But no one was laughing, and no one was moving and Fallon fucking Perry stood in front of me as one of the Belles of the Midnight Ball. I shook my head. Maybe it was just some chick who looked like her. Because why the hell would Fallon be one of the belles? This couldn’t be right.
I’d only had one swallow of scotch and I didn’t feel dizzy or high. I hadn’t been drugged. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if I was just imagining the one woman who had ever given me comfort in my life, a sudden apparition to help me get through this night?
But the longer I stared, the more certain I became.
It was Fallon. My Fallon.
There she stood—the only one dressed in violet—who made brief eye contact with me before she looked down to the ground as if ashamed.
Heat fired through my blood. She should be ashamed! What the hell was she doing here?
She knew better than this! She knew well enough about the Order and what that meant. She wasn’t stupid. So why the fuck was she here?
Her dark eyes lifted but instead of looking at me, she studied her surroundings. She soaked in the nightmare of this morbid Cinderella ball.
Yes, Fallon, the stories were true.
Yes, this is real.
Yes, you should get the hell out of here right now.
“Display the belles,” the Elder demanded with a beat of the cane.
I needed to get her out of here. This was insanity. The last girl—Montgomery might not be willing to spill secrets, but Sully had taken me aside last week and told me the hell they put the “belles” through. They’d buried his girlfriend alive when she was a belle. Sweet little Portia!
My guts rebelled at the thought of anyone ever putting hands on Fallon like that. She didn’t belong here. I’d never let these fuckers lay one finger on her.
But I couldn’t take one step towards her. I couldn’t grab her around the waist, hike her over my shoulder, and march her out of the mansion like I wanted. There were invisible ghostly shackles holding me in place. My being here was about more than me. I was fulfilling my brother’s legacy. I couldn’t just— I couldn’t just—
I glanced at my father to see if he noticed Fallon was one of the belles. If he did, he didn’t show it on his face. He stood expressionless as he waited for the ceremony to continue.
Remember my best friend from childhood, Dad? Remember Fallon Perry? Remember the little girl who grew up in our house? Remember her? Well, she’s here in the Oleander! Aren’t you going to stop it?
Of course not.
Another Elder began the procession of the belles by leading them single file through the ballroom. He walked them in front of the cloaked Elders first, then the members, and finally to us. This is what was done every single time and no surprise. Yet, it didn’t seem real. I wasn’t sure if it was because this was all done for my benefit or because Fallon fucking Perry was one of the belles.
They repeated the act three times, circling the room with the sound of their expensive shoes tapping against the white floor. I couldn’t focus on a single belle other than Fallon. Her dark hair hung in curls down her back. Her makeup, though much less and lighter than when we were friends in high school, still remained smoky around the green color of her eyes. She held her head proud, her shoulders back in confidence, and her body broke through the thick air of evil as the only light and good in the room.
But she shouldn’t be here.
God, what was she doing here?
The twenty belles all came from a place of poverty. There was no secret each one of them was here for money. The Order promised them their dreams. Whatever it was they wanted would be theirs if chosen. If the belle completed the Trials, then all would be at their fingertips.
But Fallon?
No, she didn’t exactly have money. I wouldn’t have considered her poor or in need. Or was she? It wasn’t like I knew what happened to her after she left during our senior year. Come to think of it, her mother stopped being our housekeeper at the same time and well… we had lost touch. So, I guess it was fair to say that I didn’t exactly know the circumstances that had brought her here.
But regardless, if she needed money… well, I had plenty to give. I may not have the same power or money as my father, but I was definitely well off, and…
She wasn’t like these other belles.
She may not be the rich socialite, or even the southern debutante like the wealthy women in my world. But still…
She was Fallon.
My Fallon.
“Rafe Jackson,” the Elder called out as the belles lined up once again before me and the recruits who hadn’t moved an inch even though I fought the urge to run to Fallon. “It is time for you to choose the belle.”