Page 128 of Pink Ink

I start rushing in the direction I came from only to stop when the light shines on another chest with the honeycomb insignia. A war starts in my head.

If following a serial killer didn’t end up with me dead, then this will—and there are fates far worse than death. The Cresswell book said the elites were in this beekeeping club, and evidence is pointing to that tradition living on. Mergers? Blackmailing congressmen? Corruption? I’m less than an ant in this game.

But I came here for a reason. I’ve spent all of my free time researching, investigating, and mulling over dead ends. This might be my only chance to find out more. I have to do this.

Using one arm to hug myself to preserve warmth, I hold my other out, shining the light left and right as I turn back around and continue down the tunnel in the same direction the man went.

My mind plays tricks on me, convinced each long shadow cast by the furniture is a person. Every few steps, I spot another item with the beehive emblem on it. Crates, banners, books, vases; it grows more frequent the deeper I go, until it stops completely.

I follow the sudden turn and stop dead in my tracks. My mouth goes dry as I move in a slow circle. This isn’t just a tunnel. It’s a catacomb.

Rows upon rows of skulls and femurs are piled against the wall to create an arched pattern. My fingers tremble around my phone as I edge closer.

They look real, and very, very old.

I stagger back, whipping around to face the direction I came from. It’s not too late to run and forget everything I saw.

Still, I forge forward for answers that will never bring either of my parents back.

Despite the constant fear hammering at the back of my head, my lips part as I take in the wall. Nightmare-inducing circumstances aside, it’s truly astounding.

All too soon, the catacomb comes to an end where a single door awaits. I’ve come too far to back out now—at least, that’s what I tell myself. I turn my flashlight off, set my phone to record, grip the taser, and count to ten before inching the door open.

This is where those “beekeepers” meet up. I know it like I know my first name.

Carefully, I widen the opening enough to see inside—and my heart stalls. It’s like sneaking into a portal to an alternate universe and stepping out into Versailles. High, painted ceilings, great big marble pillars and crystal chandeliers, ornate golden crown molding and paneling. It’s a stark contrast to the tunnel I just walked through.

How is this beneath Cresswell?

Inhaling, I pull the door wider, waiting for any sound that might indicate someone has been alerted to my intrusion. Nothing.

Emboldened, I stick my head into what looks like a study—anemptystudy. I slip inside and close the door behind me. A chorus of applause in the distance makes my heart jump into my throat.

The sound cuts short. Casting my eyes around the room, I catalog every inch of it, pausing on the painting on the corner wall. Squinting against thedim light, I can make out a man wearing refined clothing from the Regency era with a crown atop his head and a shepherd’s staff in hand, standing in a field surrounded by sheep. Three wolves conceal themselves beneath sheep hides, prowling toward the center, where the shepherd king stands.

My mom’s dying words whisper in the back of my head about finding the shepherd, drowned out by the thought that the painting looks like Maddox’s style. It confirms what I already knew: Maddox is involved.

He probably kills for the society. A deranged commissioned piece of art. Maybe Spencer does something similar, like a murderous family business.

I rush to the door opposite the one I came in through and inch it open too.

“—Mayor Tomin expressed his profound gratitude for House Dornmont’s efforts to block the Zone Twenty-Three Bill.”

HouseDornmont?

LikeAbigailDornmont. What did she slip up and say? The Order? Is that what they’re called?

The woman’s voice is muffled like it’s coming from the other side of the wall.

“After a grueling seven months, through your help, we can now begin Project Red, which will be led by House Shaw in conjunction with our Zaccardi—”

My lips part.House Shaw?

Ignoring the alarm bells going off in my head, I keep my ears open, sneaking into the hallway and creeping toward the voice. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find. Potentially an office that coincidentally holds a registry of every person this society has interacted with? Maybe a list of everyone they’ve killed… because maybe Dad’s death wasn’t an accident.

The same opulent interior as the study is reflected everywhere I turn. At the end of the hallway is another corridor going in both directions. I hesitate before heading toward the voice.

The place is barren of people, but the applause that explodes down the hall tells me there’s a whole crowd in there. The sound of glass and cutleryclinking together comes from farther away, making my anxiety reach new heights. Anyone could pop out and catch me snooping.