Page 63 of Crush
No one heeds his call. Phones disguised in costumes reveal themselves, the flashlights on and cameras centered.
Though my chest feels hollow, I smile, ducking through and behind the students, leaving Zeke’s and Thorne’s grunts and sucker punches behind.
Our words—the ones Thorne and I shared and Zeke lit a match to—those weren’t planned. The fight was. With a small amount of prodding, Thorne’s arctic cold shifts to volcanic proportions. It's his Achilles’ heel and one I’ve been waiting to use. Global warming in human form.
Am I sorry I used it? No, but I still feel dirty as I make the turn into another hallway, using Zeke’s instructions to find Damion Briar’s office.
Dad’s appeal remains centered in my brain. I’m not this girl, the kind who takes advantage of others’ weaknesses for her own gain. I wish I could stay the daughter he raised, the one who attempts to see the good and mends fences rather than splinters them—like getting to know her biological father instead of shutting him out. He’s a victim, too, baby girl.
I come up against the carved wooden double doors Zeke described, two broncos rearing, their front hooves meeting in the middle. I press my palm into one of the horse’s bellies. I’m not being selfish, Dad.
This is for Savannah, for discovering the truth. Dad would applaud my efforts to help another lost girl once he got over the bodies I stepped on to get there. He’ll understand. He has to.
I push through the doors.
The smell hits me first—wood varnish, cologne, and old paper. Damion’s office is even more antiquated than Malcolm’s, with the darkest lumber one can find used to create a massive bookshelf behind a mammoth desk stacked high with folders, papers, and leather-bound books. A computer sits in the corner with a monitor as large as a flat-screen TV. Bronzed heads sit on pillars on either side of the desk, those pupilless eyes staring accusingly at me as I pull on the string to the desk lamp, spotlighting the center of the office.
I take a moment to read the plaque on the closest head—Thorne Edelton Briar, 1799-1860.
Oh, shit. I straighten until I’m level with the head. At this vantage point, I realize the eyes have no irises or pupils because they’re closed.
My belly churns. Acid curls up my throat the longer I stare at it. I’m looking at a death mask.
The corpse of a metallic face so similar to Thorne’s. This is his namesake and the man who founded the Nobles. If Aurora’s paltry teachings are anything to go by, Thorne Briar’s first wife, Rose, founded the Virtues shortly before she died.
Of course, her death mask isn’t anywhere in this office. The second face belongs to Theodore Marcus Briar, Thorne’s great-great-great-grandfather, I think, and founder of this chapter of the Nobles.
Turning, I look back at the doors I’d quietly shut behind me. Anyone who enters this office isn’t first acknowledged by Damion, but the death of two individuals who were walking these exact halls over a century ago.
If that’s not creepy, I don’t want to come to understand the Briars’ limit of spookiness.
Tearing my attention away from the faces of the dead, I round the desk, staring closely at the files. I lift the flaps of a few but am conscious not to move anything too out of place. It’s business documents, mostly memos Damion must sign off on and financials he must approve as CEO of Briar Enterprises.
It’s boring and day-to-day enough that I skim through before waking up the computer screen. Password protected, of course, and I doubt I’ll have the time to truly crack it. Zeke and Thorne must have been broken up by now—Jaxon is zealous over protecting his bestie—but Zeke’s under clear instructions to keep ribbing Thorne and riling him up until all he sees is Zeke’s Zorro costume turning into a matador’s.
It’ll be easy enough to do. I gave Zeke the ultimate gift of my “virginity.”
I grow sicker at the thought, rubbing my stomach. Thorne might turn lethal. I have to search as fast as I can before it gets ugly.
Anything related to Savannah and the Societies will be under lock and key—of that, I’m sure. My first job in this break-in is to find those places, then hopefully, come back through the passageways at a later time once I figure out where the keys are or crack the codes. Any actual evidence I discover tonight is a bonus, not a goal.
Very Mission Impossible, but I get such a rush from sleuthing that my fingers don’t even tremble as I peek behind paintings and test desk drawers, tapping for any false bottoms on the ones I can open.
I find a standard safe behind a self-portrait of Damion sitting on—I kid you not—a throne. A keypad prevents my immediate entry, but I figured he’d have top-of-the-line lockboxes. Taking out Zeke’s phone, I snap a picture of the brand so I can research it later.
The painting swings shut on its hinges without a creak. I pad back to the desk, feeling underneath its bottom for any old-school locks or hidden drawers. A custom desk like this, combined with Damion’s preference for eccentricities, pretty much guarantees a—
Yes. Yes!
A hidden latch is tucked away in the far corner. Bent low, I can touch it. Moving Damion’s heavy leather chair out of the way, I can inch in a little farther and coax it to open…
The concealed drawer slides open near the footwell. Using the flashlight feature on Zeke’s phone, I shuffle closer for inspection.
A single piece of paper lies inside. It whispers quietly in my grip as I lift it and shine the light closer.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, my vision eating up the columns, rows, numbers, and locations…
And ingredients.