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Katie nodded but said nothing.
How did the Marquis know that about her? I searched her face for a clue, or a hint of rebellion, but all my attention seemed to do was make her shrink even further into the Marquis’s bulk.
“Women in the academy now, you can practically feel their lust for power. They want to control everything: the courses, the department rules, the production of knowledge itself. They need to keep feeding society lies to serve their agenda. Well, all that falseness rots them from the inside out. You can tell them by their stink.” He made a show of sniffing Katie’s hair, then in my direction. “Thank goodness. Sweet as can be.”
I closed my mouth, all my questions dying on my tongue.
“Enough of that.” The Marquis leaned forward conspiratorially. “I came over to crown you the most beautiful girl in the room. Isn’t she, Katie?”
Katie nodded, a slip of her chin, and smiled at me wistfully, like I’d won a prize.
I remembered what the Lieutenant said:If you’re lucky, and a Pater likes the look of you, he’ll honor you by asking for your service.My heart pounded. Maybe that’s what the Marquis wanted.
“I’m the host of this party,” he started, puffing out his chest. “To be chosen—”
I gripped Katie’s arm. “I’m sorry.” I picked up a second wineglass from the piano. “I just remembered I promised someone I would bring this to him a while ago.”
Before either could respond, I beelined through the living room, then slipped down the empty hallway, moving blindly. My pulse jumped in my throat. How many times could I get away with escaping? This made three now. One of these nights, a Pater wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I ducked into a room off the hall and pressed my back against the wall, taking deep breaths. I tipped a wineglass to my mouth, looked around, and froze.
It was a richly appointed office, commanded by a large desk. Bookshelves held rows of thick, cracked-spine tomes. A room full of clues.
I set the wineglasses down and moved behind the desk. Two silver-framed pictures of the Marquis were propped up in prominent positions. In the first, he crouched, grinning, next to a petite but unmistakable Darla Covington, the former Secretary of State. In the second, he wore a forest-green cap and gown—a Whitney cap and gown—and gripped the women’s rights activist Jane Freeman by the shoulders.
Who the hell was the Marquis?
With mounting dread, I bent over the desk and rifled through a stack of papers.
There—a form, with the Whitney seal. I leaned closer and stared at the signature slashed across the bottom:Reginald T. Carruthers. Underneath, it readPresident of Whitney College.
The Marquis was thepresidentof Whitney. The Paters had infiltrated my school. I thought back to eight years ago, sitting in the dean’s office next to a stone-faced Laurel. Being patted on the shoulder, reassured the dean would do everything in her power to help us. But none of that help had ever materialized. Were the Paters already in charge by then? Had it been a performance from the beginning?
Understanding dawned. The Pater Society was more than Don’s secret sex club, a place for like-minded men to indulge taboo, old-fashioned desires. There was something deeper, more ambitious happening here. Don had a plan, and its roots stretched all the way back to my senior year, if not earlier.
A loud bell rang, and I dropped the form, snatching the wineglasses and speeding from the room before anyone could catch me.
The whole party was gathered in the living room, their attention held by something at the front. I snuck quietly through the crowd, turning to find what everyone was looking at. The Marquis—President Reginald Carruthers—stood next to Katie.
The Marquis beamed. Even this far away, I could see Katie trembling.
He swept a hand. “Welcome back, brothers.”
Around the room, Paters raised their glasses—including a man standing close to me. I hadn’t noticed him at first, but now I looked. Dark hair, graying at the temples, broad-shouldered, thick brows. He was handsome. I wondered for a moment why he was here—as if being attractive disqualified him from wanting to hurt women—before he sensed me looking. His lips curved in a smile, eyes traveling down my throat to rest on my necklace. I felt the weight of each pearl like a knot around my neck. He tipped his glass in my direction, and I wrenched my eyes away.
Not Don, the terrible voice whispered.But not far off.
My palms were damp.
At the front of the room, the Marquis ran a finger down Katie’s arm, and I shivered. “I’m proud to say our Eve tonight is my special daughter Katie.” He turned his twinkling gaze to her. “Take your bow.”
She curtsied, and the Marquis laughed. “Now your clothes, please.”
As if she had a choice.
With slow hands, she unfastened the buttons down the front of her dress. It fell away, and she reached back to unhook her bra, sliding it down her arms, tugging down her panties. Naked, she was gaunter than I’d guessed. My stomach clutched with phantom pain. I remembered being that hungry.
The Marquis took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, puffing, taking his time. Then he dragged something from behind the piano: a bucket of crimson liquid, thick and viscous. “Katie, dear. You do the honors.”
