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ChapterOne
TALIA
Money is the root of all evil. There is no way for most people to know that, though.
It's the type of knowledge that comes with firsthand knowledge of just what it’s like to be poor. Counting all your quarters and dimes to afford public transit, eating peanut butter straight from the jar because you can’t afford bread this week, choosing between going to the dentist and being able to pay rent kind of poor.
I fidget with my necklace, the only piece of jewelry I have that my mother gave me as a child, and try not to grimace as I stand in the tiny bit of shelter provided by the building I’m huddled in front of. The street is dark and the night rain-slicked. I blow on my aching fingers to keep them from freezing as I wait. Each minute seems to drag by, with me pulling my flip phone out of my pocket regularly to check the time.
No texts.
I pull a battered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from my pocket and try to get lost in the story, but it’s just too damned cold for me to focus.
Across the street, I watch as a party of drunk people climb the stairs of The Raven’s Head Club, talking loudly and laughing.
These are the exact kinds of people I’m talking about. The men are in dark overcoats, their expensive watches and designer suits showing as they reach for the door. The women are huddled under umbrellas. Their expensive red-soled high heels clack against the stone pavers underfoot. There is no doubt that beneath their wool coats are expensive dresses in showy colors, golds and silvers, and bright pink satin.
I detest these people. And to drive it home for me, as a group they are too involved with themselves to even notice me glaring at them, waiting in the chilly rain for my friend to show up.
Ugh, I am only waiting for five more minutes at the very latest.
Glancing at my watch, I shiver. Olivia is late, as is her wont. It’s basically her only flaw in a lifetime of wonderful friendship, so I let it slide.
But I’m still stuck waiting for her here, having stepped off the bus into the rainy early winter evening. Now I’m waiting for her to appear, as instructed, unsure about why I’m looking at The Raven’s Head Club. I’ve never seen the place before in my life, not that there is much to see.
Just a set of stairs, a large black door, and a little plaque telling the world that the club is by invitation only.
I hear a voice calling out and turn, hopeful that it is Olivia. But no, it's a group of girls whispering and cackling amongst themselves.
"Shhh," one of them says to the rest. "Hurry, we don’t want to be late. Burn was very specific about us being on time."
There is an explosion of giggles.
"Burn is so hot!" one of the women whispers in response. "It’s unbelievable that someone so rich can be such a hunk."
Another round of giggles, coupled with a couple of soft agreements.
"He’s dreamy," another girl says wistfully. "They both are."
"I like Dare. He’s so angry and brooding. It makes me think that he’s an absolute dragon in the bedroom."
Their names mean next to nothing to me, but the whispered comment does make me wonder. Who are the girls talking about? Obviously, the sort of men that inspire this kind of gossip in this group of well-to-do girls are something to be seen.
Then again, judging solely from the vacuous giggles and the long, expensive-to-maintain hairstyles of the group, the guys might just be the usual bland men in skinny black ties, designer black suits, and so much cologne that it makes you want to barf. Yeah, on second thought, I probably don’t want to meet any guys that this crowd of women talks about. Hard pass.
I turn and scan the street, trying to see who they might be talking about. But it’s impossible to know. There are no men in sight, just brilliantly beautiful and flamboyantly dressed girls. Their faces are all young and excited, all exuberantly beautiful.
The girls don’t even look my way as they hurry across the rain-slicked street. It’s unlikely they even know I am here and I make no move to change the status quo. If they did spot me, what would they see?
Just a pale girl drowning in an oversized, shabby coat. A flash of coppery hair and a pair of bargain-bin ballet flats—the nicest shoes I have. A vintage boho bag, large and functional, with worn leather that is a dull brown.
Olivia spoke in the strictest tone when she called earlier and told me to meet her here... and to dress nicely. I knew from her tone that she meant something other than the bulky brown sweater and knee length black skirt I usually wear.
I am totally out of my depth tonight.
Across the street, I notice that the girls have paused at the entrance to the disreputable-looking gray building that towers over the street corner. It must have been a very nice church when it was built. But time and weather have done their work on the building's outside, with water leaving dark streaks down the side of the building and the windows mostly boarded up.
The girls seem to make a decision, falling into a vee formation as they climb the broad stone steps of the gray stone building. The girl at the front tucks her long blonde hair behind her ear and steps forward, all but disappearing in the church’s Gothic-styled hooded cupola.
