Rachel blinked as she stared into the pool of blackness before her. Only seconds ago, she was listening to her own voice and the hum of the solo guitar on the loudspeakers. Now there was only the bustle of confused, angry voices as people shouted for the lights to come back on.
She waited a few more moments for the emergency power to kick in, but when only cell phone lights broke through the darkness, she knew it wasn't going to happen. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to find Max and Chloe and get the fuck out of Blackwell. Jumping off the stage was out—she didn't want to crush someone's foot with her high heels or, worse, twist her ankle on the landing. She would have to go back the way she came—past the wings, into the dressing room behind the stage, and back into the adjoining hall.
She turned and walked off the stage with short, halting steps. Reaching out a hand, she felt for the wall of the stage wings and guided herself to the dressing room door. The backstage seemed enormous now; in contrast to the audience area, the place was cold and still.
And the realization hit her like a blast of freezing air: this was no random blackout. It was Jefferson's gambit! He was behind whatever this was—had to be! He got her separated from her friends, vulnerable and blind. What good were powers if she couldn't see a thing?
Jefferson and Nathan must've planned this, must've fucked up the power. They've even roped Victoria into it somehow, giving you an excuse to come onstage. And you walked right into it, you blind, stupid bitch—
Alright, enough. I can recover. They haven't outwitted me yet. I've got people looking out for me. I just need to get to Chloe and Max quickly and everything will be okay.
She imagined Chloe fighting her way through the crowd to get to her, and her racing heart slowed down a bit. She just needed to get somewhere bright with people around. With luck, maybe either Adam or Principal Wells was still in the dressing room, and she wouldn't be alone.
As Rachel reached for the doorknob, as it turned easily in her hand and the door creaked open, the thought came to her—what if it's not them who were waiting in there? What if it was him?
She hesitated. Now going down from the stage didn't seem like a terrible idea anymore, certainly better than the yawning blackness before her. She took a step back from the threshold, but a strong hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and shoulder, stifling her scream.
Inside the near pitch-black dressing room, Nathan Prescott stood by the door to the stage and waited for Rachel. His hands trembled, his eyes opened wide as he kept his back pressed flat against the wall. Any moment now, her footfalls would betray her approach. Any moment now.
In his right hand, he held upright a single plastic straw, one finger blocking the bottom hole. Inside the straw was scopolamine, also known as Devil's Breath. Odorless, tasteless, a single whiff of this fine white powder would cause a total memory blackout and loss of will. The victim would be reduced to a zombie. It hadn't been easy to get. Good thing that punk-assed mopey loser Frank took the money without too many questions.
Jefferson's plan was nothing if not thorough. After Nathan got the Devil's Breath, he had to find a way to get Rachel Amber onstage at the night of the Prom. For that, he bribed the band's singer to disappear for a while during the awards, giving Rachel an opening. Then he got Victoria to pitch in. It didn't take much: he promised he would dose Rachel's water bottle with muscle relaxant prior to her going on stage. Wouldn't it be a hoot to see the Queen of Blackwell slurring and swaying throughout her speech?
But of course, that was all a lie. The final step of Jefferson's plan was for Nathan to sneak into this dressing room after Rachel had gone onstage, stay out of sight in a closet, and wait as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Once he was in position, Jefferson would sabotage the school's circuit breakers. Then, as Rachel stumbled blindly into the dressing room, Nathan would grab her and blow the dust into her face. From there it would be easy—the hallway outside the dressing room had an emergency exit that led directly outdoors. Nathan would drag her out to where Jefferson would be waiting to spirit them away. The next day, Nathan would start a rumor that Rachel had been spotted leaving the party in an RV matching the one owned by Frank Bowers. That would throw everyone off their scent.
And Rachel would be mine, the darkest part of him whispered.
The hard part was that Nathan couldn't write any of it down. But he'd remembered every step up to this point. He felt very proud of that fact. Jefferson could count on him.
Now, he was a panther in the dark, waiting for his prey.
Any moment now.
Any moment.
Nathan stood where he was, mopping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, struggling not to make a noise. He waited the way his father would sometimes wait in the darkness of his study, motionless, watching and listening for some unknown thing only he could sense. What would his father think if he could see him now? Would he be proud that his son was doing his dirty work? Or would he only care about results? Maybe later, Jefferson would point out how dutiful a son he'd been. Perhaps then his father—
There! Heavy footfalls, approaching quickly from the stage. They stopped right in front of the door, and the sound of the doorknob turning set Nathan's teeth on edge. The door swung open, letting in dim light from the stage area. Here she comes! Eyes blazing, Nathan inhaled, held his breath, raised the straw to his mouth.
Someone stepped into the room—but it wasn't Rachel.
The dark figure towered over Nathan, broad shoulders turning to face him as a strong hand grabbed his wrist. A gruff voice demanded, "What the fuck are you're doing, Nate?!"
Nathan only took a split-second to realize who was talking. "Hayden?!"
"What's this you got in your hand?"
"Leggo of me, bitch!" Nathan struggled and tried to backpedal, but Hayden's grip was steel. When another hand landed on his shoulder, Nathan lost it.
He held up the straw like a dagger and fought to shove Hayden away. Hayden refused to give in, grunting as he held on. Nathan went for a headbutt but in the dark he only managed to hit the other boy's shoulder. They screamed incoherently at each other as they did a crazy dance around the blackened dressing room, ending only when they crashed sideways into one of the wooden tables.
Nathan's coat ripped at the seams. The straw tipped over in his weakened fingers; he gasped as he felt the fine dust scatter across his shirt and his face.
"Jesus, fuck!" Hayden shouted, disengaging as he caught a whiff of the powder.
Shit shit shit! Free from Hayden's grasp, Nathan wasted no time scrambling away. He skirted around the table and fumbled towards the door, all the while wiping what he could of the drug away from his eyes and nose. Already his head was swimming, like he'd swallowed a shot of vodka. There was a keening noise that he couldn't tell was real or not.
He'd ruined it. He'd failed—again. Now Jefferson would never look at him as anything but a complete failure—like his father did.
Driven to tears, Nathan crashed through the dressing room door and ran headlong into someone else. A girlish scream rippled across his face, and in the dim light, he recognized Victoria. What did he look like to her, his face all streaked with white powder? Like a ghoul?
"Nathan?" she gasped, gripping his shoulders. "Nathan, is that you? What happened? Why'd the lights go out? Where's Rachel? Nathan—"
Her words were drowned out by the maddening siren rising in his ears. Roaring, shoved her aside and stumbled towards the emergency doors. She couldn't help him. Only one person could, and Nathan had to go to him. Jefferson was his only hope.
"Rachel!"
Chloe knew, without having to think, that this was all a ploy to get to Rachel; she could feel it in her core. So she shoved and elbowed and shouted her way through the crowd to reach the stage—only to find that Rachel wasn't there.
Lungs nearly bursting, Chloe planted both hands on the wood and hauled herself onto the apron of the stage. She then forced her trembling hands to pull her phone out of her pocket and turn on the flashlight; the beam showed her only the band members, useless instruments in hand, looking around in mute dismay.
Her phone started to ring but Chloe ignored it. Only Rachel mattered now—where the fuck was she? Chloe stalked to the left of the stage where the dressing room was located. "Rachel?!" she called again.
Her heart gave a painful throb when a voice shouted, "In here!"
Chloe tore past the curtains and into the dressing room; her beam of light found Rachel kneeling on the floor next to Hayden, who was sitting with his knees bent and a hand planted to his face.
"Rachel!" Chloe knelt and caught her in a tight embrace, which Rachel returned. "Thank fuck you're okay! What happened?"
Rachel released a shuddering breath, gazing at Chloe with wide, pale eyes. "Hayden saved me." She uncoupled from Chloe to put her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Nathan was waiting for me in the dressing room. He and Jefferson must've set this thing up—the power, the ambush, everything. But Hayden stopped me from going in and went ahead of me. He and Nathan fought, and whatever drug that asshole was planning on using fell on them. Chloe, call a doctor!"
"No," Hayden said, shaking his head to clear it. "I'm fine, just dazed. I didn't get a lot on me." He pointed to the opposite side of the room. "Don't lose Nate. Been tailing him all night. He's probably going for the rear exit. Stop him before—"
Adrenaline surged through Chloe's muscles as she leaped to her feet. "Rachel," she growled, "get Hayden and meet up with Max by the stage. I'll follow soon as I can."
"Chloe, no! What if he's got a gun? What if he's not alone?"
But Chloe was past hearing, already rushing to the door, one hand balling into a fist and the other almost crushing her cellphone in her grip. A cold wind had been blowing through her skull ever since Rachel told her that Nathan tried to attack her. That little fuckwit better run like the devil's on his tail. 'Coz when I catch him, the last thing he's gonna feel are my hands around his scrawny little neck.
"I'm sorry for scaring you."
Max faltered back as Jefferson took a step towards her. Sweat broke out on her cold palms but her tongue had gone bone dry. She felt faint; it was strange to be hyperaware of her every movement even as her mind was attempting to flee her own body.
"N-not at all," she managed to say.
Jefferson peered at her, scratching his beard. "Are you lost, Ms. Caulfield?"
"No, I was just—just..." She motioned helplessly at her camera.
"This is an odd time and place to practice photography, wouldn't you say?" Jefferson frowned down at the scattered contents of her purse. "Need a hand with this?"
Max's eyes scanned the ground, searching for a rock or a fallen branch—anything that could serve as a weapon. Of course, there was nothing but the camera in her hand and Chloe's ring on her finger.
But Jefferson didn't mind her. Instead, he got down on his knees and started picking up her things. For an instant, Max was caught between two absurd urges—to smash her camera onto the back of that exposed skull, and to bend down and help him clean up.
"You know," he went on, not even looking at her, "I saw your Blackwell application. You'll likely be joining us next school year, Max. May I call you Max?" He didn't wait for an answer as he piled her belongings neatly into her purse, which he then handed to her. "It's a good time for you to know the rules of this school."
Max blinked as she snatched back her purse. "R-rules?"
"Yes. For instance..." He stood and held up the metal box he had palmed without her noticing—Rachel's cigarette case. "No smoking allowed on school grounds." He opened the case, a small grin appearing beneath his mustache as he checked the label. "Pall Malls."
Some natural instinct in Max wanted to say that the cigarettes weren't hers. But to her shock, Jefferson merely pulled a stick out of the case, retrieved a lighter from his pocket, and lit up.
"I think we'll be happy to have you, Max," Jefferson said, taking a single deep drag. The smoke drifted up like a ghost in the moonlight; the cigarette tip flared like a demon's eye. "I'm honestly looking forward to having you be a part of us."
Is he really going to harm me, she wondered, as the breath left her lungs in a small quiet sigh. Is he really going to do it here, while we're all alone behind the school gym? Would anyone come if I screamed? Would I even have time to?
As if hearing her thoughts, Jefferson dropped both the cigarette and the case onto the grass. His shoe snuffed out the ember as he took a step toward her. Max ordered her legs to turn and run. Something in his gaze commanded her to stay exactly still. The only thing she could do was grip the camera hard, ready to throw.
A crash arrested their attention. They turned to see Nathan emerging from the fire exit, bloodshot eyes wide, grasping hands reaching for Jefferson. His face and the front of his shirt were smeared with some kind of make-up, contrasting with the dark stain on his pants. "H-help me!" he croaked. "Help me!"
Jefferson's face turned chalk-white. He caught Nathan in his arms and braced him up. "What happened to you?" he demanded. But Nathan couldn't answer. He'd been reduced to a blubbering mess, tears streaking down his face. He didn't even notice Max standing there, horrified.
More voices came from the open doorway. Jefferson shot her a look filled with quiet, sublimated rage, but it quickly vanished beneath an icy expression. "Come on," he said to Nathan. "I'll get you cleaned up." He took the boy's shoulders and steered him to his car's passenger side. Max watched in silence as Jefferson entered the driver's side. He didn't bother turning on the headlights as he backed the car up and drove silently away.
Max clamped both hands around her mouth and let out the scream she'd been holding in; all the air in her lungs came out in a muffled eeeee as she crumpled against a tree. Her legs wouldn't stop shaking; she'd been too terrified to cry. The look on Jefferson's face had broadcasted exactly what would have happened to her if Nathan hadn't shown up.
Caulfield luck, she thought. Saved by nothing more than dumb Caulfield luck. And thank God I have it.
"Max!"
That voice calling for her was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. Max straightened up and turned to the open fire exit—just in time to catch Chloe as her best friend rushed into her arms.
"So what do we do now?" Warren asked, looking at the faces around him.
Their group had gathered beside Warren's Subaru, which he'd parked along Blackwell Drive. Warren sat on the open driver's side with his feet planted on the sidewalk and one arm propped on the open window. In the backseat, Hayden sat in the same pose, though with his head in his hand. Juliet stood nearby, offering a cup of water she'd brought for him while wiping away the last traces of powder on his face.
Max leaned against the car's left side, Chloe's coat pulled tightly around her shoulders. Chloe stayed next to her, one hand grasping hers and clearly reluctant to leave her side. Together, they watched Rachel storm up and down the sidewalk, her hands clasped around her biceps like she was trying to ward off the cold. Max knew just by watching her that it was taking everything she had not to explode.
Warren's question went unanswered for a long while. Finally, Hayden raised his head and said, "You probably shouldn't push through with it."
Juliet nodded. "We know for sure Jefferson's targeting Rachel and now he tried to take Max, too. He's fucking insane! And if he's waiting for you guys—"
"He's not," Rachel interjected.
"You don't know that, Rachel. Hayden's right. You guys aren't in the right frame of mind to pull off whatever it is you're planning. I think you should call it a night and get some sleep. Okay?" She looked in turn to Max, then Chloe, then finally to Rachel, who had halted in front of Hayden.
"How're you feeling?" Rachel asked him, the guilt plain in her voice.
"Still a little foggy, but it's going away now." He grinned. "I didn't get hit as bad as Nathan. Freak looked like he tried to put on clown makeup in the dark."
"Serves him right," Juliet said. Beside her, Max heard Chloe's knuckles crack as she clenched a hand into a fist.
"I dunno what's gonna happen if we meet up in school again," Hayden went on. "To think I actually defended the guy! Turns out he was a drug-running assclown for Mark Jefferson!"
"This is so going in the school paper!" Juliet announced.
"That's never gonna work," Chloe muttered.
Juliet shot her a look, but Rachel said, "She's right. It's Nathan's word against us all, and as a Prescott, his will carry more weight. It was dark, and he got away with the majority of the drug he used, so we can't pin that on him either. If you attack Nathan publicly, you might not be in Blackwell long enough to publish your article on Jefferson."
"We can't just do nothing!"
"Yeah...so back to the question," Warren said. "What do we do now?"
Silence again. Juliet and Hayden looked at Rachel, who kept her gaze far away on the town lights below them.
Max sucked in a breath, shut her eyes, and made her choice. "We stick to the plan."
She could feel the weight of their gazes on her, but she forced herself to keep talking. "We can't wait. Jefferson's on our tail. Somehow, he's zeroed in on us."
She gave Rachel a meaningful look. "He's got the Prescotts behind him. They know things we don't know. They're holding all the cards. If we're gonna figure this out, we've got to even the odds before Jefferson tries again. And he will. He lost tonight, sure. But he only needs to win once ."
"So we go on the offensive," Rachel concluded. "We make our move tonight, when they're least expecting it." Her eyes gleamed, and so did her smile. "Damn, Max. You're braver than I even imagined, and that's saying something."
"I'm actually scared out of my wits, Rachel," Max replied. She got to her feet and faced Rachel fully. "But I'm in if you are."
"You know I am."
Chloe switched her gaze between the two girls, then heaved a sigh pulled from the bottom of her lungs. "Yo Hayden," she called, "you still up for that afterparty?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Baller," Chloe grumbled as she pushed off from Warren's car. "'Coz we're gonna be needing that alibi."