“The founders would roll in their graves if we let a girl in,” DeShaun says. “Even if it’s not in the rules.”
My heart flips. Are they talking about letting me join?
“Not her, though,” Royal says. “She’s a Darling. She’s practically a legacy.”
So, not me.
Mabel? Did she complete the challenges?
Maybe it’s time I paid Colt a visit. If he won’t tell me how to join, maybe he’ll at least tell me how to get in touch with Mabel. She’s a girl. She might be more inclined to help another girl get in.
“If you really want to piss them off, pick someone they’d hate to see join,” says another voice that sounds familiar, but I’m not sure if it’s Cotton or Dawson or another one of their friends.
I wait for Royal to say my name, to put me forward as someone the Swans’ founders would hate to join their exclusive, fancy boys club. If his goal is to piss off the old snobs, who better than a poor girl from a trailer park? I’m the furthest a person can get from being a Swan.
“Should I record the minutes and lock up?” Baron asks.
“Mabel already completed the challenges,” Duke says. “She’s like an honorary Swan already.”
So, I was right. Next task might be tracking down a Darling.
“By accident,” Baron says, and I hear the bookshelf grind back into place. “She wasn’t completing them for us.”
“Besides, she’d never take the oath,” Royal says.
I’m ready to scream in frustration when they step out of the library, closing me off from the rest of the conversation. I’m tempted to follow them instead of going down in the musty old basement to root around and try to find clues. This is a live meeting, happening right now.
But there’s no way I could trail them down the hall without them noticing.
Damn it.
I wait a minute to make sure everyone’s out, a sense of defeat already heavy inside me. I wanted to hear that conversation. Still, I’m here to get info for Mr. D, not to eavesdrop to see if anyone’s talking about me behind my back. I focus on the task ahead and creep to the bookshelf. The lock is an old fashioned one I’ve never encountered before, but when I tug on the shelf, it gives way.
About fucking time I caught a lucky break. Baron was too distracted by talk of Mabel and didn’t lock the door. I push my feet back into my damp boots and slip through, pulling the door closed behind me so no one will notice anything amiss.
The light in the basement is still on, since apparently no one at this school realizes electricity is something people have to pay for. I make my way down the stairs and glance around. Instead of just a couple chairs pulled off to the side, six chairs sit around a low table cluttered with beer bottles in the middle of the room, confirming my suspicion that there must be more rooms down here. Still, the extra furniture isn’t exactly something Mr. D can use. I cross the room, scan the bookshelf for anything noteworthy, and then try the door next to the shelves.
That one’s locked, but it’s a newer lock, and it only takes me a few minutes to pick it. The lights are out in this room, so I switch on my phone’s flashlight and glance around. The room is even creepier than the first one, which has a cement floor and a bare bulb overhead. This one has a dirt floor and crude stone walls with cobwebs in the corners. In the middle of the room is a huge stone that might be a table or a slab where they sacrifice people. It’s hard to tell.
On the far side of the room is an open door that leads to a dark, dirt tunnel. And that’s where my journey ends. Not about to voluntarily step into something that looks like a nightmare waiting to happen. I backtrack into the first room, thinking how ironic that this room feels safe in comparison to the other one, even though this is the room where the Dolces stripped me and forced me to suck Royal’s dick.
I shake the thought away and circle the room, checking the bottom of the table and chairs for secret envelopes. Nothing. Fuck. Returning to the bookshelf, I scan through again, this time more thoroughly. My gaze stops on a fancy spine that’s at least two inches wide, with gold leaf printing but no title. I hook my finger in the top and pull it out, hearing a hollow thud inside. My pulse skips, and I flip it onto one side, feeling along the edge of the cover until I find a small clasp.
I undo it and pull open the cover to reveal the hollow inside. Inside the box that’s cleverly disguised as a book lies another book, this one black leather, with bent corners and worn edges. I lift it out, my fingers shaking. The pages are thin and yellowed, with lines of handwritten text bleeding into the paper with age.
I sit down at the table and flip to the beginning. On the first page in neat, old-fashioned cursive handwriting, are the words The Midnight Swans.
I can hardly believe my eyes. This is everything I’ve been looking for, everything I need. The key to my scholarship. It’s been here all along, right under the school I’ve been attending for months.
I flip through pages of names and dates, recognizing half the names on the first page—Darling, Rose, Montgomery, Delacroix. All old money families, founders of the town, with various things named after them, from roads, bridges, and creeks to hospital wings, elementary schools, and businesses. Beyond the member lists, I find the oath written out in faded ink, and then a section called “Recruits.”
My heart hammers as I read the slanted lines of cursive.
A Swan is STRONG
A Swan is BRAVE
A Swan is LOYAL