Page 31 of Revenge

“What are they?” Her voice became breathy.

“One. Take a photo of it and place it on the Mercia-Net.”

“Why?”

I smirked. “How mad would Charlotte and the others get to know you’d been invited and they hadn’t?”

“Oh, great!” She rubbed her hands together. “What’s the other condition?”

“Nothing glamorous,” I replied. “Could you start a post on International House, asking people to comment with examples of the students flouting the rules? I tried to speak to the headmaster about all the noise, but he didn’t believe me.”

Her lips tightened. “If he ever left that office of his, he’d see the evidence with his own eyes. Some of those men look like gangsters. The first years are terrified!”

I shrugged. “He can see the photos and recordings on the Mercia-Net. If we overwhelm him with facts, he’ll have to do something, right?”

Alice pulled the invitation out from my fingers. “Consider them done.”

Later that night, I checked in with Jackie to let her know I’d received the invitations, and she told me the email address had already received thirty messages from people claiming to be my close friend who needed an invitation. Some of the names came from members of prominent families in the United Kingdom. Alice’s posting of the invitation to the Mercia-Net had worked.

I ran my hands through my hair and stared into the bathroom mirror. This would be a massacre of epic proportions.

* * *

With only a few weeks to go before the Valentine’s Day party, I focused on my schoolwork and on getting to know each member of the triumvirate as individuals. Blake continued to be miserable about falling into disfavor with the royal family, and no matter how much we talked about the unfairness of him taking the blame for something his stepfather had said, it didn’t dawn on him that he and his friends had done far worse to me.

It hurt my heart to spend time with Henry. I’d become so close to him, yet what had brought us together hadn’t even been real. Those nights I’d spent in that terrible room, eating awful food, and being frightened out of my mind had been a facade. No matter how much he said he needed to atone, I couldn’t forgive him until we were even. The kidnapping had been bad. I might have been able to let that go, but I’d never respect myself if I didn’t punish him for framing me for his own crime.

The only member of the triumvirate I could stand was Edward. Perhaps it was because he had mostly shown his true colors from the start. And because he appreciated more than the other two that it would take time for things to heal between us. Unlike Blake and Henry, he didn’t push for intimacy, just understanding.

A number of sixth-formers in both Elder and Hawthorn house approached me for tickets. I had nine remaining from what the triumvirate stole, and I wanted to ensure that the most deserving got the chance to be caught on camera doing something scandalous. I made sure to give the tickets to those I recognized from the gauntlet. Those who had been the vilest and cruelest. Those who had the nerve to pretend friendship when they would easily tear me apart at the barest provocation.

One Saturday after classes, we sat in Edward’s study, reading through the Correspondent. I lay on one of the Chesterfield sofas, resting my head on Henry’s lap with my bare feet on Blake’s. Edward sat behind his desk with his feet up, reading Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. Today’s edition featured an exposé on Patricia’s aunt, who worked in the Home Office, yet was having an affair with a man who had entered England illegally. The reporters had even tracked them down to a hotel she had paid for with her government credit card.

“I don’t know where all this information is coming from?” asked Henry.

“Charlotte,” replied Blake. “Patricia confides in no one else.”

Edward leaned back on his desk chair and folded his copy of the paper. “What should we do about her?”

“We could have her head shaved.” Blake ran his thumb along the sole of my foot, making me arch my back. “It was very popular in France after World War Two.”

“You can’t do that,” I gasped out.

“Why not?” asked Henry. “She’s done a damned sight worse to you.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “Firstly, you don’t know who is sending information to the newspapers, and secondly, it’s too extreme.”

Blake stopped massaging my feet. “I spent an entire week in rehab. Do you know what they had me doing? Group discussions half the time and one-to-one counseling for the rest of my stay. It was hell.”

I clenched my teeth. “Try spending a week in a basement room with only a sandwich and a bottle of Evian for company.”

They all fell silent. It was becoming a pattern. Blake would complain about the injustice he’d suffered, and then I would remind them of what they had inflicted on me. Then awkwardness would ensue. It was as if there was another party involved who they didn’t want to expose. My jaws clenched with determination. If I worked on them individually, one of them would let something slip.

My shoulders slumped back into the leather sofa. Part of me longed for the days after the kidnapping when we were becoming closer, when I was oblivious to the terrible scheme they had hatched. At times, I looked at the boys for signs of true repentance, but it seemed that Blake and Henry just wanted me to forget about what they had done, so we could all start having sex.

“When are you seeing Sergei Bachmann next?” Henry twirled a lock of my hair with his fingers.

“Do you want to come along?” I stared up into his green eyes.