Ominous

  Suddenly the blindfold was ripped off my face, and a fingernail scratched my cheekbone. My head snapped back and slammed against something hard. I saw stars—brightly colored, flashing, popping stars—floating before my vision. I shook my head from side to side to clear it, and saw that I was in some kind of basement room. The ceilings were low, the floor was made of stained cement, and the only light came from several tall candelabras set up around the periphery. Tied to identical wooden posts, directly across from me, were Astrid, Lorna, Missy, and Constance.

  Now I was fully awake.

  “Astrid! Lorna! Missy! You’re okay?” I blurted.

  Tears streamed down Lorna’s face, and Astrid was covered in what looked like dried mud. Neither of them looked anywhere close to okay. But they were alive. At least they were alive. But where was Josh? What had they done with Josh?

  “Reed? What’s going on?” Constance asked, her voice quaking.

  She was still wearing her pink party dress, and a trickle of blood ran from her temple to her jaw. When had they taken her? How long had I been out? My fingers clenched into fists behind me, the simple movement straining my biceps. I looked down at myself for the first time. My ankles and my hands were lashed to a wooden pole. My shoes were gone and the skirt on my dress hung lower on one side, torn at the seam. Aside from the throbbing pain at the back of my skull, however, I appeared to be in one piece.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Just stay calm.”

  “Stay calm?” Missy shrieked. “What do you think those are for?”

  She nodded toward the center of the circle and I forced myself to look. Laid out on a small round table were six pristine silver daggers, their points touching at the center of the circle, their black handles evenly spaced. Each handle pointed directly at one of us. It looked as if they had been set up to be grabbed easily.

  Except there were only five of us. The sixth dagger pointed toward an empty wooden pole.

  I felt a whoosh of movement behind me and turned my head, wincing at the pain. All I saw was a flap of black fabric, like a robe, and then it disappeared. My heart started to pound in earnest, thrumming white-hot terror through my veins.

  Black robes. Just like in my dreams.

  “Who’s there? Who’s doing this? Nice work nabbing five defenseless girls, you cowards. The least you could do is show yourselves!” I snarled.

  There was a slam somewhere in the darkness, and Constance made a low, pathetic sound in the back of her throat.

  “Good job. Now you’ve pissed them off,” Missy snapped.

  “Make that six girls,” a disembodied voice growled.

  A heavy door slid open, momentarily letting in a shaft of blue light. I saw that piles of crates lined the walls, stamped with the words ASTI MOVANTI over a drawing of some kind of quaint, rural village. Suddenly Kiki was thrown through the door, struggling and spitting and cursing loudly. A fresh red bruise rimmed her right eye, and blood dripped from a cut in her lip. Two robed figures had her by her arms, but they were barely holding on. The moment Kiki saw the rest of us, though, she stopped struggling. Her shoulders wilted in what looked like defeat.

  “Run, Kiki,” I said through my teeth. “You can still get away.”

  As far as I could see, she was our only hope. She was the only one of us who was semifree. But she just shot me a look I couldn’t read and let them tie her to the post next to mine. I groaned and leaned my head back. We were screwed. We were ever so very screwed.

  Taking a breath, I looked around, desperate for anything that could tell me where we were, anything I could use to get us out. I heard Eliza’s words in my ear and clenched my teeth.

  “You can warn them.” But who? It seemed like everyone worth warning was already here.

  Still, I closed my eyes and thought as hard as I could of Noelle, of Ivy, of Josh. I conjured up a mental picture of the basement and tried to somehow make them see it. As if that were even possible. What really sucked was that it was the best—the only—plan I had.

  “They’re all here,” a woman’s voice said in the darkness. “We can begin the sacrifice.”

  My eyes popped open. Constance and Lorna whimpered.

  “Sacrifice?” Astrid cried. “What sacrifice?”

  “Anyone touches a hair on my head and you’re dead,” Missy spat, pulling against her ropes. “Do you have any idea who my father is?”

  There was a chuckle in the dark. The sound was so out of place it sent a shiver down my spine. A hooded figure stepped from the shadows behind Constance and Missy and slipped sideways between them to enter the center of the circle. I sensed movement all around me, and soon we were completely surrounded by black hoods, outnumbered at least three to one. My eyes shot to Kiki and she looked back at me, her face grim, but somehow … determined.

  Determined to do what? There was no way out of this. The only thing she should have been determining was whether she wanted to say any prayers before she died.

  The figure in the center of the circle stood next to the table of daggers and ever so slowly turned, pausing as it faced each of us, as if it could see our faces through the dark fabric of her hood. It looked at Kiki, then Constance, then Missy, then Lorna, then Astrid, and then, as if moving through a thick fog, it turned to me.

  It lifted its hands to its hood. I held my breath and forced myself not to look away. I thought of all my enemies. All the people who could possibly be insane enough to think up a horrible scheme like this. The figure looked slight, female. It was Paige Ryan. It had to be. Or Demetria Rosewell.

  Just before the hood was nudged back, I had the panicked, wild thought that it was going to be Sabine. Or even Ariana. They had appeared in my dreams, after all. Could it possibly be one of them? Had they escaped?

  And then the hood fell back and I gasped. I recognized the blond hair, the Botoxed brow, the perfect skin, the huge diamond earrings. It wasn’t one of the villains from my dreams, but it was close enough.

  It was Cheyenne Martin’s mother.

  “Mrs. Kane?” I blurted.

  So this was why I’d dreamed about Cheyenne. Her mother was behind this.

  Cheyenne’s mother smirked casually at me, as if I’d just told an inside joke. “Hello, Reed.” She laced her skinny fingers together in front of her. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long … long time.”

  I gaped back at her. Cheyenne’s mother had never been anything but polite to me. She’d seemed so strong after Cheyenne’s death. Emotional, sure, but strong. Not at all crazy. Certainly not a person who could mastermind the kidnappings of five of the wealthiest, most connected teenagers in the world—and me.

  “Why?” I asked. “What did we ever do to you?”

  Her smirk deepened. “Let’s forget about ‘we’ for the moment, shall we? Let’s talk about you.”

  Missy let out a wry laugh.

  “Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “What did I ever do to you?”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Kiki’s shoulders moving back and forth in an almost rhythmic pattern. I hoped she had come to her senses and was trying to get free. I decided to make this conversation last as long as humanly possible so that she’d have some extra time.

  “I’m sure by now you know about our four founding mothers,” Mrs. Kane said with a touch of sarcasm. “Of how Catherine White is related to Ariana Osgood, of how Noelle Lange is descended from Theresa Billings, of how you”—she paused here to sneer at me—“have both Billings and Williams blood corrupting your veins.”

  I felt a flash of pride and lifted my chin even higher.

  “Well, I, too, am descended from that ignominious little club,” she said, shaking a wisp of blond hair back from her face. “Cheyenne and I are direct descendants of Helen Jennings.”

  “The maid?” Kiki blurted.

  Mrs. Kane’s eyes narrowed and she slowly looked over her shoulder at Kiki. “Yes, Miss Rosen. The maid.”

  “What the hell is she on about?” Astrid asked Missy
.

  “Believe me,” Missy said, “you don’t want to know.”

  Mrs. Kane shot them a silencing glare. They both clamped their mouths shut.

  “We always knew that if ever the four families were to meet at Easton again, there would be trouble,” she continued. “But we had thought the Williams line had finally died out.”

  She stepped closer to me, her shoes rasping against the concrete floor. She leaned over and peered into my eyes, so close our noses almost touched.

  “We should have known better. We should have known Eliza would rear her ugly head again. And so she has.”

  Her breath mingled with mine, and it was all I could do not to bite her nose off. She leaned back again and walked away, shooting me a snide look over her shoulder. “Your grandmother made sure of that, didn’t she?”

  Mrs. Kane plucked one of the knives from the circular table. My heart sank to my toes.

  “What do you mean?” I said, barely able to speak past the burning lump of horror in my throat. “What do you mean, she made sure of that?”

  Mrs. Kane cocked her head. “Don’t you know?” She walked over and lifted the knife toward my face. I flinched, and Constance and Lorna started to sob. “You were engineered, my love.” She brought the tip of the knife to my left cheek and I felt a pinprick on my skin.

  “No no no no no,” Lorna whimpered, wagging her head back and forth.

  “Your grandmother was the one who invited your mother to interview at Lange Industries. She was the one who made certain your mother got the job as your father’s assistant. She dropped in their laps the project that forced them to work late nights, weekends, holidays. To always be thrown together. She knew her son well enough to know what would happen. And as one of Eliza’s descendants your mother is, of course, a whore.”

  “Shut up!” I spat.

  She flinched and the point of the knife drove deeper into my skin. I felt the hot trickle of blood down my cheek and started to shake.

  “Just like you are,” Mrs. Kane continued, her voice singsong. She moved the knife to my other cheek and pricked me there as well. “All of the Williams women are whores, and all of the Lange women are manipulative liars. Guess what that makes you?”

  She turned around and dropped the knife back on the table with a clang. “Clean it!”

  Someone rushed forward and grabbed the knife, scurrying quickly away. Mrs. Kane turned back to me.

  “Ever since you’ve been enrolled at Easton, there has been nothing but misfortune,” she said, her words clipped now, as if she were giving a presentation on stocks and bonds. “My daughter died because of you and—”

  “Your daughter died because Sabine DuLac was unhinged,” Astrid spat.

  Mrs. Kane blinked and her head twitched slightly. Then she continued as if Astrid hadn’t spoken. “My daughter died because you are a walking curse,” she said to me. “And the rest of you have only made it worse.”

  She flung an arm around at the others.

  “Since you riffraff have been allowed into Billings, there has been nothing but misery and destruction. But now, with your sacrifice, the slate will be wiped clean.”

  The knife was returned to its place on the table, and Mrs. Kane’s minion disappeared back into the shadows.

  “With the purging of all those who were not properly chosen, all will be set right.”

  “You’ve got your facts wrong,” I said. “I was properly chosen. And Missy would have gotten in. She’s a legacy.”

  Mrs. Kane tsked, then sucked in a breath through her teeth. “You were chosen by one and one alone, Miss Williams,” she spat. “Ariana Osgood, descendant of the one who cursed us, convinced the others to invite you in so that she could keep an eye on you. And then the little heathen went crazy and started murdering people. Hardly a ringing endorsement, I’d say.”

  “What about me?” Missy said, eyeing the knives with terror. “I would have gotten in junior year, like Reed said. You can’t do this to me. It isn’t fair.”

  Mrs. Kane ignored her. She lifted her hood back over her head and turned her back to me.

  “Begin the ritual,” she said.

  And then she melted into the darkness. Instantly, six hooded figures moved into the circle. Each one picked up a knife. My heart slammed into my rib cage over and over and over again as I fixated on the point of the knife closest to me.

  “No!” Astrid shouted. “You can’t do this!”

  “This isn’t happening,” Lorna said over and over again, still shaking her head. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.”

  Missy continued shouting about being a legacy, and Constance was just screaming out of control. Her eyes were wild as she struggled against her ropes, and I felt as if my heart were slowly tearing with each shriek.

  “Reed! Reed!” Kiki cried.

  I somehow tore my eyes away from the knife, which was being walked slowly in my direction. The six wielders were muttering something under their breath—something like a chant—but I couldn’t make out the words.

  Kiki flicked her head back and I looked down at her hands. She was holding her left hand out, palm to the side, but her wrists were still bound. I looked back at her face, my brow knit.

  “What?” I demanded.

  She mouthed one word. “Ventus.”

  She couldn’t be serious. She wanted to try a spell? That was her master plan? Her eyes widened, prodding me. From the corner of my eye, I saw the person before me lift the dagger with both hands. I had about ten seconds to live. I nodded to Kiki, turned my hand so that the palm faced left as well, and shouted.

  “VENTUS!”

  Suddenly, a vicious wind whipped around the room, flinging my hair in front of my face, pelting my blood-soaked cheeks with dirt, stinging my eyes. I turned my head away from it to protect myself and heard knives clang to the floor. Someone screamed. Dimly I saw one of the robed figures crawling across the circle, grappling for a fallen knife. Then Mrs. Kane exploded from the shadows, her hood blown from her face, her hair flying wildly in all directions. She grabbed the figure’s arms and pointed at me.

  “Start with her! Start with the Williams girl!”

  Shaking fingers closed around the knife handle. The robed figure stood up and staggered toward me, one hand holding the hood to her head. She lifted her arm and lunged. I closed my eyes, wondering how much this would hurt before I died.

  Then there was a slam. The wind died. And someone who sounded a lot like my dad let out a guttural scream.

  “No!”

  A body careened against my executioner, knocking the figure sideways and slamming it into the floor. My father pinned the person to the ground, his knees on her shoulders, and wrested the knife out of her hands. When he whipped the hood away, my jaw dropped. It was Demetria Rosewell.

  “Reed! Reed! Are you all right?”

  Josh was in front of me. I began to shake from head to toe, with relief, with terror, with confusion. Had we really just done a spell? Or had the door opened at the exact moment we’d tried, bringing the wind with it? Was Josh really here, or was I dreaming again?

  “Reed? Answer me,” Josh said.

  But he wasn’t real. None of this was real. None of this could really be happening. In the corner I saw Noelle. And Ivy. And Mr. Lange. And Grandmother Lange. And about two dozen police officers. None of it registered, though. They were all characters in a play. Features in someone else’s reality. I looked back down at my boyfriend, my eyes dry and narrowed, blood still dripping onto my shoulders.

  “Reed?” Josh reached up and touched my face with his fingertips. His skin was warm. His fingers trembled. “Reed, please?”

  He was real.

  “Josh?” I blurted. “Josh?”

  “Oh my God, you’re bleeding,” he said.

  Someone started messing with my hands. Tugging at the ropes.

  “Josh?”

  I couldn’t stop saying his name. Something inside of me had broken, and I was like a skipping
record.

  “Josh? Josh? Josh?”

  His face changed. The color drained and his eyes were like pinpricks.

  “Get her down,” he growled.

  Something slipped from my ankles and my feet were free. A second later my hands were too. I fell into Josh, launched into him, nearly flattened him. I was shaking so hard my head bumped his chin over and over and over again.

  “Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh.”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered into my hair, kissing my head, holding me as tightly as he could. “It’s okay. I found you. I found you and everything’s going to be okay.”

  The weird thing was, it was almost exactly how I had imagined it a few minutes earlier. Exactly how I’d wished it to be.

  “Drink this.”

  I sat on a chair someone had found in a corner of the basement, a coarse NYPD-issue blanket over my shoulders. Josh crouched in front of me, holding out a paper cup full of water.

  “I’m an idiot,” I said.

  Josh blew out a sigh. “Well. I’m glad to hear you say anything other than my name, but I can’t agree with that.”

  I swallowed hard. My mouth was full of dust and dirt and blood. I lifted the cup to my lips, shaking so hard some of the water spilled over onto my lap. I sipped just a little, and a trickle of clean coolness slithered down my throat. I stared down at the ring he’d given me. A spot of blood had dried over several of the diamonds.

  “How can you love me?” I asked, my voice cracking. “All I do is bring you misery and … and head wounds. How can you even be with me?”

  A single tear slid down my cheek and got caught in the crusted blood, where it stopped and started to itch. Josh laughed quietly. He lifted his hand to cup my cheek, drawing his finger over the spot, driving the itch away.

  “How could I not be with you?” he asked.

  I sniffled. “But I—”

  “Reed, none of this is your fault,” he said. “I know you don’t believe that right now, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to convince you. You’re not cursed. You’re not unlucky. You’re perfect.”