Page 74 of The Debutantes
The anger is so strong that for a moment, I forget my fear. But then the Rougarou comes closer, and I feel us all instinctively press closer together, like a pack protecting its own. I reach for Vivian’s hand. She squeezes back, her palm slick.
The Rougarou’s gaze skates over the group, lingering, for a moment, on me. My heart nearly stops. His stare isn’t predatory—it’s vacant. Like he’s just moving through choreography, almost outside of his body. His eyes shift from me to Vivian, and then the next girl, before landing on Renee.
He steps toward her, extending his hand like a marionette, and I feel a brief flash of relief that it isn’t me before dread fills up my chest.
“An excellent choice. Wouldn’t you say?” Marty elbows the man in the raven mask—the one Renee was standing with before—who lifts his hands in playful surrender.
Some of the other men chuckle, but Renee doesn’t make a sound as the Rougarou takes her hand, pulling her out of the center.
Vivian’s fingers dig into my palm. We have to do something, but it’s like my entire body is made of stone. All I can do is watch as the Rougarou leads Renee up to the throne, where they stand side by side. I try to catch her eyes, but she’s staring out into the dark room.
“And now,” Marty continues, “we invite the rest of our new initiates to come forward and select a mistress of their own.”
No.I want to cry out, but any voice I might have had dies in my throat as the other young men approach us. Some are more tentative, like the Rougarou was at first, but others reach for their choice the way they’d pull a T-shirt from a hanger, rough and decisive, expressionless.
There’s a tug at my arm, and when I turn to face the boy in front of me, I instantly recognize his muddy eyes. But they don’t look dangerous or violent—only regretful.
“I tried to tell you,” Milford mutters under his breath.
A small gasp pulls my attention to Vivian, who’s just been picked by another familiar boy. It takes me a second to recognize the thick, scruffy neck and football physique, since he looks so uncharacteristically ashamed.
Jason Broussard.
“I’m sorry,” I hear him whisper.
Two of the Beaumont Dukes, both getting initiated to this terrible place. Rage burns away at me. It’s almost worse, somehow, that they both seem sorry—because they didn’t have to come here. Maybe their fathers brought them into it, but they could have resisted. They had a choice.
And so did Dad.
The thought deflates me enough that I don’t struggle as Milford loops his arm through mine. We’re all paired off now, each girl with an initiate, and I find myself scanning for Wyatt. I don’t see him anywhere. That, at least, is a relief.
But it doesn’t last long. Marty steps to the bottom of the throne, facing us all with a look of twisted pride.
“Tonight, gentlemen, these mistresses are yours. They are areminder of the power you hold as a member of our Krewe: the power to protect and honor, but also”—another slimy smirk—“the freedom to enjoy. For everything we desire is ours by birthright. Don’t forget it, no matter how hard some may try to convince us otherwise.” He gestures to another man, who hands him a golden goblet. Marty holds it up. “Sons of Deus, do you accept your position in this Krewe and promise to uphold its values, observe its duties, and always, above all, protect its brotherhood?”
“We do,” the young men say in unison. Milford’s voice is weak in my ear.
Marty drinks whatever’s in the goblet and then raises it high.
“Hail, Deus!” he calls.
“Hail, Deus!” the room echoes.
“On your knees,” Marty orders, and when none of the men move, I realize he means us. The women. Themistresses.“On your knees!”
The command ripples through us like a shock wave, and suddenly, we’re all obeying, dropping to the ground. My hands start to shake as I press my palms to the bloodred carpet, like I can’t support my own weight. The weight of this.
“Hail, Deus!” Marty shouts again.
This time, the echo is a harsh bark. “Hail, Deus!”
All at once, the cowbells start to clang again, so sharply it makes me cower, getting closer and closer as the men close in on us, shaking the bells right in our ears. My blood pounds, heating my face, and just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, I feel another pair of eyes on me, and I look up.
Marty gives me a smile that says,The jig is up,that he’s seen through my disguise all along. That hewantedme to watch this. My mouth opens, the terror and rage rushing up intosomething—maybe a sob, maybe a scream—but it never gets the chance to decide what it wants to be.
Because that’s when the camera flashes.
There’s a moment of confusion as everyone turns to find the source, but Marty’s stare has snapped directly toward it.
