Then she straightens, dusts off her hands, and gestures for the door. “Let’s go show those boys what they’re missing.”
I follow her down the hall, heart thumping, nerves humming under my skin. Maybe tonight won’t be a nightmare after all.
Or maybe it will.
Either way, I’m ready.
CHAPTER 27
AVA
The thing nobodytells you about secret societies is how much time you spend waiting around for things to happen.
We leave campus a few hours after sunset, loaded into the black Escalade like we’re on a field trip from hell. I’m in the back seat with Ford, Wes at the wheel as usual with Raf brooding in the passenger seat beside him. Every one of them is dressed in a black– button-downs, slacks, and tailored jackets. They look like they’re headed to a funeral, which… as it turns out, is exactly how this feels.
The second we roll away from the gates of Corvus College and hit the open road, I feel the shift in the air, like someone flipped the switch from safe to hunted. Wes drives with both hands on the wheel, posture locked, eyes on the rearview every few minutes. Ford is next to me, his bottle of ‘car whiskey’ already clutched in his grip. Raf is quiet, gaze constantly shifting, knee bouncing.
We ride in near silence for the first hour. I think about asking where we’re headed, but something in the way the boys have gone cold tells me not to. The tension is a clear message in itself. I focus on the dark beyond the windows, watching the trees open up the further we drive from campus.
At the two-hour mark, Ford finally breaks the silence. He pops the top off a fresh bottle– he must’ve stashed a whole fucking bar under the seat– and offers it to me.
“You want a hit, Ava baby?” he asks, cracking a smile. “Might take the edge off.”
I shake my head. “I want to remember everything about tonight. Just in case I die or whatever.”
Wes snorts, a soft exhale of air that sounds almost fond. “You’re not gonna die, Doll,” he says, voice pitched low and gentle. “Worst case, they reject you as an initiate and we have to kill you.”
“Nah, we’ll keep you around,” Ford says, elbowing me in the ribs. “For a while, at least.”
“You guys are the worst comforters in the world,” I grumble.
“Yeah, well,” Ford says, “we’re not really in the market for comfort.” He downs another swig, then leans over, dropping his voice to a growl in my ear. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Do I have a choice?” I scoff.
“Not really,” Raf mutters, gaze fixed on the side mirror. “It’s a one-way ride.”
We fall silent again. The further we drive from the safety of campus, the more the inside of the Escalade feels like a coffin.
At some point, I must zone out, because the next thing I know, Wes is flicking on the blinker and pulling us into a gravel parking lot lined with mossy stone walls. I sit up straighter, heart pounding, as I realize where we are.
It’s a graveyard. An ancient one, by the looks of it. The headstones are crooked, some half-swallowed by ground and weeds, the names carved in letters so thin I can’t even read them in the glow of the headlights. Beyond the first row of graves, a small stone building perches on a hill, gleaming in the moonlight.
Ford grins when he sees my reaction. “Like it? It’s got great Yelp reviews.”
Wes slides out of the driver’s seat, opens my door, and I step out into air so cold that goosebumps pebble up on my skin instantly, even through my coat. I huddle into it, wishing I’d picked something thicker, but then Ford’s on the other side of me, crowding close, the heat of him alleviating the chill.
“You’ll warm up in a sec,” he says, eyeing my bare legs with open appreciation. “Or maybe you just need a shot after all.” He lifts the bottle in offering, but I shake my head again.
Raf steps around to join us, nodding toward the cemetery. “Stick together,” he directs. “Keep your eyes up.”
We crunch up the gravel path in a cluster, feet sliding over loose rock. The mausoleum looms larger the closer we get, its columns shadowed and greened by age. The door is wrought iron, rusted but still impressive, with a heavy lock at the center.
Raf pulls a key from his pocket as we approach. It glints in the moonlight, old and heavy-looking. He slides it into the lock, turns, and the mechanism groans as the gate swings open.
“Here we go,” Ford says, winking at me. I want to punch him, but I’m too busy scanning the darkness for whatever horror is about to pop out.
Wes enters first, hands in his pockets, head down like he’s done this a hundred times before. Ford steps in behind him, then turns, gesturing for me to follow.
