Revelation

  Revelation (Private #8)

  Kate Brian

  For B.V., who decided his due date should be the same day as the due date for this novel

  NOT AGAIN

  The dread was like smoldering black embers right in the pit of my stomach. I knew the sensation

  well. Used to feel it every day after school as I approached my house in Croton, Pennsylvania, not

  knowing what might be going on inside. Never knowing in what condition I might find my mother.

  Passed out with a bottle of pills spilled on the floor? Manically cleaning the kitchen in her

  pajamas? Angrily waiting to scold me for something I hadn't done? Yes, I knew dread all too well. I

  had just never felt dread like this upon my return to Easton Academy.It was the Sunday of

  Thanksgiving weekend, and, thanks to my Billings House fund money, it was the first time I'd flown

  back to Easton. When I had said good-bye to my parents that morning at the airport I had actually

  felt a pull to stay. It was so ironic. Now that my mother was better, leaving home was the hard

  part, and it was coming back to school that was giving me the dry heaves. But who could blame

  me, considering the pariah I had become at Easton?

  2

  The cab driver pulled up in front of Bradwell, the freshman and sophomore girls' dorm. I paid him

  and struggled out of the car with my backpack, duffel bag, and laptop. It was frigid outside, and a

  cold wind whipped through the trees along the drive. I had expected the campus to feel more alive

  since all the students were supposed to be returning from break. But though there were a few lit

  windows dotting the brick facades of the three girls' dorms on the circle, there wasn't a soul in

  sight. I took a deep breath and started along the cobblestone walk between Bradwell and

  Pemberly, my heart pounding with each heavy step as I drew closer to the quad.

  I didn't want to go back to Billings House. I so wasn't ready.

  When I reached the far side of Bradwell, I paused and gazed across the quad at Billings, the tallest

  dorm on campus. Instantly, the embers of dread burned brighter. It had been just over a week

  since the Billings fund-raiser in New York City--the event that should have been the most amazing

  night of my life. Instead it had been the most humiliating. It had been the night when a video of

  me and Dash McCafferty getting all gropey at the Legacy had been sent out to every cell phone

  and BlackBerry at school. Everyone had seen me and Dash--my best friend Noelle Lange's

  boyfriend--kissing. Touching. Taking off each other's clothes. Everyone knew what I had done. And

  no one had talked to me since.

  Except Sabine DuLac, my roommate in Billings.

  Where Noelle had all but banned me from the Billings table in the dining hall, where Portia

  Ahronian had organized a Billings shopping trip and excluded me, and where even Kiki Rosen had

  switched

  3

  seats in the library so she wouldn't have to acknowledge me--Sabine had remained loyal. At least I

  had one true friend left. One person who had been willing to listen to my explanation. Although,

  she had always hated Noelle. She probably would have taken my side if I'd shot the girl dead. But

  maybe now that a few days had passed, some of the others would come around as well. Maybe I

  could even get Noelle to listen to me.

  It was a stretch, I knew. But I was going to have to try.

  Halfway across the snow-covered quad, lit only by the quaint, ground-level lamps lining the

  pathways, I stopped and took a deep breath to steel myself. I was going to march into Billings and I

  was going to make Noelle listen to me. I didn't care if I had to scream the whole apology to her

  through her closed dorm-room door. She was going to hear my side.

  My life at Easton depended on it.

  A bitter gust of wind whipped my dark hair back from my face and got me moving again. Knees

  quaking--not from nerves, I told myself, but from the cold and the weight of my bags--I turned up

  the walk to Billings. That was when I saw a dark figure move toward me. I froze.

  "Reed. Good. I'm glad I caught you."

  It was Detective Hauer. The King of Bad News. Just what I needed.

  "Detective," I said. He was all bundled up in a dark wool coat that seemed one size too small for

  his stocky frame, a tweed hat pulled low over his brow, hiding his dark, usually unkempt hair. His

  wide nose was red from the cold, and there were visible bags under his brown eyes. The way he

  looked at me--like a doctor probably looks at

  4

  a patient right before he diagnoses inoperable cancer--made me want to run inside, even though I

  dreaded facing my friends.

  "What? "I said finally.

  "I just wanted to give you the heads up," he said, holding his hat as another gust of wind nearly

  knocked me off my feet. "Since you've been so cooperative during this... uh... tragedy." Hauer

  hesitated, his eyes darting away from my face.

  What was with this guy? He was an adult and a police officer. He was not supposed to feel nervous

  when talking to me.

  "We've found new evidence," he said. "Your friend Cheyenne Martin... She was definitely

  murdered."

  His words sucked all the air from my lungs and I clutched the handle on my duffel bag, as if that

  would keep me from fainting dead away. This wasn't possible. Not again. Not another murder.

  Cheyenne had OD'd. We had all been there to find her. We had all read her suicide note. She had

  even sent me an e-mail saying I was the reason she killed herself--an e-mail that had haunted me

  for months now. Plus, no one had heard a struggle. There'd been no blood, no bruises, nothing

  broken in her room. How could this be possible?

  "What?" I heard myself say as the wind whistled overhead. "You can't be serious."

  A couple of weeks back Detective Hauer had told me the case was going to be reopened at

  Cheyenne's parents' request, but at the time even he still thought it was a clear-cut suicide.

  "Unfortunately, I am," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  "I don't understand," I said, my mind racing. "What new evidence?

  5

  How can there be new evidence now? She died months ago. She was cremated. Her room's not

  even a crime scene--Noelle's been living there for weeks. What could you have possibly found?"

  The detective cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that information is classified."

  "Classified? Is this a government conspiracy now?" I blurted, frustrated.

  He leveled me with an admonishing glare. "It's not for public consumption," he clarified sternly.

  "But you should know we're going to be reinterviewing everyone of interest," he added, standing

  up straight. He sounded surer of himself now, and fixed me with a steady-eyed gaze. "If there's

  anything else you want to tell me, now is the time."

  "Anything else?" I stood there, unable to think. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Cheyenne had

  been murdered. I was going to have to tell the rest of Billings about this. Yeah, right. If they'd even

  stay in the same room with me for five seconds.

  "Yes. Anything at all," he said.

  Behind Hauer, I saw a group of girls walking in a huddle
toward Pemberly. One of them noticed us

  and lifted her chin, and another girl turned.

  Ivy Slade.

  Her coal-black eyes fixed on me, and a cold bolt of ice slammed into my heart. She looked at Hauer

  and a sly smile lit her pointy face. Clearly she was already calculating how quickly she could spread

  the news that the cops were talking to me, but I didn't care. All I could

  6

  think about was her story. Her hatred of Billings. Her promise that she would bring us all down.

  After the Billings fund-raiser she had told me everything. How the Billings Girls had forced her and

  the other Billings hopefuls to break into her grandmother's house her sophomore year to steal a

  family heirloom. How they had tripped the alarm, which had caused her grandmother to have a

  stroke that ultimately killed her. How Noelle, Ariana, Cheyenne, and the other Billings Girls had left

  Ivy there to cope with the tragedy herself.

  If Cheyenne had definitely been murdered, then Ivy was, in my opinion, suspect number one. The

  girl had motive seeping out her pores. She had practically told me straight out that she was going

  to get revenge on Noelle as well as destroy Billings. Plus, I already knew she was capable of very

  bad things. Ever since Cheyenne had died, someone had been stalking me. Leaving artifacts from

  Cheyenne's life tucked around my room for me to find. Taking that video of me and Dash and

  sending it to the entire student body. It was Ivy. I was sure of it. My certainty, of course, had

  nothing to do with the fact that she'd stolen the love of my life, Josh Hollis.

  "Ivy Slade," I said under my breath, as the girls turned and continued on their merry way.

  "What was that?" Detective Hauer asked, curving his shoulders against the wind.

  "Ivy Slade," I said more loudly.

  The detective sighed and blew on his chapped hands. "Reed, we already talked to her," he said

  finally. "She's not our girl."

  7

  "Talk to her again," I told him through my teeth.

  "Reed, we can't waste our time on--"

  "I'm telling you, Detective, it's not a waste of time," I said, my blood racing now. "That girl is

  capable of murder. I know she is. And she hated Cheyenne. Last week she even threatened

  Noelle."

  This caught his attention. "Threatened to kill her?"

  "Well, no. Not in those words, but--"

  Suddenly, the detective looked extremely tired. "Look, unless you have some real evidence against

  the girl, there's nothing I can do."

  His tone was condescending and impatient. Like I was just some stupid kid spreading rumors. I

  retightened my fingers around the strap of my duffel bag.

  "You haven't gotten the whole story," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Believe me."

  Hauer blew out a sigh and looked up at the starless night. "How about we start with your story?"

  he suggested. "I know we already talked about the... uh, letter, you received from Ms. Martin's e-

  mail account the night she died and your contentious friendship with her. But I need your official

  statement. Where you were at the time of Ms. Martin's death... who you were with...."

  I felt fire burning from my eyes. He needed my statement when a psycho like Ivy was strolling

  around campus free and clear?

  "You want my statement? Fine. Here it is," I said, drawing myself up straight. "At the time of the

  murder I was asleep in my bed while my roommate was asleep in hers. I woke up to the sound of

  screaming and ran down the hall to find the president of my dorm dead on the

  8

  floor of her room. That's all I know. Now why don't you go interview someone with, oh, I don't

  know, a motive?"

  Hauer gave me an exasperated look, but I no longer cared to humor him. I turned around and

  stormed up to Billings, suddenly feeling more confident than ever that I could take on Noelle and

  the rest of my friends. Had to love a good adrenaline rush.

  At least Detective Hauer was good for something.

  9

  * * *

  I was all confident bravado until I walked into the Billings foyer and got that eerie, sickening feeling

  that I had just caused an abrupt silence. Slowly, I turned toward the parlor. From my vantage point

  I could see a few of my Billings sisters crowded onto the gold brocade love seat. Astrid Chou

  glanced over at me and quickly slouched down, drawing her hand up to her cheek as if to hide her

  face.

  Dead silence. Aside from the cozy crackling of the fire, there was nothing. My mouth was dryer

  than a sandbox.

  Move, Reed. Move.

  I placed my bags on the floor and walked toward the parlor, stripping off my coat, scarf, and gloves

  as I went, since my inner thermometer was now registering about four thousand degrees. With

  each inch I could see a bit more of the room, and by the time I reached the door, my suspicions

  were confirmed.

  Every last Billings Girl was gathered around the parlor. Portia

  10

  Ahronian, Shelby Wordsworth, London Simmons, and Vienna Clark were on the couch, all avoiding

  my gaze. Kiki Thorpe, Missy Thurber, and Lorna Gross were crowded onto the love seat next to

  Astrid. Tiffany Goulbourne and Rose Sakowitz sat in the straight-backed chairs in front of the flat-

  screen TV. Even Constance Talbot and Sabine DuLac were there, sitting on the floor with their legs

  curled under the coffee table. And at the head of the room, perched in the wingback chair near

  the fireplace, was Noelle Lange. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a black

  turtleneck sweater and a black and gray plaid skirt. Huge diamonds sparkled in her ears. Her full

  lips twisted into a semblance of a smile as she looked me in the eye--the only person able to do so.

  "What's going on?" I said tentatively. The sound of my voice made a few of the girls squirm. Clearly

  this was a scheduled meeting. Clearly they had all known to get back to campus early for this. And

  clearly, Noelle was at the heart of it.

  I stared at Sabine, who stared down at her knee-high leather booths. Why hadn't she warned me

  about this?

  "Perfect timing, Reed," Noelle said, leaning back. Her elbows casually perched on the chair's

  armrests as she coolly looked me over. She lifted both hands, palms up, and her dark eyes

  sparkled merrily. "We just voted you out."

  The earth tilted beneath my feet. She couldn't have said what I thought I'd heard. Not so

  cavalierly. She couldn't. But no one was laughing like it was a joke. No one even moved. I gripped

  the back of the love seat, my sweaty fingers pulling on Lorna's wavy brown hair.

  11

  "Ow!" Lorna protested loudly, sitting forward to free herself.

  "What do you mean, you voted me out?" I breathed. Suddenly everything in the room was

  distorted. The faces, the furniture, the flames leaping in the fireplace. It wasn't real. This couldn't

  be real.

  "You have an hour to pack your things," Noelle said, standing and smoothing her skirt. "There's a

  single waiting for you in Pemberly."

  My mind reeled, making me feel dizzy, unsteady. Grappling to stay focused, I looked around at my

  so-called friends. At the people with whom I had shared so much. At the girls who had voted me

  president just two months ago. Unanimously voted me president. We studied together, shopped

  together, goss
iped together, got over hangovers together, bitched about parents and boyfriends

  and teachers together. They were my friends. The first real girlfriends I had ever had. The first real

  family I'd ever had. They couldn't do this to me. They wouldn't.

  "No. You guys. You can't just--"

  "Sure we can," Noelle said with a smirk, stepping over outstretched legs and designer shoes to

  stand before me. "The residents of Billings decide who lives in Billings, remember? And we

  decided we don't want a backstabbing bitch living here."

  My grip on the love seat tightened. I couldn't breathe. I stared into Noelle's cool brown eyes,

  searching for the punch line. Waiting for her to laugh and tell me she was just messing with me

  like she had so many times in the past. We were friends. Practically sisters. And yeah, I had messed

  up, but didn't a person even get a chance to beg for forgiveness before... this?

  12

  "No," I said finally. "No. I don't believe you."

  I tore my eyes from Noelle and looked around again. I looked at Tiffany, who had always been so

  levelheaded and good-natured. Who had always been a voice of reason. She simply turned her

  face to the side, giving me a view of her perfect cheekbone and smooth cocoa skin. I glanced at

  Rose--sweet, don't-rock-the-boat Rose--but her eyes were trained on her lap, her red curls hiding

  her face. Portia rolled her big green eyes when I looked her way, and the Twin Cities studied their

  perfectly manicured nails. Only Constance and Sabine looked at me, silently begging for

  forgiveness.

  The reality washed over me. It was true. They had all turned on me. They had voted to kick me out

  of the dorm I had just saved for them--the dorm I had raised five million dollars for in order to

  keep Headmaster Cromwell from shutting us down. The dorm I had lived in all last year--longer

  than many of them. This was my home. And they were taking it away from me.

  "Who voted me out?" I asked, my voice clear as a bell.

  I was angry and desperate and grasping at straws, but I needed to know. I needed to know exactly

  who had turned on me. And I couldn't just surrender and slink out of there with my tail between

  my legs. I refused.

  Noelle scoffed at my question. Everyone else exchanged troubled glances. Disbelieving glances.

  Like asking them to tell me which of them were traitors was so very gauche. As if I cared about

  gauche right then.

  "Who voted me out?" I said again. "I want to know."

  13

  Missy Thurber's hand was the first to go up. Shocker. Girl and her Chunnel-size nostrils had always

  hated my guts. But then, ever so slowly, more hands started to rise. Lorna's, Shelby's, Portia's.

  Even Kiki, Rose, Tiffany, and the Twin Cities had voted against me. People who a week ago I would

  have counted among my good friends. Only three sets of hands stayed firmly planted in their

  owners' laps.

  Sabine, Constance, and Astrid had taken my side. That was it. That was all I had. Three real friends.

  The burning dread in my gut slowly hardened into heavy, cold, sorrow.

  "Sorry, Glass-Licker," Noelle said with a tilt of her head. "Looks like you're going back to where