Page 68 of Don't Look Back

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As I look around the Sanctum table at the other House of Eights members, I can’t help but wonder who is working against our best interests.

Eric has grown quiet, immersed in swimming.

Laird agrees with everything JJ says and does.

Kaitlyn is insistent we don’t know enough about the past.

Masaki is focused on the disasters.

Rett won’t let go of the treasure angle.

Rippley looks more suicidal every time I see him.

Ellis is skeptical of it all.

JJ is letting himself get distracted.

Mya knows more about Tullis than she’ll say.

Amadeo does whatever Mya tells him to.

Soren wants to explore whatThe Divinitiespaintings could mean.

And me, I want to stop this. The clock, the disaster, the growing divide within the Eights.

It’s nice to see Ripp has pulled his head out of Rett’s backside. A welcome change.

“While a third of our members were playing patty-cake at Highfair Estate last week, the rest of us were busy trying to get information,” I remind them.

“I contacted the past Scribes who are still alive,” Kaitlyn says. “Each one believes the last time the jaws on the clock were open was in 1988. The year Tullis was Scribe.”

The current House of Eights members only know the identities of the Scribe and Regents from past years, all the way back to the House’s inception. It’s an attempt to limit the flow of information and control access to it.

We don’t have member lists. The guarded secrets remain that way, even from us.

We’re told what to do, and when to do it…

But now that’s changing. The past is creeping up on us.

What does it all mean?

Are they even intelligent enough to pull off the kind of Machiavellian plots I want to pin on them?

“That’s unhelpful, seeing as he’s dead,” Mya says sarcastically.

“He’s dead because he knew something,” Rippley says.

“Obviously,” Rett mutters under his breath.

Nasty looks are exchanged between them.

“Who was Regent?” JJ asks.

“Dr. Fraine’s father,” I answer, sincerely hoping we don’t explore that further. I’m working on that alone, heeding the warnings in my dreams.

“Ellis, did you get the registered Rockefeller Amherst student list from 1988? We might not know who the members were besides Tullis, but it’s a start.”

He shrugs, screwing his mouth to one side. “It was before the digital age. I’m working on it. I was a little busy researching a racehorse. Sorry.”