Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
They know Nova shouldn’t be here. Whoever is in the driver’s seat has to be counting five heads when there should only be four.
Taking matters into his own hands, Rocky strides to the passenger door. He knocks on the window. It slides midway down. He speaks for maybe a minute. No more than two. He’s being handed a phone, and all I hear is Rocky’s end.
“I know. He’s cool. Childhood friend.” Rocky laughs into the phone. “I know, I know. It is like that, isn’t it?” Pause. “Don’t go easy, man. Do your worst. I wouldn’t want anything less.”
Do your worst.
I’m antsy, and I retie my hair into a messy pony.
Once Rocky returns the phone to whoever is in the van, the window ascends, and my fake brother takes a few steps away from the vehicle.
Cloaked in a dark green robe, a person emerges from the passenger side. A hood is shrouding their hair, and a smooth gold mask conceals their face. I notice a firefly broach on the robe and silk cloths in their hand.
“Line up,” the masculine voice says. “Turn around.”
Yep, melodramatic.
I want to say that I hate every minute of this, but I’m forcing down the urge to full-on beam.
We do as we’re told, and the cloaked figure comes behind each of us, tying the cloths around our heads.
I’m blindfolded.
Erotic? The anticipation races my pulse, and the thrill of the mystery and tonight’s con is a heady, exhilarating mixture I’m guzzling. Without word, we’re whisked into the van and off to the next location.
Once we’re all piled out and directed in total darkness, my heeled boots clank on what sounds like cement or marble. The temperature lowers as we descend at least ten stairs. Colder . . . until we reach some type of opening, and a sudden heat bathes my cheeks.
Hands rest on my shoulders, halting me. A second passes, or two. Scary. I smile a little. Okay, I can admit that secret societies can be cool in their drama and clandestine spookiness. The Skulls might have been panned by critics, but I’ve always loved that movie. And I’m starting to feel like I’m on a set.
I wonder if my mom knew I’d enjoy this more than a sorority.
“I’m Number One.” That smooth bravado belongs to Matthew Wentworth. I recognize his prickish voice already. “The five of you have been granted a gift. Only the brightest and worthiest ever reach this stage, and if you succeed here tonight, you will wield and protect all the secrets of the Firefly Club, as every member has done before you since 1786.”
“Seventeen eighty-six,” people chant.
I smooth my lips to withhold a grin.
The Firefly Club isn’t as secretive as they’d like to believe. I’ve already done my homework and learned that there are ten active members—two of which were elated to spill the beans to me about Matthew and company—so I imagine Number One goes to Number Ten.
“This is your final test. You may remove your blindfolds.”
After untying the silk cloth, I scope out the candlelit cellar. A wine cellar. Behind the ten robed Firefly members, wine barrels disappear into the dark depths of the cavernous space. The circle of candles they’ve lit around us flame against the dank walls and crated bottles. Waxy residue drips onto the stone floor, and I notice the other initiates inspecting our new surroundings, too.
Rocky is beside me on my left, hanging at a protective distance that a brother would, and Nova is right next to him like a close childhood friend. On my right, Claire is still shivering, and Kendra keeps to herself on the end.
Number One (aka Matthew Prick) is the only Firefly member wearing red. The scarlet cloak makes his ashy white neck and hands look pallid in the light. With all their hoods drawn and gold masks on their faces, I can’t really distinguish who the others are.
I stifle asking them which one is the unfortunate Number Two.
One thing I know—every Firefly Club initiation is different. It’s designed to push boundaries. I’m hoping this is mostly Fear Factor style, and they bring out plates of worms for us to eat. But I know it’d be better for the con if it’s something worse.
Do your worst.
Rocky has already started provoking him, but I still don’t totally understand how this will play out. Because Rocky needs to maintain a trusting friendship with Matthew. Even by the very end. He can’t feel slighted.
He can’t be pissed.
Scarlet-cloaked Matthew parades himself in front of the other members. He walks the short line of initiates. “And so we begin.” His blue eyes flash through the holes of his mask, skimming the five of us, but when he lands on me, he lingers with a gleam.
He’s going to test Rocky through me. He knows we’re brother and sister.