Page 38 of Depraved Boys

“It was ransacked earlier,” I whispered. “And earlier in the week, someone left a note telling me to stay away from Sebastian Garraway.”

“Where is it?”

“Ashley ripped it up.” Miss Claymore opened her mouth to protest, but I said, “I’m not lying. She’ll tell you it existed.”

She pursed her lips and stared at me through those piercing, black eyes. My posture sagged. This situation was so messed up. The culprit was now gaslighting me by clearing up their mess, and now I looked like an attention seeker or someone with behavioral problems.

“Look,” she said with as much compassion as she could muster with that sharp voice. “I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but without evidence, there’s no one to punish. May I suggest you lock your doors to prevent people from accessing your room?”

I bristled. Mom and Dad had taught us basic home security from an early age, but I nodded anyway. It was clear that she didn’t know what to believe.

“The next time someone sends a threatening note, keep it, and we’ll see if the police would be interested in dusting it for fingerprints.”

My shoulders sagged. If only Ashley hadn’t been so hasty to destroy that letter. Now, if anything happened, I wouldn’t be able to establish a pattern of systematic bullying to get the perpetrators punished.

“Thanks, Miss,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just search around and see if they did anything else.”

“Of course. Take your time.” She stepped out of the room and let the door click shut.

I turned my head to the ceiling and blew out a long breath. Whoever had done this was sick. The worst part was that I couldn’t figure out who would hate me enough to go to such lengths. The kings’ pranks had been minor, and they had stemmed from rejecting Sebastian and Leopold. I couldn’t see either of them creating those notes.

Oddly, I also couldn’t see Geraldine and Bianca sneaking behind my back to smash up a portrait, mess up my room and straighten it out again. What was the point of such far-fetched, clandestine activities when they couldn’t boast and sneer about it in front of an adoring audience?

I went down on my hands and knees and checked under the bed. Maybe they’d stuffed something incriminating down there. I only found my empty cases. Next, I tried the closets and the drawers. Everything had been returned to its proper place. I shook my head and lowered myself into a wooden armchair. This was futile.

Something hard protruded into my spine, and I pulled back the seat cushion. A thick, leather tome lay against the wood frame. It was black and embroidered with a pentacle within a circle. I flipped open the first page and read its title.

DIARY OF CORRINE GIBBONS

AGED THIRTEEN AND A QUARTER

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“What the hell is this?”

CHAPTER NINE

I longed to flip open the pages and read more about Cormac’s twin, but I put the diary aside. If anyone had the right to read through its contents, it was him. After inspecting my room for other signs of nefarious activity, I placed the diary in my bag and made a note to hand it to Cormac at the earliest opportunity.

Dreams of dead girls who looked like Cormac kept me awake for half the night. Ashley wasn’t on her side of the room, and her absence made my skin prickle into goosebumps.

I couldn’t tell which spooked me worse, knowing that someone had broken into the room to destroy Mom’s portrait then straightened it up again, the presence of the diary, or the knowledge that I might be sleeping in Corrine’s bed. All three were as terrible as the other.

I forced my eyes shut and distracted myself with thoughts about those assholes.

Prakash’s beautiful, scowling face, Sebastian’s lips, his roving hands, and Leopold’s glistening erection danced through my mind, working me into a lather of indignation and lust and an inexplicable yearning that chased away all thoughts of dead girls and stalkers.

A few fevered strokes of my throbbing nub later, and I shattered into a core-clenching climax that pulled me into a deep slumber.

I missed breakfast and my first period but made it to English ten minutes early and sat close to the back. Miss Claymore’s brows rose in question, as most people were still in classes, but I didn’t explain myself. The deputy headmistress probably knew the class schedules and had guessed that I had skipped a class.

As the lecture theater filled, the kings swaggered in. Irritation flared across my skin like an army of fire ants. Because of them, someone had destroyed Mom’s portrait. One of them had to know something.

I bolted out of my seat and glared up at Sebastian. “Someone was in my room last night.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” drawled Leopold.

I ignored him and focussed on Sebastian, who glowered back, his handsome features a sculpture of ice. I prodded him hard on the bicep. “They ripped up a watercolor family portrait.”