I have every intention of exploring later to find a way into the chapel. If that means sneaking down to the basement myself, I’ll do it.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry Tullis
Racing through the corridor to reach the Sanctum for the House of Eights meeting, I am constantly startled. I’ve never managed to come here without running, or at least jogging, to our room in the Great Hall. The whole place gives me the heebie jeebies.
When Eric called the emergency meeting, I originally thought it was about the rowdy party last weekend. Tom and Julian managed to sink one of the alumni’s yachts. But now… knowing the painting has been replaced, I’m certain Bizzy told him.
She tells him everything.
The mood is somber as we settle around the table. Most of our meetings are at the behest of our Regent, Dr. Alphonse Fraine, but occasionally one of us decides to meet. Like tonight.
Eric stands, his brows lowered. “I called this meeting because… where do I even start?”
That’s when Aaron does what he excels at. He takes over. “Anyone else wonder what our purpose is for being here? I don’t mean protecting some eccentric billionaire’s secrets. Our true purpose?”
Standing next to Eric, Aaron looks around the table intently. I’ve never called him a friend. In fact, Aaron’s never seemed built for friendship, beyond Eric. Most of the House is afraid of his wrath.
Eric continues, “When we took our oath, I thought we were joining a club. A fraternity. But recently, I’ve been having nightmares about the House of Eights.” He describes standing on the ledge of the clock tower, watching the Great Hall go up in flames. As he starts to tell us about a mysterious figure he saw in the fire, Aaron fixes him with a hard stare. The look is enough to stop him mid-sentence.
Tom Rausing snickers, then quickly covers his mouth, the meeting already becoming a joke in his eyes. Under his breath, he coughs, “Loser.”
Without a word, Aaron abruptly grabs Tom and pulls him out of his chair by the collar. He kicks his chair aside before saying, red-faced, “Show your fellow House member more respect, Tom. Or Daddy gets the bill for the yacht you destroyed, the hotel room in Paris, the ski chalet in Vermont, and the accusations over a certain Dutch au pair. Understood?”
He throws his hands up. “I’m not laughing now, if that helps.”
I’ve never really questioned whether there was anything random about how the House of Eights was put together.
“Why do you think we were assembled?” I ask Eric, not sure what I’ll get from Aaron, sarcasm or hostility.
“Yeah,” Tom’s buddy Julian says, leaning back and slinging an arm over the back of his chair. “What’s this all about?”
Taking a deep breath, Eric asks, “Why does the House of Eights have twelve and not eight members?”
The answers come at once, ranging from snide to sincere.
“...the meaning behind eight…”
“Rockefeller can’t count?”
“...twelve is a solid number of assholes…”
“It’s the angel number.”
“A dozen can get more done?”
“Who cares?”
In frustration, Eric asks, “What? Did you think the Regents thought, ‘this so-and-so looks like fun, let’s pick them’?”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Hewlett,” Julian replies.
I keep to myself most of the time, never sure if I’m meant to share what I know or what I’ve been seeing in my sleep. I certainly never want to be made fun of for it. I respect Eric for taking that chance.
Trembling, I stand. “Our ancestry. I think we’re all chosen based on our ancestry.”
He nods. “Right. But that’s not all. I can’t be the only person in this room having these dreams… I can’t.”
