Page 126 of Midnight Curfew

Like Austyn?

“Too bad I won’t be eighteen for another thirty months,” she goes on. “If I could tell people I was dating you, it would give me some space.”

I stop and face her. “What are you talking about?”

She’s, like, fifteen. Why would she want a place mat boyfriend? Like she’s trying to scare off suitors or something.

She shakes her head. “Nothing.” She backs away, heading the way we just came. “Later!”

I open my mouth to stop her, but she quickly disappears around a corner.

What the hell was that?

But it doesn’t take long for my imagination to get to work. After Sophia, I saw that the very fabric of this town has been ripped apart by all the lies, predators, and lack of accountability. I don’t know if Savanna’s getting unwanted attention from her future brother-in-law or she knows about the Wolfe Room or both. Our parents thought they did such a good job, hiding their deviancy, but we all knew what was going on.

And the idea hits me.

We could have dorms built in a year. By the time she’s a junior, she could be living at school, away from the adults. And then she’d be off to college.

I rub my jaw. “Fuck.”

That’s a good idea.

We could increase attendance from out of state that way as well. It would increase jobs, more revenue for the community, we could cast a wider net for athletic recruiting…

I know why no one ever did it before. Our fathers like it small in St. Carmen. It’s easier to control when we can slowly assimilate strangers.

It’s been small long enough, though, and some men have been calling the shots for too long.

I need to think.

We need to acquire as much land around the school as possible, first and foremost.

Climbing the steps, I charge through the alumni office, past the secretary, and into the library.

“I don’t have all night.” I close the door. “Let’s get started.”

Vincent and Jerome sit at the circular table, Milo swirling a glass of liquor in front of the fireplace. It’s never cold enough to use. There are books stacked against the bricks instead of logs.

“We’ve been here,” Vincent gripes.

I remove my Braves cap and pour a glass of water. There should be several others at the table, but they’re traveling. Normally, Ministry meetings are canceled over the summer, but we have our own agenda anyway. We don’t want them here.

“Three people from Sanoa Bay were arrested over the weekend,” Jerome tells us. “No retaliation or response from the Bay.”

“I would imagine Macon’s hearing plenty,” Vincent jokes. “He’ll resign himself to dealing with us eventually.”

I was out of town with Sophia, but I kept abreast of those breaking curfew. They were released this morning. It was enough to inconvenience them, and I’m sure the Jaegers are hearing about their husbands being locked up for two days.

Taking a long drink, I set the glass down and let them follow me to the shelves. We drift through the long aisles of tall bookcases and the assortment of texts donated by Constantine Carter in 1922. Various members of the Ministry throughout the decades have added their own selections to it, the collection expanding to house more than nine thousand volumes.

“And what do we want?” Jerome tips a book forward to lie on its spine. “Coastline?”

“Nothing.” I grab another text, pulling it down as well. “We’re not dealing with them at all. We keep digging in and adding weight, and when they start jumping ship, we go harder until they’re gone.”

I want to catch one of the Jaegers. It really shouldn’t have taken this long. Trace Jaeger has that bar open till 2:00 a.m., but he’s been crashing there till curfew ends.

Dallas and Iron live to break rules. I’m surprised they haven’t been more “adventurous.”