“Zeke?” I ask.
“Downstairs.”
I nod. “Goodnight,” I tell her, and hug her. She still feels frail even for the weight she’s put back on.
“It’s good you brought her home.” She draws back. “I hope you meant what you said to her.”
“I did. We’re here for good.” My voice comes out hard and she hears it. I see it in the crease between her eyebrows.
“Past is past, Jericho.”
“The dead will be avenged.” I turn and walk toward the stairs. This isn’t the first time we’re having this conversation and I’m tired of it.
“She wouldn’t have wanted that,” she calls out when I get to the stairs.
I stop, grit my teeth, jaw clenching. “Go to bed,” I say, although I want to say a hundred other things.
“Son,” she starts.
I shift my gaze to her. “It’s the only way to keep her safe,” I tell her, although it’s not my only reason. But it ends the conversation.
I walk down the stairs and toward my brother’s study to wait for Councilor Hildebrand and the rest of our guests.
3
Isabelle
“Where have you been?” Carlton asks. He’s standing just outside the entrance of the ballroom. He’s a half-brother, actually. That’s where the half comment came from earlier. I’m only half-Bishop. People can’t seem to let that go but for the wrong reasons if you ask me. I’m not sad to not be a full-blooded Bishop. The opposite. I’m sad I have any Bishop blood in me at all.
He forces a smile at a passerby, nods as if we’re having a normal conversation. I wonder if that smile hurts him. But appearances matter to Carlton.
“Freshening up after all the dancing,” I lie.
He looks me over, nods. “Good. You look a little wilted.”
“I’m tired. Can we go home?”
He glances over my shoulder, scans the crowd.
“You’ll go home after dinner.”
“I can’t dance anymore. My feet hurt.”
“It’s important we find you a suitable match.”
“Does it matter that I don’t want a suitable match? Or any match?”
“You know we need to do this. It’s for everyone’s benefit.”
“You mean for your benefit. How will it benefit me?”
He tugs me away from a couple who passes too close on their way to their seats. “You’re a Bishop, Isabelle.”
“Half.”
“That doesn’t matter. You have a duty, just like I do. Just like every Bishop.”
“To enrich the family coffers.”
His light-blue gaze goes flat, eyes dull. He’s no longer wearing his mask so I can see his face fully and he’s not pleased.
“I didn’t hear you complain when I took you in and paid your school fees, not to mention your clothes, the car you drive, your beautiful room, the food you eat. Should I go on?”
“No,” I say tightly. I never asked for those things. Extenuating circumstances put us both in a position neither of us wanted to be in. And now it’s too late to pull out. The money is spent. And I have no means of paying it back.
“Good.” His phone dings and he reaches into his pocket. I can see what he reads pisses him off, although he’s been on edge lately. More so than usual. “Fucking Hildebrand,” he mutters, looking over my shoulder into the crowd. His posture tenses and I watch the effort it takes for him to smile.
I follow his gaze and turn to find an older, unpleasant looking man heading toward us with two guards in tow. You can always tell The Society guards from the way they move. And I know instantly whatever is coming is no good.
“Councilor Hildebrand,” Carlton says, extending his hand.
Councilor? As in The Tribunal?
I don’t miss the hush that falls over those standing within earshot and people passing by who slow down and strain to hear.
“Carlton,” the older man says. He glances at me but doesn’t actually acknowledge me. “There’s been a change of location. I hoped you’d be ready.”
“I only just received your message, or I would be.”
“Well, shall we, then?” he gestures to the exit.
“If you’ll let me know the location, I’ll have my driver—”
“I have a car for you,” Hildebrand says and although I don’t know him, I know his word is final.
The Tribunal is the judicial arm of The Society. IVI seems to stand apart from the law, having their own rules, their own courts. Their own system of punishments.
I shudder at the thought. At the things I’ve heard from my cousin, Julia, who studies The Society’s history like it’s her bible.
Carlton watches the older man closely and it takes him a moment to acquiesce. He’s not used to taking orders. “Of course. I’ll just arrange for the driver to take my dear sister home.”
“She’ll accompany us.”
Carlton’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this? All this cloak and dagger—”
“You’ll do well to watch your mouth, Bishop,” Hildebrand says and turns to walk away, gesturing to the two men who I know would, without question, drag my brother and me if we don’t move.
Carlton takes a step, but I grab his arm and tug. He turns to me.
“What’s going on?”
“Come,” Hildebrand calls over his shoulder.
My brother follows the older man without a word to me and I’m left with the guards, one of whom clears his throat and gestures for me to walk ahead of him. I do, trying not to look at the curious gazes, grateful for the mask that covers my face because my cheeks are burning underneath, my heart hammering.
But I follow obediently because that’s what I do. It’s what most women in The Society do. We’re not quite second-class citizens but this is a patriarchy. And I’m not only a woman but I only half-belong. Carlton’s father had an affair with his maid who happened to be my mother. At least it was described as an affair. I’m not so sure when I recall their relationship in the years I was old enough to pay attention.
Anyway, she got pregnant. And for the first sixteen years of my life, I didn’t know I was a Bishop. I was simply a York. But then my parents died, and, within a year of their deaths, Christian, my brother who had guardianship of me, was killed, and Carlton took me in. I was an orphan and then not, all within 48 hours of my brother’s death.
When we reach the gates of the courtyard something distracts me from my thoughts. I’m grateful for it because those thoughts never lead to a good place. And as Councilor Hildebrand climbs into the first of two Rolls Royce’s awaiting us, I see the mask with its devil’s horns on the ground. I take a step toward it and gasp. Because it’s the mask. The horned devil from the chapel. He must have left the compound. Taken it off here. Would I recognize him if I saw him again? Heard his voice? I’m sure I would. Hell, I’ll know if I’m ever in the same room as him because even looking at the discarded mask I feel it, that shivering sensation along my spine raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Sister,” Carlton snaps, startling me.