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CHAPTER 41

T
he next twenty-four hours zoomed by in a flash.

Sleep. Wake. School. Home. Shower. Dinner. Deodorant. Dress. More deodorant. Avoid Whitney’s hair and makeup assaults. Then we were off—six bodies packed into a 4Runner.

I’d obsessed over The Game all day. The boys and I had met for lunch, then once more after school. Neither gathering had yielded a breakthrough. The boys were still dubious of my castle theory.

But one thing
was
certain: Tonight was the night. We had to beat the Gamemaster or live with the consequences. The thought left me a jangling ball of nerves.

Kit and Whitney rode up front. Ben and Hi sandwiched me in the backseat. Shelton, being smallest, had been relegated to the rear. He didn’t seem to mind.

The boys looked good. Uncomfortable, but good.

Ben and Shelton sported the classic “James Bond” look—straight-cut black tuxedos with black bow ties and cummerbunds. Ben looked particularly handsome—despite his obvious discomfort, the formal wear complemented his copper skin, black hair, and dark eyes. One hand drummed his leg as we rode side by side in the car.

Hi, naturally, had opted for flair. His tux was crushed purple velvet with tails, accented by all white silk—tie, vest, gloves, and suspenders. He completed the outfit with a freaking top hat and cane. Whitney had nearly fainted on seeing him.

The trip to The Citadel took thirty minutes. Kit entered through Hagood Gate and eased onto the Avenue of Remembrance. A row of imposing stone halls appeared on our right, forming one side of a rectangle that boxed in the expansive marshaling ground at the center of campus.

“Where’s Jason meeting us?” Kit asked.

“Outside Mark Clark Hall,” I replied. “Near visitor parking.”

“This might be the place for me.” Hi was peering at the stark three-story barracks lining the field’s opposite side. “I like uniforms. And marching.”

Shelton chuckled. “Man, this school would eat you alive. These folks are all about hard-core discipline. Toeing the line. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“Nonsense.” Hi wrist-tugged a velvet sleeve. “Honor. Duty. Respect. Those are classic Stolowitski values. I could be a leader here.”

“My dear boy.” Whitney turned in her seat as Kit searched for parking. “The Citadel is the
finest
military academy in the South. The Corps of Cadets is nothing to mock. Those who enlist complete a rigorous program combining academics, physical fitness, and military discipline. It’s a fabulous honor to be allowed to hold the debutante ball on these grounds.”

“So—book learning, push-ups, and war games.” Hi ticked off fingers as he spoke. “Check, check, and check. Plus gray is my sexy color.”

Kit snickered. Whitney puffed her lips in annoyance.

Kit pulled into a spot fronting Summerall Chapel and killed the engine. One by one we exited the clown car.

“This
is
a good school.” Ben’s first words all night. “The Citadel’s been a part of Charleston since 1842. Enrolling here is just like joining the military. There’s physical training every morning and afternoon, drills, courses on leadership and weaponry, and regular college classes, too. Even meals are structured like the armed forces.”

“Are you interested in The Citadel?” I asked.

Ben’s speech surprised me—he rarely uttered so much at once. And I’d never heard him voice an interest in the military. It occurred to me that I didn’t know what Ben wanted to do after high school.

Ben shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s a good college.”

“It’s perfect.” Hi adjusted the lean of his top hat. “Shaved heads. Flags. Parading. Demerits. Everything a young man needs to express his individuality.”

Ben glared, but held his tongue. Support came from an unlikely source.

“Benjamin is quite right.” Whitney nodded at him with approval. “The pillars of South Carolina have matriculated here. You could do
far
worse for yourself.”

A figure approached from the shadows. “Everyone ready to present Victoria to society?”

Hi clapped loudly. “Bring on the first debutante! I’m bidding fifty bucks!”

Ben slapped him on the back of the head.

Jason’s tuxedo was identical to Kit’s—black vest paired with a long black tie. With his Nordic features and white-blond hair, he presented the opposite effect as Ben, but was no less attractive. I could get used to these tuxedos.

Jason turned and bowed, motioning toward the illuminated building behind him. “Your debut awaits!”

The lantern-lined walk led to a three-story hall posing as a castle. Inside, directly across the lobby, a grand central staircase climbed to ornate double doors on the second floor. Beyond them was a marble-floored ballroom.

Shelton whistled as we peeked inside. “Nice digs.”

The space was lavishly decorated. Silk streamers draped the walls, while towering floral arrangements centered each table. Golden candles flickered inside delicate hurricane lanterns. A massive crystal chandelier overhung everything, cleverly illuminated from within to cast prisms of light across the room. To say the setup was extravagant would be like saying Taylor Swift sold a few albums.

Rows of chairs filled the back half of the room, bisected by a runway wide enough for three to walk side by side. Beyond the chairs, a parquet dance floor ran to a raised stage set against the far wall, where a ten-piece band was playing “Take Me to the River.” The parquet was already half-f.

Corner food stations offered an array of delicacies. Sliced fruit. Goat cheese croquets. Shrimp cocktail. Thai chicken skewers. A gaggle of partygoers circled each one.

I’d attended a dozen fancy cotillion events. This bash left them all in the dust. The ballroom was infused with a royal-wedding level of extravagance. And waste. The kids I’d grown up with in Massachusetts would’ve been floored.

I sucked in my gut and tugged my dress into place.

Whitney had really outdone herself with this one.

I wore a strapless silk gown by Tadashi Shoji, whose name I’d never heard until the night before. To be fair, on a good day I could name maybe two designers, tops.

The floor-length number featured tiered white chiffon and a sweetheart neckline. Whitney had accessorized me with pearls, diamond stud earrings, elbow-length satin gloves, and sparkly silver sandals.

My hair was up, with loosely-curled tendrils framing my face.

I had to admit—I looked pretty damn good.

Whitney’s dress seemed intentionally chosen to counter mine—deep scarlet, low cut, and not-at-all floor-length. She drew many eyes as she scanned the party, relishing the attention while pretending not to notice.

From the doorway I spotted dozens of classmates and familiar faces. Several older men wore formal military dress, no doubt Citadel graduates. The women wore everything from satin to velour, in all colors of the rainbow.

Not so, the debutantes.

Wherever they clustered was a blaze of blinding white.

I stood a moment watching Charleston’s richest mingle, tiny plates in hand, basking in the indulgent glow of spent money.

Beside me, Ben frowned. Shelton fidgeted with his tie.

They felt it, too. How out of place we were. Intruders in a foreign land.

Only Hi seemed at ease, spinning his cane like the Mad Hatter.

Watch check—seven fifteen. Less than two hours remained in The Game.

My hope of answers jumping out at me was fading away. Inside their satin gloves, my hands began to sweat.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Whitney tugged Kit toward French doors on the left-hand side of the ballroom. “We shouldn’t crowd the debutante on her big night. Let’s adjourn to the parents’ lounge.” With an annoying wink, she sashayed Kit out of sight.

I took a calming breath. Tried to focus.

There was a bomb in the building. This ball was the target.

Nothing else mattered.

I turned to rally the other Virals, but had to hold back.

Jason was standing right beside me. Worse, he and Ben had locked eyes.

“Stop it.” I planted myself between them. “Not here. Not tonight. You two are
going
to get along.”

I gave Ben my “get your head right” look. “It’s
very important
we work together. That we focus on our goal.”

Ben reddened, then nodded tightly. To the surprise of everyone, he turned and stuck out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Jason grasped and shook it. Shelton and Hi expelled sighs of relief.

“Absolutely.” Jason was oblivious. “Neither of us would spoil your debut. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Good. Now let’s do a lap before we commit to a location.”

Debs had gathered into bunches to compare dresses and swap gossip. Everyone was talking about the hurricane. While Katelyn
was
expected to miss Charleston, the margins were pretty fine.

Many classmates greeted us as we passed. I even received a few compliments on my dress. I was starting to feel a bit of swagger before remembering that Jason was with me. Insanely popular, he was likely the reason for the warm reception.

Shelton paced nervously at my side. Beside him, Hi strutted, tipping his top hat to anyone who looked his way. Though a few rolled their eyes, most chuckled and returned the gesture. Hi grinned either way.

We were halfway around the room when I spotted two prongs of the Tripod. Ashley and Courtney were holding court at a corner table, looking stunning, surrounded by a crowd of escorts. Spotting me, Ashley covered her mouth and whispered. The group exploded in laughter.

My ears burned. My cheeks.

Yes. These skanks could still sting me.

Ben shot a scowl, but I caught his elbow. “It doesn’t matter. We have more pressing issues.”

“Ignore them.” Jason nodded to a table across the room. “Let’s set up camp there. It’s time to stuff our faces.”

Working through a Vera Wang–Dior bottleneck, I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Madison, so deeply tanned she looked like a photo negative in her snow-white frock. Her shimmering diamond necklace out-valued my college fund. Times ten.

Not again.

If my presence had spooked Madison before, it now clearly petrified her.

Eyes bulging, she backpedaled into Chance, slipped sideways around him, and rabbited out the main doors.

Her flight did not go unnoticed.

Hushed conversations spread. About the Boat Girl. The brainiac grade-skipper who blew up at the yacht club. The sophomore with some weird hold over Madison.

Classmates watched. Some amused, some confused. Some angry.

“Can we keep moving?” Shelton spoke out the side of his mouth. “My social anxiety disorder is kicking in big time.”

“Just smile and wave, like you’re prom queen.” Hi took his own advice as he and Shelton crossed to join Jason at the open table.

As I moved to follow, Chance blocked my path. “A moment?”

I nodded toward Crab Cake Corner. Ben regarded us a moment before following the others.

“You always make an entrance.” Chance had forgone a tuxedo in favor of a sharp black suit. He looked like a movie star, dark and handsome.

I shrugged, tried to play it cool. “I can’t help if Madison freaks every time she sees me.”

“True. She thinks you’re a witch or something.”

My mouth opened.

“I know, I know.” Chance’s hand rose to cut me off. “But she’s convinced you tried to possess her at school the other day. During lunch, which is bizarre, since we were alone at the time. Madison told me you’re trying to steal her soul.”

I went stone still.

Madison felt me! I really did make contact!

Chance was watching me from the corner of his eye. Hoping for a reaction?

Careful.

“That’s completely insane,” I said, forcing a laugh.

He shrugged. “As her marshal, I should probably have kept that to myself.”

“Well
I’m
not going to spread it around.”

“Good idea.” Chance changed the subject. “Are you coming to my post-ball soiree? It’s going to be epic. A-list only.”

My head tilted. “I don’t think so.”
Not on your life.

“Pity. You’ll be missed.”

Suddenly, the conversation felt surreal.

A psychopath was jerking me around. I was supposed to be hunting a freaking bomb. We could all be dead in minutes if my friends and I didn’t win The Game.

Yet there I was, chatting with Chance Claybourne.

Why? Was Chance putting me at ease for reasons of his own? Reasons I wouldn’t like?

Remember. He suspects.

Chance covered a yawn. “These events are such a drag. Be thankful you’re leading off. You won’t have to wait in that tedious line.”

“What?” Mild panic. “Why? Because I’m youngest?”

“No, Miss Brennan.” Chance was adjusting his black silk tie. “In this case the alphabet was the culprit. Ashley begged off going first for some reason.”

Great. I’d never seen this absurdity done before, yet had to open the show. My luck is consistent, I’ll say that much. And I was instantly suspicious of why Ashley changed spots.

I was about to pepper Chance with a million questions—I should’ve paid more attention in cotillion—when something caught my eye.

My breath caught.

My heart almost stopped.

Above the ballroom’s main entrance was a simple decoration formed of white and yellow streamers. The silk swatches were twisted and tied to form a yard-square tableau hanging high up over the end of the catwalk. I’d never have noticed it without turning around.

A sunburst.

The one embroidered on the cloth wrapping the Saint Benedict statue.

The one chiseled onto the Mepkin Abbey crypt.

“Paging Miss Brennan.” Chance waved a hand before my eyes. “You okay?”

No.

“Yes. I’m just . . . surprised I’ll be first.”

“I’m sure you’ll dazzle. Until then.” Chance strolled off after Madison, leaving me alone.

I stared at the sunburst.

The Gamemaster’s symbol. Here. On this night. At this time.

No way it was coincidence.

My heart hammered so loudly I feared others might hear it.