In the Club Page 9

  Concetta Canoli’s locker was smack in the middle of the court. Her initials were etched into a gold placard that hung over the top.

  Lex reached into the magic purse and found her penlight. She flicked it on and aimed the small straight beam directly ahead, sweeping it once across the floor to make certain they were safe.

  “Wait a minute,” Madison said as they reached the locker. She pinched her fingers around the thick steel padlock sealing the door shut. “How are we going to open that?”

  Park paused and blinked, as if weighing the question.

  “Jeez, Madison, sometimes you’re a total Kmart-for-brains,” Lex snapped. “Think about it. A confident, full-figured girl like Concetta Canoli? What do you think her locker combination would be?”

  Madison scowled. “I don’t know. But don’t ever attach my name to a retail chain that sells man-made fibers exclusively!”

  “Oh!” Park snapped her fingers. “Lex, you’re totally right. The combination would be Concetta’s body measurements. And there’s no way Kmart doesn’t sell cotton fabrics.”

  “Bingo.” Lex trained the flashlight on the padlock, ignoring her sisters’ bickering. She closed her eyes in concentration. “Now, let me see,” she muttered, trying to deduce Concetta Canoli’s robust body measurements from a mere mental image.

  “Come on,” Park said. “You can do it.”

  Lex took a deep breath. “Thirty-nine chest, thirty-five waist, thirty-seven hips. Try it.”

  Park went to work on the padlock, spinning the dial carefully but quickly.

  The combination failed.

  “Try these measurements,” Lex offered. “Forty, thirty-six, thirty-eight.”

  Again Park tried, and again the numbers bombed.

  Madison’s eyes suddenly brightened. “I have an idea,” she told them quietly. “How about this combination? Twelve, fifteen, ninety-two.”

  “What’s that?” Lex asked, her tone scornful.

  “Just try it!” Madison snapped.

  Park spun the numbers through the dial.

  The lock opened.

  Lex gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

  “Madison, how the hell did you know that?” Park asked, shocked.

  Madison shook her head. The expression on her face was one of disappointment and fear. “It’s pretty freaky, but those numbers are Damien Kittle’s birthday—December fifteenth, nineteen ninety-two. Last year he invited us to celebrate it in Vegas that weekend, but we were in Copenhagen with Mom. Remember?”

  “Shit, that really is freaky,” Park said. “Who knew Concetta was that obsessed with Damien.”

  “Gives me the creeps.” Lex shivered. “I mean, her feelings for Damien were obviously deeper than anyone knew.”

  “Well, let’s hope Concetta’s locker isn’t as creepy.” Park had already begun shifting through the coats and blazers and bags. She patted her hand over the top shelf and found a notebook, which she handed over to Madison for perusal.

  Lex swiped the penlight along the inside of the locker. She bent down and inspected the shoes—they were all huge, but not hideous. A small leather box caught her attention a few seconds later. She popped open the lid and blasted it with light. Inside were several small folded pieces of paper, along with pictures of Damien Kittle. “Look at this,” she said breathlessly.

  The pictures were actually snapshots, and they had very obviously been taken without Damien’s knowledge. In one, he was sitting in the music room reaching for a violin. In another, he was walking out of a classroom lugging an armful of books. There were a number of profile shots as well. He wasn’t smiling in any of them.

  “Evidence of a total lovesick psycho,” Park whispered.

  Lex dropped the stack of pictures back into the box and reached for one of the pieces of paper. She unfolded it. She traced her eyes over the scrawl and made out three words: in my house. Another read: It’s our secret. And yet another: We stand in the shadows. Lex said, “What the hell?” and glanced up at Park.

  “Beats me,” Park replied. “Her coat pockets are all empty. And then there’s her gym bag, which is totally rank.”

  “I knew I smelled wet wool.” Lex crinkled her nose. “Don’t go near it.”

  That was when Madison stepped in between them and said, “I found something pretty strange.” Her head was bent, her eyes trained on the pages of the notebook in her hands. Finally, she turned it around, holding it by its spine so that Park and Lex could see what she was talking about.

  The first page of the notebook had four words scrawled across it in neat script:

  The Black Cry Affair

  This was followed by an inky symbol—the same Roman coin symbol that had been stamped on Damien’s palm. Then came the list: several familiar names and their odd, corresponding titles.

  Concetta Canoli—Mistress of the Court

  Damien Kittle—Prince of Illusions

  Emmett McQueen—Knight of Daggers

  Jessica Paderman—Princess of Shadows

  Julian Simmons—Sage of Magic

  The following pages were diary entries, complete with dates, times, and detailed descriptions written in Concetta’s hand.

  April 5: Tonight, the Black Cry Affair delved into the realm of King Arthur’s court. We had a blast. Damien played a drunken servant, and Emmett played a wealthy scoundrel. I reigned as a queen, of course, and the rest of the group couldn’t get enough of our scuffling. For nearly two hours, I totally forgot the real world and lost myself in the game. I didn’t want it to end. Neither did Julian.

  April 19: The Black Cry Affair should really go public. We’re all so amazing at playing our roles. Tonight we transformed the Chamber into the Coliseum and left New York for ancient Rome. Damien was awesome as Marcus Aurelius. He and Emmett got into a gladiator duel while I played the role of a damsel in distress. They had an amazing sword battle. Damien totally won.

  May 10: It’s obvious that being in the club means a lot to everyone. There was a crazy storm tonight, but all members of the Black Cry Affair braved the weather for one of our games. With the thunder booming and all that scary lightning, we decided to assume complete fantasy roles. I was a fairy princess. Damien was a dragon-slayer. We got so into our roles. At one point I thought we were even going to kiss, but it didn’t happen. Maybe next week?

  Park lifted the notebook from Madison’s hands and continued flipping through the pages. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered. “Who knew that any of this was even going on?”

  “I still don’t get it,” Lex said, tugging her arm. “What’s all that writing about?”

  “I think the Black Cry Affair is a role-playing club,” Madison explained. “Obviously, Concetta and Damien and Emmett are the main role-players, but Jessica Paderman and Julian Simmons are also members.”

  “There could be five or ten more members, for all we know.” Park kept scanning the pages. “And this stamp—the one of the Roman coin—it’s the same one we saw on Damien’s hand tonight.”

  “Yes.” Madison nodded. “I guess that’s what they do whenever they have one of their little club meetings—the stamp is a symbol of admittance into the club. Of recognition.”

  “But you said you didn’t see the stamp on Damien’s hand today in the student lounge,” Lex said to Madison. “Does that mean these Black Cry Affair weirdos met before coming to the opening of Cleopatra?”

  “I would say so.” Madison turned and gave the locker another quick scan.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it means.” Park held the notebook out, pointing to the top of a folded page. “Look. It says right here that the Black Cry Affair had a meeting today at six o’clock. Concetta keeps mentioning this Chamber thing. I wonder where it is.” She went back to perusing the entries.

  “Wait a minute.” Lex held up a hand. “You honestly think this whole role-playing thing has something to do with Damien’s murder? I mean, I think it’s totally weird, but it could also be totally innocent.
”

  “You’re right,” Madison admitted. “It could be.”

  “But it isn’t.” Park looked up. Again, she held the notebook out to her sisters. “Check out this entry.”

  They lowered their eyes as Park shined the flashlight onto the page.

  May 24: I’m not happy. Tonight, the members of the club had a great time visiting medieval Europe, but I noticed a lot of tension in the Chamber. I feel like there are secrets being kept from me. Why do Damien and Emmett seem so tense with each other? Why does Jessica keep smiling at Damien? Julian’s been weird too. I feel like something bad is going to happen, something that just can’t be stopped….

  Madison gasped.

  Lex’s eyes widened.

  “Doesn’t sound so innocent,” Park said. “Maybe things got a little out of hand in the club—and maybe it all led up to Damien being killed.”

  Before Madison or Lex could reply, a huge bang sounded from the floor above.

  Then came the footsteps—soft, swift, steady. There was definitely someone else in the school.

  “Shit.” Park slammed the notebook closed and placed it back on the top shelf of the locker. She shut the door silently and slid the padlock back into place.

  Madison and Lex grabbed on to each other, panic lighting up their faces.

  “Stay calm,” Park whispered.

  They were standing at the very end of the hall. They had only two escape routes: the main entrance of the school, or the staircase that led back up to the science lab. The front doors weren’t really an option—alarms would sound and pull the sisters from their beds—but the thought of facing someone upstairs was terrifying. Standing still, their backs pressed to the lockers, they waited in silence.

  Another round of footsteps sounded above them.

  Several tense minutes passed, and then Lex broke out of her position and began tiptoeing back down the hall to the staircase. She looked over her shoulder and motioned for Madison and Park to follow her. They assumed the human chain again, taking the steps one at a time. Now the footsteps sounded like they were moving across to the east wing of the school.

  “It can’t be one of the nuns,” Madison whispered. “Not at this hour of the night.”

  “So then there’s an intruder,” Park whispered back. She gestured her head at the magic purse. “Lex, what’ve you got for protection?”

  Lex reached into the purse and pulled out a nail file with a razor-sharp tip. She held it up and out like a blade. “I can totally shred someone with this,” she said quietly.

  They continued to the second-floor staircase landing.

  And that was when they saw the shadow.

  It was like a flash of black lightning across their faces.

  Madison shrieked as Lex and Park tumbled into each other.

  But where they expected to see a knife-wielding murderer, they saw only a mass of black clothing flip through the air. The long, lean, elegant figure was clearly a nun. She did three cartwheels in rapid succession, drawing closer to them, then expertly knocking the nail file from Lex’s outstretched arm.

  “Oh!” Lex screamed, more stunned now than frightened. Her eyes went wide as she watched the acrobatics unfold.

  With the last cartwheel, the nun landed firmly on her feet. Her hands shot out in a defensive karate-chop position and her black veil settled like a mop around her head.

  “Sister Brittany!” Madison exclaimed.

  There was a tense silence before Sister Brittany’s expression softened into its usual cheerful mask. “Girls!” she shouted. “Oh my Lord! What are you doing here?”

  The question hung in the air for several moments.

  Then Lex sighed and looked at Madison and Park and said, “Shit. We’re busted.”

  7

  Good Girl Gone Bad

  Jessica Paderman rushed through the private side entrance of the St. Regis Hotel on East Fifty-fifth Street. Reserved for penthouse residents, the small double doors led directly to a bank of elevators far away from the busyness of the lobby. Her shoulders were slumped. Her eyes were cast downward. Anyone spotting her disheveled appearance would know there was something terribly wrong.

  Ordinarily, Jessica liked passing by the front desk and waving to the lobby attendants. She liked eyeing the excited tourists too. In the past, she had even stopped to chat with many of them, happily offering pointers on what sites to visit. She generally instructed first-time visitors to avoid the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, especially during the summer months. Why deal with stinky elevators and crowded observation decks? There were far better places to visit in Manhattan. Her favorite was the American Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side. After that, she loved Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center and the Central Park Zoo. That was Jessica: brainy, reserved, proper to a fault. And always eager to please.

  But right now, she didn’t even want to think about anything remotely cerebral. Certainly not classical music. Not Beethoven or Tchaikovsky or Vivaldi. And definitely not Mozart.

  The eerie notes of the Requiem were still playing in her mind. She heard them as she stepped into the elevator and jammed her fingers against the penthouse button. She saw that frightening image flash through her mind—the cage descending from the ceiling, the trail of blood dripping from one end. She squeezed her eyes against it and tried to steady her breaths.

  Damien is dead.

  A sob shot past her lips. When the elevator yawned open, she stepped out into the antechamber of her family’s penthouse, dug into her purse for her key, and jammed it into the lock. She threw open the door. All was blessedly quiet. Her mother was asleep upstairs, and her older brother wouldn’t be home till morning. As tears blurred her vision, Jessica bolted for her bedroom. She didn’t turn on the lights. She didn’t kick off her shoes or get undressed. She simply stumbled through the darkness and collapsed onto her bed.

  The night, at last, was over. But as that realization dawned on her, so did everything else.

  She felt a surge of guilt so powerful, her entire body trembled.

  She was lying flat on her back. Thin streams of light cut through the window blinds and played across the ceiling. She let her eyes trace over them until they all converged into a single square. Almost like an exit sign. The irony of the image wasn’t lost on her. She wanted to find a way out of this whole unexpected mess, a doorway that would lead her into a safe world where there weren’t any dead bodies or ugly big shoes.

  A world where there weren’t any secrets.

  The minutes continued to tick by, and Jessica had to wrestle herself out of her stupor. She was sure she was experiencing a classic state of shock. She had seen it on TV—people witnessed horrible events and then went totally still, like mannequins in a store window. Their minds just…shut down. Sometimes they even picked up and ran away because they forgot who they were. That had happened countless times on All My Children. A case of temporary amnesia. It would certainly make life easier right now. If she could play the role of forgetful victim, maybe the cops wouldn’t come knocking on her door.

  But as Jessica rose unsteadily to her feet, she knew it was an impossibility. She didn’t fit the psychological profile of someone who collapsed under pressure. Her whole life, she had been the strong, determined, intelligent girl who got things done. She was an outstanding student. She had won many academic awards. She didn’t abuse her connections or her clout as a celebutante like most of the kids at St. Cecilia’s Prep. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually made a mistake. When she got that ugly B—in history last term, she worked insanely to memorize all the complex dates and historical facts and in a matter of weeks became the best student in the class. When she scored 2200 on her SATs, she reviewed her notes obsessively, not sleeping, walking into school every day exhausted and pale; the second time around, she upped her score to a near-perfect 2350. Last month, determined to outrank even the most seasoned players at the annual school chess tournament, she walked away with n
ot one but two trophies. And she had accomplished all these feats while counseling her parents through a messy divorce and trying to steer her brother off his addiction to Wite-Out and superglue.

  People had only one image of Jessica Paderman: straitlaced and capable. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. And when it came to the silly, immature antics that so often got teenagers into trouble—drinking, smoking, partying all night with the wrong crowd—Jessica was never mentioned. She didn’t partake in frivolous activities. She saw no point in acting seventeen just because she was seventeen. Her mind was focused on more serious ventures.

  Or, at least, it always had been.

  My fault, she thought. It’s all my fault.

  She didn’t know what instinct had led her to join the Black Cry Affair. It had been an uncommonly rash decision, and now she realized that it was the worst decision of her life. If she’d stuck to her one-track ways, she would never have gotten so close to Damien Kittle. She would never have gone to the damn opening of Cleopatra either. And she obviously wouldn’t be in so much trouble right now.

  Kicking off her shoes, Jessica cursed that day six months ago when she’d inadvertently caught a glimpse of Concetta Canoli’s hand and noticed the Roman coin stamp on her palm. Jessica’s curiosity had led to several questions. Concetta had been evasive but still a little too giddy, saying things like: It’s nothing you’d be interested in, Jess. It’s not for girls like you. You don’t have the time for fun anyway. Jessica, both hurt and offended, had challenged Concetta’s mysterious response. I can have fun, she said. I’m not as nerdy as you think. Tell me, what is it? Later that afternoon, Concetta invited Jessica into the Chamber, and Jessica had been blown away by the elaborate town house basement. Dozens of colored lightbulbs, chests filled with costumes and sparkling jewelry, long antique swords. Standing there in the thick of it, Jessica hadn’t been able to speak. She’d felt like she’d stepped into another world.