“Tonight,” Daisy whispered, “is just the beginning.” The library felt strange, charged, electric, like a current was running through all of us. That was when what she’d said sank in:Once you’re in, you’re in for life.
With a loud thud, Professor DuPont pulled back the corner of an old Persian rug, revealing a trapdoor covered in what looked to be centuries-old gray stone, the kind you’d find in ancient ruins. My nerves pricked to attention as I looked around and realized there were only seven new members here.Seven.
He had us follow Lila—who must have been in Greystone too—down a spiral staircase, until we reached a black door at the bottom. After dialing a combination into the lock, she pushed open the door, revealing darkness behind it. Suddenly, I realized she had to have known I had been voted into Greystone. She was warning me away from the Society, not from Sterling. Fear flared across my chest as if my body knew it was a trap.
As we entered, Daisy revealed a small dried mushroom in her palm.
“Trust me, you’ll want it,” she whispered.
I hesitated. “What is it?”
“Psychedelic mushrooms, but don’t worry, it’s only a micro dose…” She smiled in that way she had. Her smile saidThese aren’treal drugs, not the kind people go to prison for. Not the kind people die from.
She ate an identical mushroom, raised her eyebrows. With a deep breath, I took it from her, placed the bitter mushroom on my tongue.
Maybe that was the moment I became someone I wasn’t. I knew it at the time, though I wasn’t prepared to admit it. And so, despite my instincts telling me to run in the other direction, I followed her inside.
—
The seven ofus followed the dozen or so members as they fanned into the crypt and toward the bar. The room was windowless, with low ceilings and dim floor lamps that gave the space an unnatural glow. Someone turned up the music and soon a dark energy ran through the room, an animalistic hunger in the members’ eyes. They shouted and clanged cowbells and fed us champagne until my head swam.
At some point, Daisy pulled me forward. “Come here.” She wove her fingers through mine and led me down a narrow hallway. “As you’ve probably figured out, you’ve been tapped for Greystone Society.”
Tapped.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as she gave me a hug.
—
She led meinto a small office and handed me a sweatshirt. It was cold, and the cement walls muted the noise of the party.
“Wait here,” she said, and before I could protest, she was gone. I looked around. The air reminded me of the air in a windowless basement. Cool, damp. This was definitely belowground. That hidden stairwell must have been built into the wall to descend down from the far side of the library and continue downward.
I put on Daisy’s sweatshirt and sat very still.
Fifteen minutes later, Professor DuPont entered the room and took a seat at the desk in front of me. He handed me what looked like an NDA.
As I looked down at the form and back to him, my head swam. I got the impression that signing wasn’t optional.
After I signed, he clasped his hands on the desk and fixed his gaze on me. “Congratulations. You’ve been formally invited to join Greystone Society. Do you accept?”
The room stretched behind him as I tried to focus on his face, which swayed like a moving target. It all suddenly felt so real.Greystone Society? Me?How had Daisy pulled this off?
I nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Professor DuPont sat back, and I was relieved to feel a rush of cool air on my face. From behind the desk, he looked at me with an amused expression. “So, Maya…you’re from California?”
Professor DuPont, up until then, had, to me, been a sort of mythical figure—up on the McCosh stage, or behind an email—too distant to be real.
Up close, I could smell the woody oud of his cologne; I could see the faint stubble he’d missed along his jawline, the way his hair was slightly unkempt, a wavy, tawny lock escaping over his right eye, and the frown line between his brows that gave him a serious, intellectual, and gently resolute impression.
At the same time, he had a youthful quality to his movements that made it hard to believe he was in his midthirties. When he spoke to me, he felt familiar, as if we were old friends. And yet he was so ridiculously attractive that it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. My brain felt slow, my heart thudded loudly behind my ribs, and I didn’t trust my words…but maybe that was more a result of the champagne and the mushroom I’d taken earlier.
“The Bay Area,” I managed to say, after what felt like an hour-long pause.
He nodded. “I see you did well in high school.” His eyes stopped halfway down the page, and he raised his eyebrows. “Sacred Heart…I have a friend whose son went there. Are you Catholic?”
I shook my head. “They offered a good financial aid package and liked that my dad was a professor at San Jose State.”
