Even through the glass, Dan could hear Professor Reyes perfectly as she lifted her head and said, “Where is he?”
“We . . . We lost him, and the two others.” It was Cal, who shuffled his boat shoes back and forth nervously.
“Not him, the other one. The traitor.”
If Dan had felt guilty before for convincing Jordan and Abby to return to the college, he felt even guiltier now watching as three more robed strangers hauled Micah into the room. A mittened hand closed over his and squeezed. Dan shared a look with Abby, feeling his gut twist sickeningly.
Micah looked drugged and beaten, fresh bruises darkening his jaw and right cheek. Surely he would be fighting them? He wasn’t a small guy by any means, and Dan had seen those martial arts trophies in his room. But he slumped against the shoulders of the people carrying him, one lens of his glasses shattered and the other missing altogether.
“We have to do something,” Dan whispered.
“Like what?” At Jordan’s words, Abby’s hand tightened even more on Dan’s fingers.
“I don’t know. . . . But he helped us escape. We have to help him.”
“Yeah, and then we get caught and the whole thing was for nothing.”
He felt even sicker when Abby whispered, “Jordan’s right.”
The Scarlets wrestled Micah into the high-backed chair in front of the professor and slammed the manacles around his wrists. There were iron fasteners for his ankles, too. Dan watched, his throat closing with helpless panic as one of them pulled a belt from inside the folds of his robe and secured it around Micah’s forehead, keeping his head locked back against the chair.
“My tools?” Professor Reyes asked drily, as if she were asking someone to pass the salt.
A robed figure bowed and scuttled out of the room, returning only a moment later with a shiny silver tray laden with only three objects—a piece of gauze, a snub-nosed mallet, and a spike.
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Jordan gasped.
Micah began to stir, becoming aware suddenly of his bindings and fighting them.
“Be still,” Professor Reyes barked. Her dark eyes glittered, beetle black. “You would not like it if I slipped. There’s hardly time for this, but not even your family line protects you from more permanent solutions.”
On his knuckles, Abby’s mitten grew damp with sweat.
“Let this be a reminder to all of you what happens when you disobey. When you meddle. You could have frightened him off, scared him away, when I am this close to the answer. . . .” She stepped to the side of the chair, took the spike and then the hammer, and leaned over, carefully pulling back Micah’s right eyelid and setting the spike in place. “Hold him still. It’s time he woke up. . . .”
Two figures did just that.
Micah’s eyes darted frantically, then locked on Dan’s through the window. Dan inhaled, hard, biting down on his tongue to keep from shouting. The mallet swung back, gaining momentum to strike. Next to him, Dan could feel Abby recoil, hiding her eyes. He refused to look away.
And in the last second, when he heard the mallet hit the spike, he was certain he saw Micah mouth the word “run.”
The sound went straight through him, a hollow thunk like a piece of meat being dropped on a tile floor. Dan wished he hadn’t looked. He wished harder that he had done something to stop it.
“You don’t belong here.”
Dan spun, tearing his eyes away from the aftermath of Micah’s lobotomy to find a Scarlet standing directly behind them. None of them spoke. Dan felt icy fear squeeze the words and air right out of him.
The figure reached up and pulled back her mask, revealing a pretty if disheveled face. It took a second for Dan to recognize her.
“Lara!” Abby practically swooned with relief. “Wait! You’re one of these monsters?”
“I was. Not anymore. Not that I can leave, but . . . I never thought they would do that to one of us. To Micah.” Her lip trembled, her eyes glossy with tears. Then she blinked, hard, and her face was no longer scared but determined. “You can’t be here. If they find you . . . Better not to think about it. Follow me, okay? This side of the house is practically empty. Nobody will spot us.”
“What is this place?” Dan asked, no longer so intent on getting inside. He had seen enough.
“Professor Reyes lives here. She inherited it from Warden Crawford. She calls him father, but I don’t think they’re actually related. He left it to her in his will.” Lara led them along the back of the house, ducking whenever they neared a window. “Now leave, understand me? You can’t be seen.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” Jordan whispered. “You’re here, Cal is a psycho, and Micah is . . . We don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Find somewhere to hide. The student union never locks up. . . . Pick a hallway somewhere and try to avoid everyone you can. Keep your phones on. If they catch wind of where you are, I’ll text.”
“Lara . . .” Abby ran up next to her, grabbing her wrist. “Why are you doing this? If they find out, you’ll be hurt, too.”
“I can’t care about that right now. This isn’t what I . . . This isn’t who I want to be. . . .” Lara didn’t slow her pace, charging on through the darkness until they reached the narrow row of trees separating the mansion from the next property over. “I thought this was for academics, for connections! They said they could get my art into any New York gallery I wanted. Or they could get me into med school if I ever changed my mind. Ha.” She stopped, checking in every direction to make sure they hadn’t been followed. “Stay safe. I’ll check in with you when I can. Find a way off campus. Get a bus, get a plane . . . Just get away.”
“Hang on,” Dan said sternly. “I have more questions. . . .”
“Not now. They’ll be looking for me.” She sighed and pulled the hood of her robe back up. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll answer all your questions then.”
“Dan, let her go. I don’t want her to get in trouble.” Abby tugged on his arm until she succeeded in yanking him into the trees. “Be careful, Lara.”
“You too.” With that, she rushed across the yard, a blur of scarlet.
They picked their way across the streets and campus, pausing in the shadows near buildings and trees until they could dash out into the open without being seen. That was fairly easy, given how late it was.
Exhausted, they finally reached Wilfurd Commons and snaked through the dimly lit halls until they found a back corridor where delivery trucks dropped off food and soda. They collapsed against the wall, each of them silent for a long moment.
A half-dead halogen light flickered overhead, buzzing intermittently. The vending machines down the hall let off a similar but more consistent hum.
“I want to go over everything again,” Dan mumbled, pulling the journals and notes out of his coat.
“Can we just sit quietly for ten minutes?” Jordan grumbled. “I just need to . . . I don’t know. Process? We just saw . . . And all those people in there. What the hell is wrong with this place?”
“Dan was right,” Abby said, pulling off her mittens and then letting her arms drop like lead weights onto her thighs. “This goes way, way deeper than we thought.”
“I mean, why the hell would people join a group like that?” Jordan asked. He tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
“You heard Lara—connections, prestige. Micah said his uncle went here, and I’ll bet he was a Scarlet, too. And not that it’s a worse fate at this point, but Micah might still be in juvie if they hadn’t fixed his record.” Dan rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t fall asleep. Not yet. “Cal’s dad was the dean. It’s probably a family thing.”
“Lara’s brother is an alum,” Abby said. “He was probably a member.”
“My guess is it was a secret society just like any other until the warden got his hooks in it. I bet members don’t even know all the things they did that were really for his benefit. And whatever he was trying to do, it looks like Professor Reyes is stil
l doing it now. I just wish I knew what she meant about being ‘this close to an answer.’ An answer to what?”
“What I want to know is, does this secret society have somebody in the Camford police force?” Jordan muttered.
Dan didn’t even want to think about that yet. “Did you have any luck cross-referencing the names from the blackboard with alums before the computers crapped out?”
“Nope.”
“I still have these,” Abby said, showing him a few squares of folded newspaper. “Remember? Cal had them in his backpack at the carnival.”
A spark of hope lit in Dan’s chest, the first in a while, and it was enough to jolt him back awake. “Let’s take a look.”
“Knock yourselves out,” Jordan murmured. “I’m gonna grab a nap.”
“We can take turns.” Abby smoothed out the photocopied newspapers from the archives between her legs and Dan’s. “Here, I’ll set a phone alarm. . . .”
“What is it?” Dan asked. She sounded worried, and Dan glanced over to see her checking her phone.
“My battery is low. Really low. Yours?”
Dan slipped the phone out of his coat pocket and grimaced. “Same. Damn it. My charger is in Micah’s room, and there’s no way I can go back there. Although . . . Jordan could pick the lock.”
That jerked Jordan abruptly out of his nap. “No. No freaking way, Dan, you are kidding me with that shit. I am not going back to that dorm. I do that and I’m one breath away from being inspiration for the next ‘totally fictional’ Law and Order episode.”
“Then how do we get Lara’s call? Is your battery any good?”
Jordan glanced down at the iPhone resting on his stomach. “Half charge. If I turn it off until morning, I can conserve it.”
“I’ll text Lara his number,” Abby said. “At least that way she can find us.”
“Okeydoke. Wake me when it’s my turn to keep watch,” Jordan said, already half-asleep.
Dan leaned over the flattened paper, skimming his fingers across the various titles of news stories and editorials. Most of it was total fluff, news about sports teams and upcoming dances or plays. His eyes blurred and he couldn’t read, sadness surprising him, overtaking him to the point where he couldn’t keep his hand from trembling. Then Abby’s hand was there, resting on his, reassuring and comforting with its steady warmth.
As he dozed, Jordan softly repeated sequences of numbers under his breath, the words slurring together.
“I’m so sorry, Dan. I know you liked him.”
“He’ll probably be a vegetable now,” he said bitterly. “Just . . . blank. And that’s if he survived it. He was a good guy . . . I think. I mean, whatever he used to be, he still tried to help us.”
“Maybe he was trying to do better, you know? Atone? He might have come around and realized the Scarlets weren’t in the right,” Abby suggested. “And if we had stuck with him?” She rubbed his hand lightly. “They would have caught us, too, and then what? We would be just like him now. I know it’s hard, but you have to think logically about this.”
“Ha. That’s funny.”
“What?”
“An artist telling me to think logically. But you’re right. . . . I know you are. It’s not that. It’s that we didn’t do anything to stop it.” Dan sighed, forcing his eyes to focus on the newsprint. “I feel like that’s been the case ever since we got to Brookline this summer—stuff keeps happening to us, but we can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“We can and we will,” Abby assured him. “This isn’t over yet.”
Dan nodded, swallowing past the tight knot of loss tangled in his throat. He hated that feeling, like he was either going to throw up or cry or both. He flipped the newspaper page over, finding an article about a sorority organizing a charity event for a professor’s medical expenses. Dan was about to move to the next page when Abby’s hand shot out, smacking the paper back down to the floor.
“That girl,” she said, pointing to the picture of the sorority girls lined up and smiling. “Who does she remind you of?”
Squinting, Dan looked at the folded arms and crossed legs of a girl who didn’t look very happy to have her picture taken. Standing on the far left side of the row of girls, she was practically scowling. She was slimmer then and had a different haircut, but her features were the same.
“Professor Reyes,” he said. Dan shrugged, not finding any real significance in the picture. “So she was in a sorority, so what?”
Abby chewed her lip, brows furrowed as she stared down at the paper, deep in thought.
“What?” Dan pressed. “What is it?”
“Just a hunch, I guess. I mean . . . We know the warden was controlling Harry Cartwright, and we know he was implicated in the disappearances of those women in town. Remember that letter we found in his house? Caroline’s? She was in the Scarlets, she hated it, wanted to leave . . .”
“Caroline.” Dan’s eyes grew wide with sudden curiosity. “You think Caroline Martin is the professor?” He skimmed the tiny print under the newspaper photo. There it was, in black-and-white—the first name on the left: C. Martin.
“Reyes must be her married name,” Abby suggested. “Or maybe she just chose it herself after the warden brainwashed her. Maybe he chose it. It makes sense, right? If she figured out what the warden was up to with the Scarlets and wanted to leave, he would do whatever he could to keep her from spreading it around.”
“So he silenced Caroline by making her one of his experiments, and now she does it to her own followers,” Dan said, nodding. “And the other women, the other disappearances . . . They might have been the same. They were going to expose him.”
“Just like Micah . . .” Abby said sadly. “And Lara, too, if they find out she’s helping us.”
“It’s a cycle. Professor Reyes is just doing what the warden programmed her to do.”
“That’s so depressing.” She touched the professor’s name under the sorority photo. “Do you really think he hypnotized her? Can something like that even last this long? I wonder how you, you know, break her out of it. The warden would have done this to her thirty years ago.”
“Which means maybe the Scarlets are really her thralls or whatever and they don’t even know it,” Dan said, and now that he saw the scope of the warden’s work laid before him, more and more pieces began to slide, terribly, into place. “Maybe Cal has been totally brainwashed. Or maybe your aunt Lucy. I mean, she did seem totally different this time. And Felix . . . Maybe this is what happened to him, too!”
At that, Abby sat up straighter. “Felix? But he gave you the addresses to figure all this out. . . .”
“Which proves he really is fighting back. This summer, it seemed like there were moments when he was himself, and moments when he was the Sculptor. So maybe the brainwashing didn’t completely take. Maybe Professor Reyes doesn’t have the warden’s skill. She has the stone and probably his drug cocktail, but his notes were still in the frat. Maybe she never saw them. . . .” That little spark of hope flared again, but only weakly.
“So maybe it can be reversed,” Abby said brightly.
He thought of his meeting with Maudire, or his ghost, or Warden Crawford’s vision, or whatever the heck it was.
You can’t do over what’s already been done, but you sure can undo it. Not easy, but you can undo it.
If the warden’s brainwashing really could be undone, then maybe the fail-safe Maudire had talked about was hidden somewhere in the journals. Dan nodded, closing the newspaper, grimly determined. “I hope it can be reversed. Because as soon as we help the others, we’re going to do whatever it takes to reverse it on me.”
“Wait, you think—”
“I do think. And I’m ready to have my mind back to myself.”
The old hypnotist had teeth like daggers nestled in the wiry tangle of his beard. He looked clean from far away, but up close you could see dirt in the deep crags of his face.
Old meant frail. Old meant even a little boy cou
ld beat him.
Inside the tent it smelled like weird berries, berries that had been soaked in a fancy woman’s perfume. He knew the smell would stay in his clothes for days, and Mother would yell at him about it. Where have you been? Why do you smell like that? You’ll upset the baby! He would make up a lie later when he walked back home with Patrick and Bernard.
But right now he needed the stone on the chain. If he ever wanted Patrick to go up to the roof, he would need the stone. Inside the tent there were all kinds of strange things—a bird with red feathers and one eye that hopped back and forth on its perch shrieking, “Turk! Turk!” and big heavy candlesticks bubbling with purple wax.
He was the old man’s favorite and that meant his guard would be down.
“Do you know where I acquired this particular gem?” The hypnotist laughed all the time. He laughed after every sentence, sometimes every word. “Old Maudire pulled it from a grave, my boy, what do you think of that? Ha ha!”
“Turk! Turk!”
Daniel glared at the bird. He wondered if the bird would tell on him, since it could talk. It didn’t matter. He needed the gem if he ever wanted Patrick to shut up.
“She was a cold old widow, never wanted her children to do anything but what they were told, boy, drove them crazy, ha ha! Proud. Puffed up. Some call me puffed up, but they’re wrong. I took the stone from the widow’s grave, from her plantation, Arnaud Plantation, a white house, pretty, with trees and a little river. One of her boys drowned in that river. Her girl cracked her skull on the tree. Ha ha! I whispered sweet to her when I dug her up, whispered, ‘Wake up, chérie, wake up!’ They buried that cursed widow in secret, boy, and nobody would have the guts to take her jewels but me! See? Me, Old Maudire . . .”
“Turk!”
“Can I see it again?” Daniel asked. He wasn’t listening to the story. He didn’t care. Maybe the stone was magic or maybe it was ordinary. Either way he knew it hypnotized people in a special way. It had worked on him, hadn’t it? And tricks never worked on him.
“One more time, boy, one more time, and then you must be off home!” The hypnotist pulled the red gleaming slice of agate from his vest pocket and dangled it in front of Daniel’s eyes. It looked like earth’s blood, like something cruel and primal that had come up from the bottom of the world.