Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Boys do so cry. I can make you cry.”
He jutted out his chin. “Cannot.”
“Can too.”
“Cannot.”
“Can too.” Then I punched him in the stomach. Not very hard. Just enough that I thought it would make him cry.
But he was right. He just stayed there on the floor and blinked at me, chin still out, blinking at me and obviously determined not to give in even though a sheen of water covered his eyes.
I thought it’d be mean to hit him again, so I moved off him and held out my hand. I respected anyone who could take one of my punches and not cry. “I’m Fallon. Wanna be friends?”
It was like I’d just offered him a plate of chocolate chip peanut butter cookies, his face lit up so big and bright. “Sure. I’m Rafe Jackson.”
I frowned. Jackson. That was the same name as the dragon lady. She was Mrs. Jackson, that was what Mommy said I was supposed to call her if I ever saw her.
But my friend Renata, who was Miss Reyes’ granddaughter—she had a bad daddy who was in jail, and she was still nice. So maybe Rafe could still be nice and be my friend even if his mom was a mean dragon lady.
So, I shook his hand and decided right there and then, “Okay, we’ll be best friends.” Then I looked him over a little closer. Actually, I’d never had any friends who were boys. So, I nodded and added, “And when we grow up, we can get married.”
He shrugged. Then we took the box of graham cracker animals outside, and he showed me all the best spots for hide and seek, which his older brother was always too busy to play with him.
God, I blinked a few times, coming out of the memory. I hadn’t thought about how Rafe and I had met in years. I pushed some hair behind my ear, again feeling that strange sense of déjà vu I’d been having ever since I’d driven into town two months ago. I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t like it one bit.
“So,” Mama H prompted. “Didn’t you ever wonder?”
“What?” I looked over at her, still feeling disoriented from thinking about the past. Then I remembered she’d been asking about Mom and that was what had taken me back. I shook my head. “No, no, I guess I never knew why Mom landed here. She was always vague about her past before I was born.”
Mama H, now standing alongside me, looked around like she was again making sure no one else was in hearing distance. When she was satisfied no one was close, she leaned in one more time. “Oh, lass, we were both belles presented to the Initiates of the Order. Different years, mind you, but we bonded because we were both not chosen by our respective Initiates. We were the leftovers. The rejects. Over the years, some of us have become something of a club.”
My mouth dropped open as tidbits of what Rafe had told me back in the day filtered through my head. Wait… WHAT?
My mom and Mama H had been… rejected belles? Like the same ones who went to all the… the sex parties. I remembered what Rafe had furtively described to me. Once he and his friends had snuck onto the Oleander grounds during a Trial and peeked in the ballroom window. He’d blushed when I demanded he tell me what he’d seen. I’d had to put his arm in a wrestling lock until he said uncle and finally gave up the info.
He said they’d seen a bunch of naked women fucking a roomful of men. He’d been a little more delicate about it, but that was the gist. He’d definitely described a group orgy, though. And then he’d gotten really freaked out and said they’d kill him if they knew he’d ever told, and I had to swear to never tell, and I never had.
But now here was Mama H telling she’d been one of those women at some point. And… and so had my… mother?
“Come with me, lassie,” Mama H said calmly. “You’ll catch a bug with your mouth open like that. We’ll find a good place to chat.”
I somehow managed a nod, and she took my arm and steered me out from amidst the cafe tables and down the street.
3
Rafe
White.
Why was the ballroom that hosted such dark and depraved acts white?
And to top it off, all the recruits—including myself—wore a white tuxedo. Were we all cloaking the black of the sin in the white of our elegant attire? White should symbolize purity, and we were far from angelic and innocent here at the Oleander Manor.
And the Elders in their silver cloaks flooded the room, staring on with their judgmental eyes. They watched us. They watched me.
The Order of the Silver Ghost always watched me. Even when all eyes weren’t on me, I could still feel them. I could still hear their thoughts.