw up the societies for you so that you could see how they’re connected,” she said, pushing the books aside and grabbing a sheet of paper. Up top, she wrote Blackwell and drew two lines underneath it—one that said Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell and the other said Dr. Henry Blackwell.
“They were a couple when they were here. They married their senior year,” she explained. Beneath Elizabeth Blackwell, she wrote The Eight. “She’s the octopus lady. She was a marine scientist who worked tirelessly in the original Hydro Lab, which is now falling apart. You’ve seen it, it’s right by the waterfall behind where you did the blindfold test.”
