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“Yes. I swear. That’s all I’ve ever said about the Playground to an outsider. I have no idea why Hillary or any of the other girls would say otherwise.”
“All right.” I stood up straight again, sheathing the knife. “I believe you, Miss Prescott.”
Piper’s mouth dropped open. “You do?”
“I have a gift for determining when people are lying to me. That’s why the other third-degree members appointed me as the arbiter.”
“But what if they don’t believe me?” she asked, still looking anxious. “Even after you tell them my story.”
“They will,” I said. “I make the final decision on these matters. If I decide you are trustworthy, the matter will be dropped.”
Her shoulders slumped with relief. “Does that mean it’s over? You’ll stop coming after me?”
“Yes. As long as you stay on the correct path,” I said, channeling the masked man from my own Rosmerta meeting the other night.
“Thank you for believing me,” Piper said, voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve been so scared lately. I thought…”
“Do not worry,” I cut in, lifting a hand. “As I said, you are safe now. As long as you continue to do the right thing, you can be assured that no harm will come your way.”
I was glad I was still wearing a mask, because it was hard to keep a straight face while speaking like a fucking oracle.
Piper stared up at me, brows knitted with concern. “So… what happens now?”
“Our meeting is concluded, and I will take you home. Would you prefer to walk this time?”
“Yes, please.”
“All right. Stay still.” I untied the knots around her ankles and helped her to her feet. “Follow me.”
We left the cavern and made our way through the meandering tunnels in silence. When we finally reached the door that led into the Prescott cellar, Piper’s eyes widened. “I had no idea this was here,” she said, glancing around the dim, cobwebbed space. “I mean, I knew there were caves and tunnels around here. But not a door right into my house.”
“I suppose your parents haven’t told you everything, then,” I replied. “No matter. All will be revealed to you when you become a third-degree member.”
She bit her lip and looked down. “Right,” she muttered.
As I registered her obvious reluctance to be involved with the Rosmerta Society any longer, I almost felt sorry for her, given all the terror I’d inflicted on her tonight. But then I remembered her part in everything that had happened to Amerie, and my face hardened. “I’ll walk you back to the stairs and untie your hands,” I said. “Then I’ll leave you.”
“Okay. Thank you,” she murmured, eyes still lingering on the floor.
As promised, I untied the ropes around her wrists when we reached the stairs. Then I strode over to the front door and let myself out of the house.
When I reached my own house, I didn’t walk through the front gate and go through the front door, just in case Piper happened to be watching me through her upstairs window. Instead, I headed farther down the street until I knew I was completely out of view from the Prescott house. I waited a few minutes, just to be safe, and then I turned back around and slipped into my own place through a side door.
Veins fizzing with excitement, I hurried to my room and opened my laptop. I logged into the school paper’s socials and spent the next ten minutes scrolling through photos, searching for anything relevant. Finally, a post about the town’s recent twilight markets popped up. Leaning closer to the screen, I slowly clicked through the photo set.
The fourteenth photo featured Piper and Hillary at a stall, flashing cheesy grins at the camera as they held up jars of cranberry sauce. A label was affixed to each jar.
I zoomed in on the photo, eyes narrowing as I searched the labels for a name. Crimson Hollow.
“There it is,” I muttered to myself, fingers flying over the keyboard.
I did a quick Google search for ‘Crimson Hollow Farm’ and clicked onto their website. No address was given on any of the site pages. Just an online shopfront, a list of retailers for those who preferred to shop in person, and a short writeup about how the farm had one of the biggest cranberry bogs in the state.
Google Maps didn’t seem to have the farm’s address in their system, either. The society must’ve paid to have it removed, which made sense given their need for secrecy.
Frustrated, I did another search for ‘Crimson Hollow Farm Vanderwild Bay location’. A local travel forum thread popped up on the first result, titled ‘Crimson Hollow weddings? Looking for info!’
I clicked into the thread, brows knitting as I read through each post.
