RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,161

The entire thing reminds me of a haunted hayride Levi’s parents took us to on Halloween two years ago, where actors covered in gore ran out of the night, brandishing prop chainsaws, trying to scare us. I’d screamed then, enjoying the spectacle of it all, but this isn’t a spectacle. It’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard of and I can’t believe people are participating in it.

I guide us back to the perimeter of the house, scanning the trees for any sight of a wolf mask, but I don’t see one. The beautiful Tinkerbelle dress Wren bought me gets caught on nearly every single tree branch I pass and I do nothing whatsoever to keep it from tearing.

Realizing that everyone’s probably fled deep into the interior of the forest, I change direction and head back to the north, counting my steps to keep a rough gauge on how far we’ve come. Eventually, we come across a small clearing.

“For God’s sake, can we break for a moment. My ankle’s killing me.” She rolled it about a mile ago, and she hasn’t quit complaining about it since. I grunt, sinking down onto the flattest rock I can find, listening for signs that someone might be approaching, but the air is still and silent.

Carina sits down beside me. “Look. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you everything, okay. I love you, Elle. You are my friend. I care about you, and everything that happened with Mara was such a mess. I didn’t want your experience of Wolf Hall to be as fucked up as ours, okay?”

“That’s why you told me to stay away from Wren,” I say numbly. “You didn’t want him to do anything bad to me.”

Her forehead creases, her brow marked with confusion. “No. I mean, I told you…Wren was at the house the night of the party. He really didn’t leave. He and Mara were over before they even got started. She wouldn’t accept it at first. She kept following him around like a lost little puppy dog. Then, out of nowhere, she just got over it one day. Like, out of the blue. She was acting really weird. Mercy said she’d found out she was seeing someone, but none of us could figure out who it could be. She came to the party and seemed perfectly happy. She didn’t even speak to Wren. We were all having fun. And then…one minute she was there…the next she was gone.”

I don’t think she’s lying to me. I really don’t. I don’t think Wren’s lying to me now, either, which is the most confusing thing in the world to parse given all of the evidence that pointed to him. I’m just…I’m so fucking tired of trying to figure this thing out. My head hurts, and I’m stuck in the middle of a forest, for fuck’s sake, wearing a sparkly fairy costume, and nothing makes any goddamn sense!

Carina takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. “I really am sorry, Elodie. Please just believe that I kept you in the dark for a reason. I’ll tell you everything I found out after that night, okay? Right now. No more secrets, I swear.”

She looks so damn earnest. Her eyes shine brightly, a little glossy, like she might be on the verge of tears, and the anger that’s been popping and flaring, putting out a wall of heat like a campfire, suddenly gutters out and dies, leaving me sad and cold. “Okay. Then start at the beginning. And don’t leave a single detail out.”

She smiles. Nods. “That particular party was weird. I knew something was up the moment I walked through the door. Everyone was more reserved than usual. I asked Mercy what was going on, and she told me that—”

A loud crack splinters the silence. Both of us lock up, tensing, as we wait for another sound. It comes a second later—a heavy crunch, followed by another, followed by another. And then a figure steps out of the trees into the clearing. It’s a guy—shirtless—wearing low slung jeans, resting on his hips. His face is concealed by one of Wren’s wolf masks.

“Go on, Carrie,” a low voice rumbles from beneath the mask. “I wouldn’t wanna interrupt story time.”

45

WREN

I search the house from top to bottom.

She isn’t anywhere to be found.

I drive up to the academy and bust open her bedroom door. She isn’t there, either. But my Wolf Hall Academy sweater is. It’s hanging off the back of the chair by the window, and the moment