Their Vicious Games(33)

“Oh… yes, I guess. I wonder, do they have an equivalent in Switzerland?” I ask.

Saint shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really like the Swiss.”

I snort into my hand and we begin the trek back to the main house.

“Hey, Adina! Saint! Wait up!”

We don’t exactly stop, but we slow down just enough that Hawthorne doesn’t need to sprint to catch up. She arrives, stray blond flyaways sticking to her sweaty forehead and sliding down the bridge of her nose. She smiles brightly, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink.

“I’ve heard that there’ll be a late lunch for us in the common room. Let’s go ahead before the other girls get first pickings,” Hawthorne says, walking briskly past us. She turns backward as she walks in, lively in a way that I’ve never seen her. “What are you two up to after lunch?”

“Lying on my stomach? My ass hurts. We just rode for, like, four hours,” I retort.

Hawthorne waves it away like it’s nothing. “You get used to it. Did you see us jumping? Those were hard. I’ve only ever ridden casually. Like trails in Vermont when we used to visit Esme’s country house. Remember that, Adina?”

I wince. “Yeah… I do.”

Hawthorne continues. “Maybe we’ll go up for winter as a girls’ trip. We’ll be in college, but it’s good to remember high school friends.”

It’s ridiculous on a number of levels. Esme’s family probably sold that country house already. I’m not even going to college. Plus, we might not be alive, as she well knows.

“I don’t really understand your attachment to this Esme,” Saint says. “Adina seems to have severed that tie.”

“Yeah, really quickly, I remember,” Hawthorne says, and there’s a bite in her voice that makes me actually turn to look her in the eye. But it’s gone just as soon as it appeared, disappearing with Hawthorne’s sigh. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. We were in the same playmate group and we just… she gets me more than anyone else.”

There’s something wild about her, outside Esme’s overbearing presence, a restlessness that unsettles. Her eyes move like she’s taking everything in so much faster than we are, and her smile is relaxed. Outside Esme’s shadow, Hawthorne actually looks like a person, not a pale imitation of herself.

“You’re all adults now. You can pick your own friends,” Saint says dismissively.

Hawthorne blinks owlishly, like the thought has never even occurred to her.

We trudge up the stairs, and some of the girls peel off for a quick shower. One of them is visibly trembling with exhaustion, and for a moment I feel something like camaraderie with her—which ends as she turns to glower at me. I roll my eyes, cracking my neck as I lean heavily into the banister, my breath whistling. We’re all competing and I don’t want to show weakness, but my muscles ache, and I know, in the morning, I’ll feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

Despite how much I want to fall asleep, I know I can’t. This is valuable time spent with these girls. Watching them. Learning them. Graham and Leighton have tried to be reassuring, that there’s a difference between what might happen during the Finish separate from the accident that has definitely already occurred. But knowing that difference doesn’t make learning to ride a horse in three days any easier, or make me trust these other girls any more.

The door to the common room is already open, and I stop short. Saint nearly collides with my back and Hawthorne actually rams my shoulder with hers as she stutters to a stop.

“Hello, girls.”

Esme lounges across the chaise, an entire platter of finger sandwiches balanced on the table by her head. She plucks one up with her long acrylics and bites into it with far more relish than necessary. Her burgundy lips pull into a wide smile.

“Lunch is served,” she announces with a flourish. Her gaze flits over the group and she clears her throat. “Jackie, Hannah G, Hannah R, come sit by me. I never finished telling you my story about my fabulous trip through Europe last summer.”

Hawthorne has stopped breathing next to me. Esme didn’t call for her.

There’s a moment where the girls hesitate. They aren’t sure after what she’s done. Her absence this morning, coupled with Hawthorne mentioning that she’s been disciplined, seem to be confirmation of what she is capable of. They also know that whether or not Esme did hurt Margaret, she’s the one who’s still here, still in the running, having taken one of their competitors down. I can see the choice before they even make it.

The girls rush to her side, dogs to their master. Vassals to their liege.

I recognize each of them as enemies officially. At least I finally know what Hannah R looks like—very New York, the vibes definitely different from Hannah G, so I can see why she doesn’t want to be mistaken for her.

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning. Did you eat?” Hannah R says attentively.

“Aunt Leighton says that she spoke to you. Are you in trouble?” Hannah G asks.

“I did eat, Hannah R, thank you for asking. One of the maids brought me breakfast in bed,” Esme says carefully. “And Aunt Leighton speaks to all the girls. The Finish is quite taxing on the mind, and as a licensed psychiatrist, she’s most equipped in handling the emotional challenges that the Finish creates.”