Parker
The letter comes in the second week of October. It’s a night just like any other, except for when I walk into my room at the end of the day in a rush to collapse on my bed, and a crimson envelope is sitting on my pillow, the bold, gold lettering with my name scrolled across the front, feeling like a hot brand to my soul.
My mouth runs dry, and all the air in my lungs evaporates. I stand there, deadlocked with a fucking inanimate object like some dumbass, even if this object wields more power over me than anything else ever has. Including Mia.
When I finally get the will to pick it up, I flip it over, my thumb brushing across the wax seal, the letters CV looking back at me with ominous intentions. Crimson Veil. My back hits the pillows in front of my headboard as I collapse onto my bed.
Crimson Veil is Corvus College’s secret society. There have always been rumors and whispers about what it actually is and what it entails: human sacrifices under the buildingI sit in now, occult rituals, blood oaths, and a slew of dark and disturbing theories. But from what I do know from the history books is that Corvus College was founded in the early sixteenth century by a group of five: Abel Thorne, Edmund Mortwood, Francis Harrow, Isabel Ashcroft, and Cecelia Grimsley. Intended to teach the unconventional, the dark, and the wicked, it made sense that the founding members started with a secret society. Crimson Veil. Membership has been passed down through the direct family line of each name, while very slowly bringing in new members willing to make the blood oath, binding them and their descendants to serving the Veil.
The college itself is hidden and reclusive, the students keeping to themselves. The grounds are shrouded in the middle of Massachusetts, with a forest of large oak trees on every side, and wrought iron gates on the perimeter. It’s slightly tragic that Corvus is one of the oldest colleges in our country, and yet the history books rarely recognize it.
I turn the card over and over in my hand, swallowing down the lump in my throat. It’s similar to the one I received in my senior year of high school. Growing up in Hawaii, I had no idea that Corvus College existed—most don’t—until the day I received an invitation to attend, and everything kind of crumbled for a moment.
Corvus is an elite, invitation-only college, and while I have no idea how they pick the students to attend, and trust me, there are conspiracy theories on that as well, I understood more the day that letter came.
Being adopted as a baby, my parents didn’t know a whole lot about my birth parents, except for the one caveat of my adoption, that one day, an invitation would come for me to attend college, and that it would be fully paid for.
My only memories included island life at the time, and the idea of a fully paid tuition at a kick-ass school in the Northeast was too good to pass up. Granted, I didn’t have much of a choice. No one knows I’m a descendant of Francis Harrow, not even my best friend, Asher, not even the love of my life, Mia. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself since they told me I had the option to attend here last year, but now as I look at the deep red paper in my hand, I know there’s no avoiding it.
Ready to get this shit over with, I slide my finger under the wax and break the seal, opening the envelope and pulling out the thin parchment paper inside.
Your attendance is required at the Veil.
Come alone. Speak of this to no one.
Bring this letter. It will grant you passage.
Refusal does not free you from the Veil.
It only ensures you will never know what waits behind it.
Tonight. 8 p.m.
Sub velo rubro, veritas dormit.
“Under the red veil, truth sleeps.”
A loud knock at the door startles me, and I quickly look at my watch. “Fuck,” I mutter, shoving the parchment into my back pocket. I’m going to be fucking late. Just what I need today. I quickly pull on my shoes, hopping over to the door as I lace them and whip it open. I come face-to-face with the blond jock asshole, Silas Blackwood. Literally the last person I’d want to run into when I’m already stressed.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I snap. Asher may be forced to play nice with him right now, but I’m under no such obligation.
“Hi, Parker. Glad to see you, too,” he says with a fake-ass smile. “Where’s Asher? He missed our meeting and hasn’t answered his phone.” Asher has been forced to tutor this big, dumb asshole, and I actually feel bad for him. I think he should let him flounder and fail since all he’ll ever care about is rugby. But Asher is a better person than I am. Probably helps that he’s being forced to tutor him since Silas is the son of the college’s president.
“Pretty sure he was up all night studying after being forced to spend his extra time trying to find your remaining two brain cells.”
Silas’ jaw twitches, the only tell that I’ve affected him. Ohh, that one got under his skin. Score one for Parker.
“Whatever. Where is he?”
“He’s down the hall, last room on the left. I’m late for a meeting, so get out of my way.”
Silas gasps like an idiot, covering his mouth with his hand. “You? Late? Someone call the police!”
“Do you know how to not be an asshole, or is that just your default setting?”
“Fuck off, prick.” How original.
I push past him, nudging him with my shoulder as I go. “You first, dickhead.”
