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Prologue
Kik
Fifteen years earlier
My arms were so sore and I tired, and I was so cold and wet, my teeth were banging together. My feet and hands were tingly and weird, like when I slept on them funny. It hurt. A lot. My nose was all runny, and a didn’t have a Kleenex, so I had to keep taking long sniffs, and sucking my snot down my throat, or waiting until it ran down my nose toward my lip, and lick it up that way. It was gross, but I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going. I had to keep trying. I had to make magic happen. I had to.
“Angelita, you need to come inside. It’s freezing out here. You’ll catch your death. Besides, dinner is almost ready.” My Daddy’s voice boomed around the small yard, scaring me a little, as I hadn’t heard him open the door over the swish, swoosh of my arms as I flapped them up and down.
There wasn’t even any space left in the tiny yard to make new snow angels, so I’d started going over the old ones. If only I could stay outside long enough to make enough angels to make the magic work.
“Okay Papá, I’m coming, but just five more minutes…please?”
“Okay m’ija, but that’s it. Five more minutes.” He sighed big and loud the way he always did—like he was really sad inside his heart, but didn’t want to say so.
I knew how that felt, because I felt it too. I was hurting in my heart real bad, but I didn’t tell Daddy, because I knew he couldn’t fix it. Nobody could, except the snow angels.
Heathcote University Welcome Brochure
Heathcote University Welcome Brochure – Campus Myths and Legends
“One of the biggest legends associated with the college is that of Cygnus Dei, Heathcote’s rumored and hallowed secret society. Rumored, because secret societies have been outlawed here since the early twentieth century.
“If it still exists, Cygnus, as it’s often referred to for short, has all the hallmarks of the quintessential Ivy League secret society—practicing wild initiation rituals, carrying out elaborate pranks, and employing strict selection criteria—metaphorical velvet ropes—to ensure that only the cream of the crop of the college’s student population make the grade.
“This elitist attitude is reflected in the society’s motto—Cygnus Inter Anates—Swan Among Ducks.
“Like all secret societies, Cygnus Dei is shrouded in mystery (natch), rumor and misinformation—little of real substance is known about the society’s current membership, selection and initiation processes, or what goes on behind closed doors. All of which seems to ensure its enduring appeal and interest with the college’s general population.
“Perhaps the biggest secret of all is the identity of the Alpha Cygni—the head of the society. Some say it’s a position held by birthright, others say the place is bought, while yet others claim it is fought for.
“According to folklore, each year on ‘Tap Day’, ten new prospective members in their sophomore year, called cygnets, reportedly receive a knock at their doors with an invitation from the board of the society—the Northern Cross—to join. Being of the old-school secret-society variety, the members are all men. The ten are then, supposedly, put through a series of initiation trials, before being fully sworn in during their junior year.
“The ceremony is said to involve a series of mysterious rituals conducted by the Northern Cross, who don Fawkes masks—a tradition developed long before they were made popular by the movie V for Vendetta, and more recently, the Anonymous and Occupy Movements—and heavy, black-velvet robes.
“Purportedly headquartered at Trinity Hall with the Alpha Cygni and key members of the Northern Cross resident there, the society is also suspected to keep company at the nearby prestigious Swan Club. But with members remaining secret until after graduation—when they reveal themselves by wearing ties emblazoned with the society’s crest, which features its motto and a black swan, among other symbolic elements—and even then, never formally confirmed, it’s very hard to substantiate any of the rumors.”
Chapter 1
Drew
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I tried, and no doubt failed, to keep the sarcasm from my voice. Dealing with Father dearest was never anything close to what could be described as a pleasure.
“Do I need a reason to visit my only son? Was I supposed to make an appointment?”
I didn’t bother dignifying him with a response. He was being antagonistic, as he always was, and he definitely wasn’t looking for an answer to his rhetorical question. He had zero interest in anything I had to say. He never had. Case in point: in the almost-three years I’d been at Heathcote, he’d never once come to see me. So it was clear that this impromptu visit was more than just an uncharacteristic display of fatherly affection.
I waited. No matter what he claimed, there was a point, and he clearly had a plan for how to deliver it. No doubt, he’d get to it in his own sweet time.
“It’s your birthday.” As though I wasn’t aware of my own fucking date of birth. I let the dumb statement hang in the air between us. He’d initiated the unplanned contact—he would be the one to get to spill the beans. “So, you’re old enough to be more involved in the business.”
Interesting… he wanted something. I just had no idea what. Yet.
“And as such, I have a task for you.” I noted that, though he’d acknowledged that today was my born day, he hadn’t actually recognized its significance by bothering to wish me happy birthday. Happy birthday to me.
He slid a manila folder over the kitchen counter—I’d been eating my breakfast before going to classes for the day.
