The Manor wasn’t a house. It was a castle. It must have had at least twenty bedrooms and I couldn’t begin to imagine how many acres accompanied it. Karen had a friend who had a big house and growing up it was my favorite place to go. I’d spend the day there sometimes running around in their yard and splashing in their pool. Their house looked miniature in comparison to this. It wasn’t a far-fetched idea that Stella could have gotten lost in there.
The question was, would I? Would I be able to find her and save myself at the same time? I unlocked the car and stepped out, walking to the trunk upon hearing it click and open. After getting the suitcase out, I waved at Dr. Thompson and walked up to the door. Even those were massive, larger than life, as I stood before them. They were iron, just like the gates, and just like the gates, their maker had bent the iron and willed it to intertwine and create a masterpiece. There was a gold S scripted in the middle of each of them. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell and looked back as I heard a car retreating. Dr. Thompson was driving away, slowly, but still, driving away. I rang the bell again, then tried the handle, which was locked. I wasn’t sure how much time had gone by before I remembered the key in my backpack. Surely, I wouldn’t have a key to this place though. I’d woken up with that key in my own backpack, not Stella’s, but as I reached into her backpack, which still smelled of new leather, I found two keychains. I brought them out and looked at them. They had the same S on them and looked like the same key. My hands shook.
With my heart lodged in my throat, I brought one of the keys to the lock and slid it in. It fit perfectly, but I knew from experience sometimes that didn’t mean much. Once, Karen had tossed me out of the house and changed the locks on me. When I returned home, the key fit the lock, but wouldn’t turn. After pounding and calling and threatening to call the cops, I ended up having to sneak into my bedroom that night. It was that memory that made me pause before turning the key, and the thought that, if it didn’t turn and unlock, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Would I run home with my tail between my legs and pretend none of this happened? Would I go to my therapist with this? I didn’t want to. That was probably what happened last night. It was probably how I ended up sleeping at The Institute in the first place. I shuddered. The Manor was where a secret society resided and even though I didn’t know much about the societies, I knew they handpicked wealthy students with connections to join. There was no way facing a bunch of rich kids would be worse than dealing with the staff at The Institute.
On that thought, I turned the key.
Chapter Three
Anticipation rolled through me as I stepped into the dark house and shut the door quietly behind me, instantly feeling like I’d been transported to another century, a foreign place unlike anything I’d ever known. The walls on either side of me were covered in some kind of wallpaper and wood panel. On every panel was a sconce holding a flickering candle. On every piece of wallpaper, a portrait. Classical music was playing loudly, seemingly making the candles flicker more with each touch of the piano and stroke of the violin. I began to walk quietly, slowly, taking in every portrait, which had men in military suits, archbishops or cardinals or whoever wore those fancy hats, doctors in their white lab coats, all with eyes that seemed to move as I moved past them. All watching, waiting, judging. I swallowed my nerves and moved forward, finding the place oddly familiar, wondering if I’d been here before, but no, it was impossible. I may not remember what happened to me these last two days, but that didn’t mean I had no memory prior and I knew I hadn’t been here.
Once I reached the end of the long hall, the house seemed to open up. There was a large round table in the center with a large glass vase that contained red roses. So many roses. It must’ve cost a fortune just to fill this vase regularly. Just past the table, there were two grand wooden staircases covered in dark red carpet. To either side of me, there were two endless hallways, but unlike the one I was in, light from outside shone in and basked both sides with the natural, dim light that the setting sun provided.
“Hello?” I followed the music, rolling the suitcase behind me.
To my left, there was an open space, a sitting area with fancy sofas I wouldn’t dare to dirty. Beyond it, there were windows that looked over the back of the house. The only things I could see were woods and more woods. I kept walking. The music grew louder still. My grip tightened on the handle of the suitcase as I opened my mouth to call out again, but stopped when I reached the next open area—a vast room with a black grand piano in the corner, three large white couches surrounding it, and four guys wearing different color polos. One of the guys was sitting behind the piano, his fingers moving deftly on the keys as he seemingly played along to the song blasting on the speakers. The other three were sitting on the couches looking relaxed with glasses in their hands. One was passing a joint to the guy beside him when I did a little wave to catch their attention. Then, the one passing the joint, hit a button on the control beside him, putting a stop to the music on the speakers, but the pianist didn’t seem to notice as he continued playing along, a beautiful, haunting melody that seemed impossibly difficult to play.
“Um. Hi.” I licked my lips. My voice was small in comparison to my surroundings.
The pianist stopped playing instantly and stood in one swift motion. He was tall and lean and when his eyes met mine I felt a jolt of lightning strike through me. He kept his expression guarded, so I couldn’t be sure he’d felt it too, but at least as I stood there, the air felt charged and my words seemed to be stuck in the back of my throat, unable to make their way out of my mouth.
“Are you Stella?” the pianist asked after a moment.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat, tilting my chin up a little, wondering if the real Stella Thompson would feel small or like she fit in just fine with the likes of them. “Stella Thompson.”
“You were supposed to be here yesterday,” he said.
“I got caught up in something.” I took a deep breath. “But I’m here now.”
The three guys on the couches looked over at the pianist as if waiting for him to comment on how to handle the situation. I looked at him as well, even though the scrutiny in his eyes made me feel like I was shrinking by the second. I’d never enjoyed being in a room with rich people. Once, I’d had a job in the country club by my house as a hostess, and I never felt like I belonged. They were never outright mean to me, but the judgment they cast was enough for me to know I wasn’t worthy of sitting at their tables, only cleaning up after them. It was fine. I wasn’t like my friend Aisha, who always felt the urge to fit in. At the end of the day, the demons I carried were enough to remind me that I was an island all on my own. I studied the faces of each of the guys in the room, who all seemed surprised by my presence, and fought the urge to turn away. These specific kinds of rich people were the worst—entitled and unforgiving.
“She’s a woman,” one of them said.
“Well, now that we got that out of the way, can you tell me what I’m doing here?” I looked at him and back at the pianist.
“You’ve been hand-selected to potentially join our society, The Swords,” the pianist said.
“Potentially?”