“I know you don’t need me to do this, but I do.”
“So, how did it happen?” She set her laptop down and shifted to make space for me on her bed. I made to help and lift some of the clutter out of the way. “Don’t mess with my system,” she insisted. “I can do it.”
Typical April. Adamant that she could take care of everything. A stubborn strength rested in her bones. If she’d been interested, the Red Court would have jumped at the chance to have April. The thought left a sour aftertaste in my brain, and I shoved it away.
I recounted my day for her, trying to include all the small details. When I mentioned Haley was the Red Court member who recruited me, a flicker of something I couldn’t identify crossed her face.
“Do you know Haley?” I asked. April was nearly four years older than me, so I didn’t know many of her friends when she went to Heller.
“I knew of her. She was a sophomore when I was a senior. She’s, like, artsy, right? Even as a freshman she had some piece in an art contest and won some big prize.”
“Yeah, that’s her.” I paused, unsure if I should share my apprehension. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little nervous.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret telling you about the Red Court in the first place.” Her voice wavered. “In case you need to hear this, you can walk away. It doesn’t have to be you, Ember.”
Time seemed to slip backward to my earlier conversation with Haley, when she made a similar offer. I did have a choice, and I would choose to do the right thing, no matter what it cost me. “If not me, then who? Who else knows what I know and is willing to try?”
The Red Court took and took, and it was time for them to start paying. Who better to end them than someone who has seen the impact of their cruelty up close?
The front door opened and my dad’s voice called out. “We’re in here,” I called back.
My dad came down the hall and poked his head through the door. “How are my two best girls?” he asked. He was a classic college professor with his dark hair neatly combed. In class at the University of Denver he was all business, but outside of school he was prone to whimsy in a way that his two daughters never were. Case in point: naming his children after their birth months.
“What about Mom?” I asked with an eye roll.
“Shhh,” he whispered conspiratorially and added an exaggerated wink for effect. “Don’t tell her.”
“We’re fine, Dad.” April smiled.
A crease appeared across his forehead. “Ember, I got an email from the school about this morning.”
My stomach bottomed out. “This morning?”
“I know the administration is taking steps to address the culture of bullying among students. If you ever want to talk about it, we’re here.”
I shot an uneasy glance at April before saying, “Thanks, Dad. I’m fine.”
The school district should receive an award for the spin job they put on Red Court hits. Bullying didn’t even begin to cover it.
He nodded. “Tacos for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll be out to help in a minute.”
April busied herself neatening the stacks of notes around her. “I’m actually headed out tonight. Going-away party for someone at work.”
Dad eyed her. “Aren’t those sorts of things usually at bars?”
April rolled her eyes. Hard. “It’s at a restaurant. Relax.”
My sister had been rolling her eyes at any attempt by my parents to actually parent her since she was eight.
“Ok, then,” he said, and knocked twice on the door frame.
After he left, April turned back to me. “It’s in the bar at the restaurant.”
I shared a secret smile with my sister and stood to go help Dad with dinner. “Sounds fun.”
“Ember.”
April’s tone sent a shiver down my spine. It was a plea and a warning and something else I couldn’t name.
“I wanted to tell you...to be careful. If it gets to be too much, we’ll get you out. Together.”
“Of course.”
Lie.
There was nothing that would stop me.
CHAPTER 6
WALKING THROUGH SCHOOL the next day, I tried to look like I wasn’t harboring a big secret, and then tried even harder to look like I wasn’t trying. My life over the past year had been straightforward: work hard and earn positive attention for accolades. I worshipped at the shrine of my routine, borderline fanatical about each element. Now that I had achieved my initial goal of gaining access to the Red Court, there was no routine, and it was freaking me out. Haley texted once to let me know that she’d be in contact again only when she had something to say. So much for our hair-braiding sessions where I got her to spill everything she knew.
Gideon woke up with a cold and tapped out for the day, so I was free to waste my off-hour feeding my caffeine habit. After I put in a few minutes of face time with Mr. Carson to make up for my lapse in participation the day before, I swung by my locker to nab a jacket. When the locker door popped open, I found myself staring at a Queen of Hearts.
My own heart seemed to still for a long moment. I considered the card, trying to puzzle out its meaning before I picked it up. Why would Haley need to leave another card for me? I lifted the card from its perch on the top shelf and noticed the script on the back was neat, almost girlish, and not the block lettering from yesterday. Someone else had left me this message.
Welcome to the Red Court.
I expect great things from you.
Make me proud.
Unlike the invitation yesterday, this playing card didn’t have a signature. Only a small red heart drawn below the text. My hands began shaking. It was a note from the Queen of Hearts. I held something of hers, and that fact made my place in the Red Court feel real, feel like something was happening. And it reminded me the Queen of Hearts was watching me probably as much as I was looking for her. Behind the note was a stack of playing cards. My own personal supply of threats.
As slyly as possible, I slipped the Queen of Hearts playing card into my wallet, leaving the rest. The card Haley left me yesterday was safely tucked away in my dresser at home, but this one was special. It needed to be kept close. Grabbing my coat, I bolted for the nearest exit to find some coffee and my footing in this new landscape.
* * *
I stood at the counter of my favorite coffee shop in what felt like a waking dream of queens and playing cards (how was this my life?), chatting with Damien, aka Maker of the Best Lattes, when Chase Merriman breezed in the front door. It seemed fate wanted to rub my nose in my own misdeeds. I was hoping to avoid him for at least...forever.