The Lies That Bind (19 page)

After Bradley dropped me off at my house, I briefly considered throwing on my coat and walking over to Seth’s, but that would have required answering a lot of really annoying questions from Mrs. Allen. Plus there was always one place you could count on finding Seth after 10:00 p.m., and going there required a computer. I was about to do something I swore on my life that I’d never, ever do. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past couple years, it’s never say never.

I pulled up a new window and typed in the web address for TwiChat.com. When prompted for a screen name, I decided to go with the old standby, “BellaBlows.” If nothing else, I’d definitely stand out.

The chat was in full swing by the time I got in. Judging from the flurry of responses, tonight’s topic was something about Edward’s desire to keep Bella a mere mortal. Just as I was getting ready to type in a quick comment about Edward being a misogynistic asshat, I saw someone with the screen name WereWolfEdwardWhenBellaNeededHim. It had to be Seth. He’s the only person who would possibly come up with a screen name that involved.

I figured a private message would be my best bet.

BellaBlows: Jacob rules, Edward drools.

WereWolfEdwardWhenBellaNeededHim: I tend to agree, but what’s up with your screen name? Bella is a goddess.

BellaBlows: Bella is a weak damsel in distress who is completely reliant on supernatural male creatures to avoid walking off a cliff on a daily basis.

WereWolfEdwardWhenBellaNeededHim: Kate????

BellaBlows: HA!

WereWolfEdwardWhenBellaNeededHim: What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be moderating the chat, and EdHard and Jacob4Hire are at it again.

BellaBlows: We need to talk…

WereWolfEdwardWhenBellaNeededHim: Can’t this wait?

BellaBlows: Do you really think I’d be in this chat if it could?

BellaBlows: Please?

I waited for a minute and got nothing but a flashing cursor as a response. And then I heard something skitter across my window.

When I opened the shade, I saw the familiar red ringlets and Seth’s sheepish smile below. I jerked open the window.

“You’re here.”

“Aren’t I always?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, because that was the thing about Seth. Whenever I really needed him, he was always there. And despite the fact that I was constantly giving Seth a hard time for his incessant questioning, he always avoided the right questions. As much as I’m sure it drove him crazy not to know, he didn’t utter a word about Liam. And I could have kissed him.

Seth made a big show of attempting to climb up the trellis on the side of our house before I finally convinced him to come in through the front door like a normal person. My parents had left to go to a fundraiser, but even if they had been home, they would have been thrilled to see our neighbor. He fell squarely into their “good influence” friend sector. There’s a lesson about irony in there somewhere.

It didn’t take long for me to explain the entire Bradley story to Seth, detail for detail. Well, except for the email to Grace and the goose bumps. This wasn’t a romance novel. As I rambled, Seth shoved the last of a king-sized Butterfinger bar in his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“So, Conventus, huh?” He raised an orange eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean, I definitely don’t trust Bradley, but there’s got to be some connection. It keeps popping up.”

Seth nodded and I could almost hear the gears grinding in his brain as he tried to figure out exactly what we needed to do next. “I think we need a third-party assist.”

I rolled my eyes, reading his mind. “Seth, I don’t have time to wait for ConspiracyMother to check his email.”

Seth was involved in an absurd number of online communities, his most active being the Northern Ohio Association of Conspiracy Theorists (NOACT—an appropriate acronym for a group of guys who consistently saw
no
action
in every sense of the word). ConspiracyMother, as I liked to call him, was one of Seth’s online buddies and knew a crap ton about the secret societies that ruled our school.

“It’s Conspiracy
Luv
R,” Seth said, drawing out the “Love” part to be sure I got it, “and I know we don’t have time to wait. That’s why we have to go to
him
.”

“Wait, you know where he lives?”

A blush crept from Seth’s ears to his cheeks, hiding his freckles for a minute. “I interviewed him for an I-Search paper one time.” Seth pushed red curls back from off his forehead. “And I’d cool it on the criticizing. You need my help, remember?”

Seth was the only teenager I knew who used the words “cool” and “it” in that order. Seventeen going on forty. But he was right. Who was I to argue? I whipped my hair into a messy blue ponytail, pulled a sweatshirt over my head, and slipped my feet into my boots.

We were going in. Er…technically we were going out.

“Uh, so are you going to borrow your mom’s van, or what?” I asked as we walked out into the frigid January air.

“We don’t need a car. ConspiracyLuvR is closer than you think.” Seth smiled and began walking across the street.

I was slightly horrified when we walked approximately one block down our street, and then Seth steered me up a long, winding driveway that led to a somewhat neglected-looking house.

I grabbed Seth’s arm before we got any closer to the house. “Wait, so ConspiracyMother lives on our street? How have you failed to mention this in the past?”

“Well, you never asked. Besides, the first rule of Conspiracy Club is that you don’t talk about Conspiracy Club. And the second is that you never, ever discuss a member’s true identity.”

“I think you’ve watched
Fight
Club
one too many times.”

“Look, do you want to talk to him or not? He’s our best bet at this point.” Seth raised his eyebrows and looked at me expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

I shuffled my feet as he rang the doorbell, wondering for the five hundredth time that day what I’d gotten myself into. Some sort of a scuffle ensued behind the heavy door, and I heard a scream, a few cries of “Mom!” and what sounded like an inordinately large person knocking into furniture.

“He’s one of four,” Seth whispered as a man with over a week’s worth of stubble threw open the door. He was wearing a dirty, gray robe that had probably once been white and a stained undershirt with what appeared to be some type of long johns. A thirty-something-year-old woman shoved into him, jockeying for position, and he pinched her arm, eliciting a sharp cry.

“It’s for me, nerdzoid,” the man spat at the woman, who took one look at us and turned away.

“Have fun with your loser friends, dickwad,” she called over her shoulder.

The man opened the screen door and in an oddly professional tone of voice said, “Seth, man, what’s happening?”

“Hey, Mark,” Seth said. “I have a huge favor. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. Come on in.” Mark, aka ConspiracyLuvR, opened the door wide enough so we could fit and led us through the living room and into the house. I was immediately assaulted by the smell of bacon bits and maple syrup.

Knickknacks covered every square inch of the place, and I had the sneaking suspicion that this thirty-something-year-old man-child still lived with his parents. And apparently so did his sister, who was currently lounging on the couch in what looked like adult-sized footie pajamas or a Snuggie. I wasn’t sure which was worse. She lifted her middle finger at me as we headed up the stairs. Classy.

We entered Mark’s room, which featured
Star
Wars
wallpaper, bedding, and even action figures positioned on shelves. Mark headed toward a desk and sat behind a fancy-looking computer, his hands clasped behind his head.

“What can I do for you?”

Seth elbowed me in the ribs as though we were approaching the Wizard of freaking Oz, as opposed to a haggard-looking, middle-aged computer geek who clearly lacked an appreciation for general hygiene.

“So this thing called Conventus keeps coming up with the societies, and I sort of need to know what it means.” I launched right in. The smell that permeated this entire house was making me nauseous, so the sooner we were done here, the better.

“Conventus, conventus, conventus…” he said, tapping the desk lightly as he thought. Recognition dawned as he typed furiously on his keyboard, nodding his head and mumbling to himself.

As I tried to make out what he was saying, his bedroom door flew open. His sister pushed her head in and yelled, “Hey, butthead. Mom says it’s your turn to unload the dishwasher.” I tried to remember the last time I’d heard the word “butthead” used in a sentence, and I was 99 percent sure that it was in reruns of ’90s MTV cartoons.

“Nice try, Patty. I did it last time.” He threw a ball at her head as she slammed the door back shut. I could hear her yelling for her mom behind the closed door.

Where the hell were we?

“It means unity, right?” Seth chimed in, looking nervously at the door.

“Au contraire, my friend,” Mark said. “Au contraire.” He raked his fingers through the thinning hair on his head, making it stand at odd angles. “‘Conventus might mean ‘unity’ in Latin, but it is the single most divisive issue among the secret societies to date. You see, the Farrows have long advocated for the merging of the two societies that divide their family. That’s commonly referred to as Conventus. As students, Mr. and Mrs. Farrow fought hard to form a union but failed.” He folded his hands together to emphasize his point.

My eyes widened a little. “Wait, so they want to merge the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood into one society?”

“Precisely,” Mark said while typing something into his computer. He pulled up some sort of archive on the screen and punched in a password. I glanced at all of his
Star
Wars
paraphernalia and figured it was probably something like “skywalkersdabomb” or “lukeiamyourfather.” But when I noticed the Harvard diploma hanging on the wall, I decided it might be something closer to “CrimsonIntheCrapper.”

“They’ve been working on negotiating a truce and a union ever since their respective terms leading the societies.”

This was getting interesting. I walked closer to his computer screen and sat on the stool beside his swivel chair. On the screen were row after row of what appeared to be senior pictures but were really Sisterhood membership photos. They wore pristine white shirts featuring the Pemberly crest. I recognized Mrs. Farrow right away. She looked almost exactly like Naomi. I narrowed my eyes at another familiar face, trying to place her.

“Who’s that?” I pointed to the screen at the gorgeous blond.

“That’s Catherine Richardson. She single-handedly destroyed Conventus when the Farrows tried to push it through in ’83.”

Mark continued talking but I could barely hear him. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the familiar face in front of me. I knew without a doubt who I was looking at. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking ConspiracyMother to say her name out loud.

“Do you know her married name?”

He slapped his forehead, “Oh, duh, I should have told you from the start. That’s Catherine Wright. You probably know Taylor and her sisters, Tinsley and Teagan.”

Uh, yeah.

“Hello? Earth to Kate?”

I felt one of Seth’s sharp elbows jab me in the ribs, but I was too busy trying to put all the pieces together in my mind to care. Taylor had left out some pretty important information in her efforts to protect the Sisterhood. If Mrs. Wright had destroyed Conventus back in the day, I imagined that Taylor wasn’t exactly on board with a resurrection. So if Bethany and Taylor were trying to stop the societies from joining, that was a pretty clear motive for the boys to kidnap Bethany. I just couldn’t believe that Taylor hadn’t told me.

“Do you have any other questions for Mark? He’s got some business to attend to.” Seth nodded at what looked like an old television with tinfoil-covered antennas furiously beeping in the corner. “Last chance.”

“Uh, no, this has been so helpful. I think I’m good for now. Thanks, ConspiracyMoth…er…Mark?” I held out my hand for a good old-fashioned handshake, but the man who I will forever think of as ConspiracyMother stood up and dove in for a hug. I tried to breathe through my mouth but still got a major whiff of Bac-Os that emanated from his nasty-ass robe. Thankfully, I managed to cover my dry heave with a polite cough.

Seth leaned over and murmured something I couldn’t quite make out while gesturing at the beeping television. Then he initiated this weird set of hand movements that ended in what had to be the most awkward chest bump of all time.

Where’s the eye bleach when you need it?

ConspiracyMother slammed the door to his room as soon as we emerged into the cluttered hallway. Guess we’d have to see ourselves out.

“Whatever you do, do
not
make eye contact if you see his mom,” Seth warned as we raced down the stairs.

“What? Wait! Why not? And why are you just mentioning this now?” I spotted a large woman in some kind of muumuu making her way out of the kitchen as we wandered down the stairs.

“Just trust me.” Seth grabbed my hand and yanked both of us out the front door, ignoring the shrill cry of, “Oh, Gingersnap, Gingersnap!” that followed us out into the night.

Seth sprinted once we were on the grass, and I wasn’t about to be caught by the ConspiracyMother’s redhead-loving mama, so I took off right behind him. He didn’t stop until we were back in front of my house.

“So…what…next?” He had his hands on his knees, his chest heaving. He finally looked up at me expectantly.

“We talk to Taylor. Bradley specifically said that Bethany was anti-Conventus and that there was going to be some kind of vote next week. Lame-ass blood oaths aside, it’s time for Taylor to come clean.”

“Well, at least it doesn’t sound like Bethany’s in any real danger.” Seth shrugged.

I thought about that for a minute. I remembered Taylor’s panic at losing her friend. The text message. The notes from Grace.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

When it came to absolute power, there was nothing the societies wouldn’t do. I knew that firsthand.