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The Lieutenant lunged and seized me by the hair so hard I tumbled, hands catching the floor, the recording device almost falling out of my mouth. He gripped me tight enough for new tears to sting my eyes.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I gritted my teeth and lifted my eyes to meet his.
“You don’t ask questions anymore. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded, blinking back tears.
“Good.” He swept a hand at me. “See her home.”
Nicole bent to me. “Put on your clothes.”
With shaking hands, I pulled them on, barely able to think beyond the throbbing in my arm. Nicole tugged me out of the room, shutting the door behind us. To my surprise, we didn’t turn in the direction of the door. Instead, she moved me swiftly down the hall, deeper into the house.
“Give it a week,” she said, tightening her grip on my elbow. “The burning will fade, and then it will be something you’re proud of.”
I couldn’t imagine it would ever fade. My arm burned so white-hot it was as if the iron was still pressed against my skin. I had a sudden vision of Cal seizing my wrist and shouting, red-faced,What the hell is this?
I turned my head from Nicole and cupped my hand to my mouth, spitting out the recording device, sliding it back into my bra. “Where are we going?” It took everything to push the words out.
Her gaze stayed locked ahead. “You deserve something for enduring that. No one will notice if we stick to the outskirts.”
I held my arm gingerly, struggling to keep pace with her.
Nicole gave me a knowing look. “That night at Tongue-Cut Sparrow, I knew you weren’t lying about what you wanted. I could see it in your eyes. The Paters are going to change your life.”
We came to a sweeping staircase, and she started climbing. “It’s up here.” She hopped up the stairs, a flash of pale skin and red hair, and I had the sudden delirious thought that Laurel wasn’t my White Rabbit—Nicole was. Pulling me deeper into this dark wonderland, where up was down and everyone was mad.
“Tonight is Cynthia’s punishment party,” Nicole said.
Up and up we climbed. “Her what?”
She shot me a quelling look, so I changed tack, lifting a hand to my temple, where I could still feel the Lieutenant’s grip. “Why aren’t the men wearing masks tonight?”
She gestured at me to hurry. “Each gathering is different. You’ll see. The Paters are inventive. It’s part of the appeal.”
“That’s why you do this? The sex?” That made sense. There was an impishness about Nicole, an air of strength, that made it hard to imagine her buying into the idea of female subservience, no matter what the Lieutenant had said. She must be here because it gave her a version of BDSM she couldn’t get anywhere else. Rawer, realer, undiluted, like she’d said at the Sparrow. A place without safety nets.
She stopped, and her expression hardened. “I’m going to the Hilltop.”
“What is that?”
“You’re not supposed to know yet, so keep this between us. The Hilltop’s mecca. Out here, we only get gatherings once a week, sometimes less. For some of us, that’s not enough. You end up living for the few hours you’re here.” Her voice softened. “But at the Hilltop, you give up life outside and live with the Philosopher. Total immersion. No more dead-end jobs, no more struggling to make rent on your shitty apartment, no more drunk, good-for-nothing family. Nothing but escape.”
I’d been wrong. Nicole was a true believer. “The Philosopher… He’s in charge?”
She nodded, striding down the dim hallway. “The founding father.”
“What’s he like?”
“I haven’t met him yet. He rarely leaves the Hilltop, and daughters only get chosen to ascend if they’re very good. It’s what I want most in the world.”
No wonder Nicole was recruiting at Tongue-Cut Sparrow. She was trying to prove herself, and bringing in new girls must buy her points.
Massive double doors with round iron handles stood at the end of the hallway, the kind on castles in storybooks. I could hear the strangest sound from behind them—soaring music, like from an orchestra. Nicole swung open the doors.
The Pater Society spanned before us, filling an enormous room, rich red curtains hanging at sharp angles over skyscraper windows like guillotine blades. The moody expanse was lit with cream-colored candles, flame-light flickering over instruments circling the perimeter: cellos, violins, a golden harp. In the corner, a man bent over a piano, fingers flying over the keys, filling the room with melancholy music. It looked like an aerie, a piece of heaven.
