Their Vicious Games(16)

“There will be three events, each with an opportunity for lessons and the cultivation of useful skills leading up to it. Those events are the Ride, the Raid, and the Royale. With each event, you will be ranked according to performance, and rewarded when you succeed. But with each event, there will be also be a… culling.” There’s a twist to her mouth that sets my teeth on edge.

The other girls titter, like they know what she means, but I look around, searching for the joke. My eyes catch on Penthesilea again as she sits upright in rapt attention, and my stomach sinks to the pit of my pelvis. I turn sharply in my seat, attempting to refocus even as her presence, her clear front-runner status, tugs at my confidence, unraveling it slowly.

“Between these events, you will have the opportunity to foster bonds with the family and each other through the Repartees. These cocktail evenings will be crucial to your advancement, with certain advantages or disadvantages being gained based on your performance during them,” Leighton says. She finishes her glass of wine, then sets it atop the piano, as if it’s not a B?sendorfer. She takes a step closer to Hawthorne, taking her delicate hand in both of her own. “I understand the pressure that you will all be under to perform. I want you to know that I am a trained psychiatrist, and I will always be there for you to speak to.”

What could be so intense that we would we need a psychiatrist? A twang of not-right shoots up my spine.

“Now, I must ask of you… your phones.” It’s the first time I notice the little basket at her feet.

There’s a beat, stiff with simmering tension. I look over at Saint. Her fingers clench around the sleek edges of her iPhone. I squeeze mine tighter between my thighs. The itinerary said phone use would be limited. They warned us. But I still don’t feel prepared to hand over a piece of myself. No one moves—and then surprisingly Esme stands up, tugging Hawthorne to her feet.

She stalks forward, shoulders back, completely confident as she holds her phone in an outstretched hand. “Aunt Leighton, here you go.” She drops her phone in like she hasn’t been glued to it since the sixth grade. Hawthorne is shakier, but murmurs her assent too.

And then it’s a melee, everyone fighting to not be the last to obey Leighton’s request. That status falls to Saint, Penthesilea, and me.

Leighton smiles. “I do not take your phones to punish you,” she says firmly. “You will need all your focus. When you agreed to come here, you made a commitment.” She turns to address the room at large. “That means that you are to follow the rules of this house, as they are set by me. There will be no after-curfew wandering, no bothering the staff. No distractions, at all. These next two weeks will test your grit, your ambition, and your minds. You will either rise to the occasion or you will fall, but you must do it alone. Your future begins now.”

She swoops down to pluck the basket from the floor, and no sooner does the door click behind her softly than everyone explodes into chatter again, that excited hum from before changing into something more frenetic.

Penthesilea slots into my line of sight and she seems to be gearing up to say something when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I sag with gratefulness when I meet Saint’s eyes.

“Want to look around?” Saint asks.

“Are we allowed to do that?”

“Have we been told that we aren’t?” Saint retorts, and I can’t help but crack a smile. I nod my agreement, and look back over at Penthesilea but can’t quite meet her eyes.

“I’ll see you around,” I murmur, and she nods, but there’s something else there, something that crinkles at the corner of her eyes like confusion.

No one has ever rejected her, I think. Without Charles and Pierce, she seems almost… lonely.

As Saint and I move toward the door, I overhear Esme speaking to a small gaggle of the girls, “Come closer, Margaret. Let me tell you about our competition. Some are barely worth a breath but—”

I shut the door behind me and take a deep, noisy inhale.

“That seemed pointed,” Saint murmurs.

I look up at her, forcing a smile. “Yeah, Esme and I… have a history.”

“That’s obvious,” Saint says, but she shakes it off and looks around.

We don’t wander with a destination in mind, but there’s something to look at everywhere we go.

“So, how are you liking Massachusetts?” I ask awkwardly as I look closer at the Tiffany glass.

“It’s very green,” Saint expels, and it isn’t a compliment. “I’ve never been on this coast of the States before.” Her gaze drifts to the exit again as we march downstairs.

“She took our phones…. Why did she take our phones?” I ask, accidentally skipping the next step. I grab on to the banister hard to keep myself from pitching forward, and then Saint’s arm—surprisingly strong—yanks me back, steadying me. “Oh, thanks.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Saint warns. “I expected this. I don’t like it, but I definitely expected it.”

“Yeah, I guess I should have too. They’re probably trying to make it even more intense by cutting us off. The Finish… is, like, super private. No one even knows what the requirements are to be invited. It’s just… you suddenly get a letter out of nowhere. But it sounds different from what I’d expected so far. I thought it would be more… academic? I don’t know.”