“Hey, girl!” Callie exclaimed. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“What?” I cleared my throat to rid myself of the thick quality in my voice.
“Hello? Did you forget? It’s Initiation Night.”
Ah, yes. My so-called big plans for tonight. I’d received the invitation for Initiation Night over a month ago and RSVPed as soon as possible.
The wheels in my mind were just churning a little slower than usual after my moment of weakness.
“No, I didn’t forget.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I just need to change and I’m ready in twenty. Will you come pick me up?”
“I’m already on my way, babe.”
“Thanks, Cal. See you soon.”
We hung up and then I got ready at record speed.
When I’d been in high school, Initiation Night at St. Victoria was something I looked forward to every single year in October.
And I knew a night of debauchery would be the perfect distraction from the chaos brimming in my life.
C H A P T E R3
The Witching Hour
Cade
The Present
The wind howled as I rode up St. Victoria’s hill.
My motorcycle’s light guided me through the tenebrous night, my leather-gloved hands tightening on the handlebars as shadows, scattered amongst the maple trees lining the pathway, played in my peripheral vision like wraiths. This ancient motherhouse—now converted into an educational institute for the elite’s offspring—was rumoured to be brimming with phantoms.Ifyou believed in that sort of thing. Although the series of macabre deaths revolving this place was quick to prove that there was something diabolic in nature deeply rooted at its core.
Over the years, many students claimed they’d seen things, heard things, felt things. Things that were intangible and challenged their grasp on reality.
I wasn’t a believer in the paranormal, therefore my experience at St. Victoria remained untainted by these speculations. In my book, the only demons that existed were the sick humans who walked this earth, sinners in all shapes and forms.
Perched like an old relic in a contemporary world, St. Victoria’s edifice unravelled at the top of the hill as I neared the gates. Centuries-old architecture laden with dark turrets, greystones, and discreetly hidden gargoyles on the roof, the school was a sculpture straight out of gothic literature.
Despite the eerie ambiance, one could still appreciate its beauty.
When I parked my motorcycle near St. Victoria’s woods, a myriad of memories flooded my mind. Ella and me riding together to school, her arms wrapped around my middle and her vivacious laugh in my ear as she enjoyed the wind in her hair. Ella and me crossing the hallways together, my hand braided with hers and the other one holding her purse because she’d gotten tired of hauling it. Ella and me seated by the fountain in the courtyard, stealing kisses between classes and making plans for a future that would no longer come to fruition.
Everywhere I looked, I saw Ella.
She was my favourite memory and my mind loved revisiting her.
It gutted me that I lost the privilege of so many things that made me feel like her protector, but most importantly…it gutted me that I losther.
Ultimately, there were two prominent reasons I was here tonight.
To see Ella and to win her back, once and for all.
Far in the distance, I heard low ruckus and knew the boys were already here.
These woods were reminiscent of the ones at Remington estate, but ours were more tamed and serene. St. Victoria’s forest was unruly and high enough to block out the night stars. It even hosted a small cemetery for the graves of the children who’d perished when this institute was still a motherhouse back in the early 1900s.
Colourful leaves crunched beneath my black boots as I trudged into the woods. Back in the days, after home games, the boys would hang out here with alcohol and locker room talk.
