The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

18. Chipped Stone

Chipped Stone

Friday, Present

I swing a hard left to the bartender instead of weaving my way over to my high school friends. I can’t face Oliver with Ally draped over his arm. Not after the rumors and the eight years of silence between us. Not after what I’ve left in my wake. She’ll curl under the mosaic of my calm and split it into the pieces it truly is, and I can’t crack now.

Even though I know a drink isn’t what I need, it’s all I can want. The jittery nature of this night is more than I can handle alone. I hear Oliver’s harsh whispers in my head calling me a hypocrite as I order, the past too vivid to allow for the growth of our years to dissolve the argument from a decade ago. Another wound not quite healed. Another brick in the wall between us.

“Now, why is the prized-would-be-daughter hiding out at the bar?”

A hand waves the bartender down next to me, asking for a refill. The bright gold of his thumb ring shaped like a chain, catching my eye. Isaac’s face comes into view as he leans against the counter next to me. His suit tonight is ill fitting, as if he’s done so on purpose. It folds off his body with the slouch of his shoulders, leaving no sign of his trimmed arms. The pale black of it washes his skin out, making him appear sick, but his eyes shine bright as ever.

“I’m not a Poe. Death does little to inspire me,” I snap .

My edges are rougher than I can afford them to be, and I know I need to wrangle them in by the cruel number of teeth he’s showing. Where the fuck is my drink?

“That’s fair. I’m not one to party over it, either. Us Langley’s tend to just move on when someone dies. After all, it’s just another day at work. Still, I can’t help but admire the opulence the Poes show. How much fervor is given to the black sheep of this family. It’s a bit… much, don’t you think? Even for them.” Our drinks are placed down in front of us, and Isaac brushes the rim with his finger before continuing. “Almost as if they’re looking for something in the show. Or hiding it, I suppose. Perhaps if they had a body, this wouldn’t feel so performative. ”

His smile is sick and cunning as he takes a drink. Who doesn’t have a body? I did find it odd that Paxton was cremated, since, as I’d learned as a child, none of his ancestors were, but I never thought it was because they didn’t have a choice in the matter. Alarm bells blast from every direction inside my body. They tell me to run, to ask point blank what he means, to cave to the pressure of whatever it is he thinks I know. He’s too close to me, and all I can picture is Oliver’s eyes as he proclaimed death was not the end before leading me to monsters who wish it to be. This could be Paxton’s murderer.

I let out a breathy laugh. “You think so? Tell me, what is the conspiracy here? Why the pomp and circumstance? Are you telling me the people here would feel more comfortable having a dead person in their presence during the days of mourning? Would that change how he will be missed? No… I don’t believe you’re speaking from logic. Only from your obvious envy for who you’ll never be and what you’ll never have.”

His thick fingers grab roughly at my arm, squeezing only enough to frighten. There’s an instinct as a woman, a primal fear that some men initiate, telling us to tread light. To obey. I fight it now, so I can think straight so as not to get pulled into the past. For Paxton. For myself.

“You think you know things because you’ve been their favorite pet, but I am their equal, little bird. We were partners. And even then, they were snakes. Take it from me. There’s no loyalty among the elite. Even when their entire existence is built on being cast out. It’s all a very delicate lie. You’d be better off spilling their secrets to the highest bidder than protecting them, Evangeline.” His voice is direct, seething underneath the thinly veiled threat.

“Isaac,” a female voice lilts beside him. “Uncle is looking for you by the weeping angel. ”

Emily is encased in dark purple, the silk of her matching suit creased from too many hours of wear. Her hair is piled on top of her head, giving her a needed inch to her height. Something fierce flashes in the lines of her cheeks, seeming to say that Isaac should take heed. Thankfully, he does, slowly releasing my arm and nodding at her.

“Thank you, cousin.” He says as he goes to move past me, stopping only briefly at my ear to whisper, “Remember what I said. Time to sing, little bird.”

And then he’s gone, off to find his father in the far reaches of the room, no doubt plotting horrible things on the way. I’m shocked to find Emily has not broken the pinch of her plum colored lips, now directed at me. She orders a drink and leans into the space her cousin just left. I’m not sure why she stepped in to break up Isaac and mine’s conversation, and I pry with little regard for stealth.

“Thanks,” I say. “He was creeping me out.” I know the words are blunt. I can tell there’s some fondness she has for him, and he is her family.

“Isaac can be… impatient. He’s always been one to tip his hand before the game has even begun. He’s all bark and no bite. Mostly,” Emily says, her words soft and yet, with an undercurrent of rage.

“Game? I don’t think grabbing a woman in public is a game,” I intone. She rolls her eyes so far into the back of her head I wonder if her features will ever recover.

“Please, Eve. Don’t be so dense and pretend me so stupid. Everything with the Poe family is a game. We all show up, and we all play . Whether we want to or not. The allure of their riddles, of their intrigue, calls to us all and even when we’re hurt, we come back for more. It’s their curse and they are so good at weaponizing it that others can believe it isn’t true. But you’re not that na?ve. You know as well as I do there’s more going on here. Everyone has an agenda, and somehow, you’ve ended up on Isaac’s, which means you’ve also ended up on mine.”

It's the most I’ve heard the woman say and I can see why Paxton liked her, even if he couldn’t love her. Her unequivocal way of ripping down the masks of those around her would have delighted him to no end. Her boldness to stand out when everyone else is determined to fit in. I could see him bringing her to parties just to irritate Madeline. The thought makes me like her a little too, even if I don’t trust her .

I cut the facade and match her bluntness. “Fine. It’s all a game. So, why am I on your agenda? Why step in at all? I thought you loved Paxton.” And hated me. The words go unsaid, but their implications are obvious.

She laughs. “You tell me your plans and I’ll tell you mine.”

Her tone is playful, eyebrow quirking up, daring me to spill. My face freezes. Ripping Oliver’s work to shreds is one thing, as unforgiveable as it is, but giving this secret to someone who could hide the answers we need to solve it? That would be an act of war. Emily seems to know this because she continues her laugh.

“Didn’t think so. And as I said, Isaac has a knack for ruining things. I wanted to make sure he kept all the necessary pieces on the board. Liking you has nothing to do with it. Not all of us have the luxury of being run by emotions. Pragmatism is my sharpest tool, Ms. Pierce, and I intend to use it to my full advantage.”

With that, she takes her drink and saunters off, more than likely to talk to her cousin and remind him of whatever rules they need to play by. At this point, I have more questions than answers. I’m practically drowning in them. I need to talk to Oliver, tell him what happened, and hope that we can figure out what’s missing. Before he won’t speak to you again.

Swallowing my pride and my shame, I search for him, hoping I can catch him before the party ends, and he sees what I have done. I scan the room, picking out Ally’s grating glow from here. She’s still surrounded by Matt and June, but Oliver is nowhere to be seen. I choke down the knowledge of what I need to do next and head towards them.

“Hey guys,” I interrupt, trying to sound happy enough to see them.

They all quiet. If looks could kill, June would be murdering me right this instant. The three of them and I never talked outside of Oliver, Paxton, and Tyler. If they weren’t present, we might as well be strangers. Matt looks shocked I’d even have the gull to address them. I ignore them both. Neither is who I’ve come for. My attention focuses solely on Ally.

Her cheeks are pink with youth that cling to her despite the years. She’s studying me, face neutral. The hate and jealousy I’m used to, wiped clean. As if she has nothing to worry about with me anymore. The sinking of the stones in my gut pushes bile into my throat.

“You guys haven’t seen Oliver around, have you?” I ask, casually as I can.

My question is pointed directly to the blonde in front of me, and she knows it. A smirk lights her lips and I see triumph blossoming .

“Actually, he was just here. He had to step out for a bit. Said it was something important to take care of but that he’d be back. You might be able to find him in the drive. He went that direction,” she responds, being far too helpful. I tip my head in thanks, not wanting to push my luck as I move to leave, but she hasn’t let loose the arrow yet.

“Oh, and Eve. I hope everything between us is alright. I mean, it’s been so long, and he assured me you’d moved on as well. I just want you to know there’s no hard feelings. I would never let a boy get between us girls.” Her words drip satisfaction that she doesn’t even try to hide.

So, the rumors are true. Oliver and Ally. The flash flood of questions overtakes me, and I forget what I’ve come to do. How long? When did it start? Why would he choose her? Are they still? Does he love her? Then the shock of the one pervasive thought I cannot control leaks in and skewers the last remaining piece of my heart. The poems were about her.

I can’t breathe. I think I nod or tell her no hard feelings , but I can’t be sure. I don’t know where I’m going, but the walls and art and flooring are all blurring away from me and before I know it, I’m out the front door into the drive. I pace down the stairs and back, unsure of what to do next, knowing I need to calm down and think.

Pragmatism is my sharpest tool . I hear Emily’s words shoot through me. They soothe something deeper in me than I’d like to admit. Right now, the emotional typhoon raging within me must make way for reason. Focus on the letter. Find Oliver. Find Paxton’s murderer. Each syllable becomes a prayer, a mantra, to pull me off the precipice of more bad decisions.

I pull the letter from my pocket, terrified that when I open it, there’ll be no going back on this night, a silly intuition since, from the moment I walked into Dellbrook, everything was changed. I thumb it open and force myself to read.

There’s a night we’ve always fought about, and now, I’d like to have the last word. Some hard truths you need to face, baby brother, but it’s time .

Dances are supposed to be fun But you went ahead and ruined this one The girl in the dress That you went and kissed Then sharply broke the three of us up. You know the place where the companion to noon laid claim To what was and rhymed with grave Where no key could unlock it, Without the story, our girl was mocked for But you got in without her, anyway.

Go there, Oliver, and find what you lost.

The lines are that of a child, loopier and sloppy, written in a rush. Unlike Paxton’s first clue to me. But there is no doubt this is him. I read through the lines again, this time slower, trying to make out the riddle to lead me where I need to go. The most obvious one, regarding me, is the second to last line of the riddle—the story I was mocked for has to be referring to the raven heads I had brought for show and tell, and the poem Edgar was known for.

The next part that slides into place is the first line—noon’s companion must be midnight. The rest of the riddle escapes me. I reach to all ends of my brain, replay the dances we’ve been to, but know that homecoming is the only one Paxton could be referring to. I run through all the words I can think of that rhyme with grave, brave, rave, crave, save, Dave… None of them makes sense to me. I need Oliver.

As if by magic, a figure down the drive catches my eye. It’s dark and they’re dressed completely in black, except for what I’d bet is a midnight blue shirt. All that I can make out is their height and the sharp slide of their shoulders, but I know without a doubt, when they start walking, that it’s Oliver. He’s pacing erratically, as if he’s on the clock, when a car pulls up. A valet rounds the vehicle and hands him the keys. He peels out, making his way to the exit.

I panic. He’s going to the clue without me. It’s the only explanation for his quiet and quick departure. I don’t think so , I mutter determinedly under my breath. My steps pick up as I look for a valet or any car with the keys still inside. I’m not above a minor crime if it means solving a bigger one. With every car I pass with no luck, my nerves jump higher into my throat. What if I can’t find him? That’s unacceptable.

“You look like you need a ride,” a husky voice calls from the driver’s side of a lifted truck just up ahead.

My heart stutters and I smile in relief.

“You couldn’t have more perfect timing,” I say, racing toward the passenger side before jumping in. “Follow the beamer that just left!”

Tyler laughs as he presses the gas pedal down, eager to obey.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Evangeline Pierce. Not one bit.”

I look him up and down, appreciative of the handsome man next to me and his ability to show up just when I need him.

“Neither have you, Tyler.” Neither have you.