Page 18 of House of Hearts

Birdie and I are twinning today, and it goes far beyond our matching set of fingerless gloves (“Trust me, they’re on trend”).

“Are you nervous?” she whispers as we walk up the front entrance to the House of Hearts.

She’s been jumpy for hours, and by hours, I mean the last forty-eight, when she ran into our dorm, red-faced and panting.

Her dress was rumpled and her hair streaked with soil, but none of that mattered because she was holding up a Queen of Hearts card.

The squeal she made when I showed her my matching card was at a frequency only bats could hear.

“No more than I was in the maze.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. What I’m feeling now isn’t nerves. It’s a beehive beneath the skin.

The storm stole what was left of summer, and Monday morning washed away the rest. The excitement from Saturday has faded to the dull monotony of classwork, glitter and gold party streamers swapped for number-two pencils.

That all changes now.

“Moment of truth,” she whispers as we take the first steps toward the Cards’ comically ominous front door Monday night. The panels are intricately decorated with linenfold designs, the wood carved to resemble arched cathedral windows with flourished hearts at their centers.

It swings open immediately after the first rap of the brass door knocker to reveal Tripp leering down at us.

“You’re lucky, you know that?” he says before taking a hit off his weed pen.

I know for a fact he’s not allowed to vape on campus (some of us actually read the school rules before we break them), but I bite my tongue.

“Should’ve seen the others when they got suspended. One dude cried like a goddamn baby.”

I’m not sure if I feel lucky. I don’t know what I feel other than haunted.

I offer my Queen of Hearts card to him now. “This is our door pass, right?”

He grunts before stepping aside to let us in. “You look like shit,” he says, zero filter. “That maze did a number on you, huh?”

“Something like that.” I can’t blame him for the insult. My arms are littered with red scratches, cuts from where branches sliced through my bare skin, and I swear I can still feel the dirt crusted under my nails. I’ve left the maze, but in many ways, I feel like I haven’t.

“Oh thank God, I’m so glad you guys made it.” Mallory strolls our way with a swish of her hair. “Things were beginning to get boring. And, ew, Tripp, you reek. Hold still.”

He grits his teeth and gags as she whips out a pink bottle and drenches him in an equally noxious spray of Tom Ford perfume. “There, you’re welcome.”

Tripp barks at us, “ Hurry up and follow me .”

I was expecting a lot of things: a medieval torture chamber where Tripp would say “gotcha” as he tied me to a wooden rack; a seedy, Prohibitionist lounge where they all smoked cigars and talked exclusively about how rich they were; an Illuminati cult meeting with robes and pyramids and Gregorian chanting. I just wasn’t expecting this.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” Mallory says, which is a massive, massive understatement.

The room is a cyclone of news articles, pages strewn across couch cushions and stacked haphazardly by the mantel, newspaper cutouts pinned to corkboard-covered walls and photos circled in red ink.

It feels like I’ve been thrown into a cliché crime drama, the perfect backdrop for a daytime television detective— There’s a method to my madness, officer, I assure you.

Except I don’t think there is one here. The only perk about this room is that none of the papers are oozing blood onto the floor. That definitely does some atmospheric heavy lifting.

“What is all this?” Birdie’s the first to speak. She might be a mess herself right now, but even she sounds strained at the sight.

At least she can talk. I’m currently at a loss for words. I’ve never been so overstimulated in my life, my tired eyes darting past the chaos to the Cards members draped around the room.

Sadie scowls at us from a buttoned armchair; Oliver waves from one of the black-painted walls, his free hand pinning a new piece of information against a corkboard; Ash pats his knee like mall Santa, and Mallory sprawls disgustingly across his lap; Tripp takes another hit off his weed pen.

And Calvin stares directly at me.

“Sit down,” Sadie instructs, gesturing for us to do as she says and shut up. The vintage Sorrento table between us is littered with papers, and Birdie has to push a manila folder out of the way to even sit beside me.

“First things first,” she says, like a stereotype of a mob boss, “the information we tell you won’t leave this room. Neither of you will say a word.”

Fat chance of that.

My thoughts must be smeared across my face, because Sadie frowns in my direction.

“And if you do talk, things won’t be pretty.

Scholarships revoked. Suspensions. Your parents blacklisted from all places of employment, be they corporate offices or gas stations.

Make no mistake, we will find a way to ruin you. ”

My head jerks at the mention of gas stations.

If the maze wasn’t proof enough, this is no ordinary club and these people are way past serious.

A flicker of apprehension slithers up my spine as I think of all the possible ways this could backfire on me: Losing my scholarship is one thing, but ruining my mom’s job prospects is another.

I always knew they were influential, but I guess it really is true that money has the power to make or break you.

I’m over here sweating, and somehow, someway, Emoree actually enjoyed being in this weird club?

“Now, on the flip side,” Sadie continues, sliding a fat check across the table.

There are more zeroes on this piece of paper than I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s enough to give me heartburn.

“The Lockwell family will sign a personal check to every club member if they succeed in helping us with our mission.”

“Helping you with what?” Birdie blurts out. Her eyes are glued to the check in a way that suggests that this is an astronomical amount for her, too.

I swivel to meet Calvin’s look as he clears his throat. His eyes are overcast, and his lips are pressed into a grim line. He dances around the answer initially. “We need your help breaking the Lockwell family curse.”

“Your family curse,” I echo, and even Birdie is struggling not to laugh. “Don’t you think you’ve screwed around with us enough already? Besides, how does dancing in a ballroom and running amok in a maze suddenly make us good candidates for curse breaking?”

“We need people who don’t shy away from the supernatural,” Sadie answers, like it really is that simple. “Members who are willing to get their hands dirty and look in every possible avenue for answers. That’s what we need. You two refused to back down from the start.”

I brush the compliment off my shoulders and sneer back in Calvin’s direction. “Are we talking poison apples or cursed spinning wheels?”

“Neither.”

“True love’s kiss, then?”

Birdie smothers a giggle with a nervous palm to the mouth, but she’s the only one laughing. In fact, Calvin’s gone deathly silent. Almost like—

“Violet’s right.” Birdie swivels to Oliver and crosses her arms over her chest. “Can’t you tell us what’s actually going on?”

Oliver winces and rubs a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. “I know how it sounds. I reacted the same way when I was told.”

“Seconded,” Ash says with a lift of his fingers. “Though Mal and Emoree took the curse like champs. They believed it immediately.”

I can totally see how Em lapped this up.

Her world was held together by flimsy dream logic.

Mom always said I was a bloodhound in a past life, but I think what I really am is anxious and obsessive.

When I get a whiff of something, I won’t rest until I’m dead.

“You told me if I made it through that maze that you’d explain everything. Well? I’m waiting.”

Sadie whips around in her seat. “What did you tell her?”

He slouches under the weight of his sister’s glare. “Nothing! Nothing , okay? Calm down. She was asking me about her friend Emoree, and I told her I’d explain if—”

I wince at his wording, and if I had any hope under the sun that Birdie didn’t notice, it’s shot dead instantly when I hear her gasp.

“What does he mean ‘your friend’ Emoree?” she blurts, her outburst overlapping with Calvin’s defense.

“Last time I checked, she was my roommate. You never even met her.”

My cheeks burn hot. I don’t know why the truth feels like Pandora’s box; if I so much as pry the lid open, the world will devolve into Unspeakable Chaos. “I…lied.”

“You lied ?” she echoes. In the short time I’ve known her, I’ve only seen her frustrated once—flaring her nostrils and glaring out the dorm-room peephole as some girl burned popcorn in the shared kitchen and set off the fire alarm. “Why the hell would you lie to me? Who was she to you?”

“She was my best friend,” I confess. “And the whole reason I came here.”

“Don’t you think you could’ve mentioned that while I was crying to you at the lunch table ?” She scoffs, backing away from me like she’s never fully seen me until this moment and now that she has, she’s disgusted by the sight. “Were you only ever using me for information?”

I’m scrambling for an answer when Tripp’s voice bellows to life, his frat boy accent a grating vocal fry. “EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP.”

That successfully plunges the whole room into silence and gives Sadie the opportunity to regain control of the meeting.

“Thank you, Tripp,” she praises before throwing Birdie and me a harsh look.

“If you two want to duke it out, do it on your own time. Keep it up and you both will be kicked out, got it?”

I attempt to catch Birdie’s eye, but she’s already treating me like I’m invisible. In case I’m not, though, I nod for Sadie’s benefit.