The Lies That Bind Read online

  Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Roecker and Laura Roecker

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Series design by The Book Designers

  Cover image © Marie Killen/ Getty Images, Karlova Irina / Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  teenfire.sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Campus Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Back Cover

  To Joni Roecker, for being the Regulator and a closet Pub Mom

  Legend

  Station 1. Main Entrance. Aut disce aut discede. “Either learn or leave.”

  Station 2. Clock Tower. Tempus edax rerum. “Time is the devourer of all things.”

  Station 3. School Office. Faber est suae quisque fortunae. “Every man is the artisan of his own fortune.”

  Station 4. Main Computer Lab. Liberae sunt nostrae cogitationes. “Our thoughts are free.”

  Station 5. Detention. Abyssus abyssum invocat. “Hell invokes hell.”

  Station 6. Alumni Hall. Respice, adspice, prospice. “Look to the past, the present, the future.”

  Station 7. Hayden Center for the Arts, Art Wing. Ars longa vita brevis. “Art is long, life is short.”

  Station 8. Hayden Center for the Arts, Auditorium. Acta est fabula, plaudite. “The play is over, applaud!”

  Station 9. Pemberly Brown Library. Scientia est potentia. “Knowledge is power.”

  Station 10. Garden, Farrow’s Arches. Amor vincit omnia. “Love conquers all.”

  Station 11. Pemberly Chapel. Ad vitam aeternam. “To eternal life.”

  Station 12. Pemberly Brown Cemetery. Pax aeterna. “To eternal peace.”

  A. Cornelius Dormitory

  B. Vanderplume Dormitory

  C. Longacre Dormitory

  D. Courtyard

  E. Pemberly Brown Lake

  F. Tennis Courts

  G. Lacrosse Field

  H. Baseball Field

  I. Buildings of Brown

  Chapter 1

  They ascended the steps into the clock tower one by one, their red robes billowing in the night like drops of blood.

  I shouldn’t have been there crouched behind a snow-covered pine tree. I shouldn’t have stood watching as boys dressed in black tied blindfolds tightly around the heads of boys dressed in red. I shouldn’t have gasped when I saw them being led one by one to stand in each of the ancient windows of the clock tower. My parents would kill me. Liam would dump me. Hell, even Seth would probably be mad enough to permanently revoke my invitation to his tree house. I had made them all a promise.

  Let sleeping societies lie.

  But the Brotherhood had been responsible for killing my best friend, Grace, and when I heard whispers of a Sacramentum at Station 2—the huge clock tower that measured our hours served at Pemberly Brown Academy like an enormous brick warden—I knew I had to go.

  The only things Pemberly Brown took more seriously than its ranking on the Forbes list of top Ivy League feeder schools were the crazy traditions commonly referred to as Sacramenta. But this one hadn’t been broadcast over the school’s social network, Amicus, or sent out via mass text. This was a private, Brotherhood-only ceremony. After three months of arriving at school at the butt crack of dawn to plant the mini-recorder my parents gave me for my tenth birthday in the boys’ bathroom where Bradley Farrow and Alistair Reynolds stopped every morning before first period, I had finally gotten some useful information. Too bad it required me freezing to death in the middle of the night in January to record some ridiculous prank. But if this is what it took to prove that the Brotherhood not only existed but also put its members in danger, then so be it.

  My hand shook with cold and nerves as I pointed my phone in the direction of the tower and hit the Record button. But when I saw the first boy stand in the window closest to the ground, his back to the sky, his arms stretched wide, my hand stopped shaking. All my muscles tensed in anticipation of what was going to happen next. The night seemed to stand still, noiseless. There were no whispers, no snapping branches, not even a cough as the first boy stood poised on the window’s ledge.

  “Inexstinctum!”

  The boy’s voice rang clear and strong in the night, the Latin tugging me back into an ancient time. Inexstinctum, meaning “that which is never extinguished.” And that’s when I remembered the legend about the boy who burned for Brown.

  Back in the day, Pemberly Brown was two different schools. Pemberly recruited girls from some of the most powerful families across the country, and the Brown School for Boys was an extremely exclusive, all-boys prep school. When the schools were combined in the ’50s, the transition to coed wasn’t exactly a smooth one. The boys weren’t prepared to share their school or campus with the fairer sex, especially not the beloved clock tower.

  One of the more misogynistic blokes said he’d rather see it burned to the ground than invaded by skirts. And supposedly he tried to do just that. Sadly, he must have been lacking some serious IQ points, because in all his righteous, antifeminist fervor, he forgot to save himself a way out of the burning building. Rumor has it that he had to jump from the top window in a ball of flames.

  I had no idea if the story was true, but given the fact that the Brotherhood was founded to protect male interests in the face of that very feminine invasion, I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  That idiot was going to jump. I had to bite back a scream when I saw him fall to the ground, a red comet against a pitch-black sky. The lowest window was only two stories up, but it was still a good twenty feet above the ground. Enough to break a leg or ev
en snap your neck if you landed the wrong way. I stood there for a beat, hand out, phone still recording, muscles tensed and ready to run.

  But then the boy bounced.

  I had been so busy watching the boys in red ascend the stairs of the clock tower that I had completely missed the boys in black standing below with what looked like a huge trampoline. Before the first boy had even stood up, there was another cry of “Inexstinctum!” And down came the boy in the second window, like something out of a movie. One by one, the red-cloaked figures fell backward from the clock tower into the night.

  Twelve boys.

  Twelve chances to die.

  And I had it all on tape. Surely if I presented this to Ms. D., Pemberly Brown’s head of security and all-around Brotherhood-hating badass, she’d take it to the school board and they’d finally dissolve the Brotherhood for good. Maybe then I’d feel like there was justice for what they’d done to Grace.

  I had to tip my phone toward the sky to catch the last Brother’s fall. He was the unlucky one who had to climb all the way to the top of the tower. It was at least one hundred feet to the ground, and trampoline or no trampoline, that was a long way down.

  He stood in the opening with his back to the ground for a good twenty seconds. For a moment, I wondered if he’d have the nerve to fall at all, but then the first syllable left his lips and I watched him stumble backward into the night. “Inex—”

  “Consumptus!” All at once a chorus of girls emerged from the trees surrounding the clock tower, robes of white billowing around their forms. The Sisterhood. “Consumptus! Consumptus!” The girls chanted in unison. Extinguish! Extinguish! Extinguish!

  Everything happened so quickly. The boy in red fell from the window, but the boys manning the trampoline must have been distracted by the battle cry from the girls. They weren’t positioned correctly, and instead of bouncing right in the middle like his Brothers before him, the final boy caught the edge of the trampoline and bounced onto the ground with a sickening snap of bone.

  “What the hell?” One of the boys manning the trampoline ripped off his hood, revealing the smooth brown skull of Bradley Farrow. “Alistair! Are you okay? What the hell?” Red and black swarmed around Alistair despite protests to give him space and call 911.

  Realizing that their little prank had gone too far, the girls began to scatter. One of them headed straight toward my hideout, ducked behind my tree, and collided with me. Her wide eyes were like liquid gold.

  “Kate? What the hell are you…?”

  Naomi Farrow, Bradley Farrow’s younger sister and my ex-doubles partner. Figures. I put my fingers to my lips and nodded toward the clock tower. The show wasn’t over yet. Bradley had caught one of the white-clad girls, and her hood had fallen down her back, revealing long, jet-black hair and a trademark sneer. Beefany Giordano. Well, technically her real name was Bethany, but Grace, Maddie, and I always called her Beefany because she was taller and stronger than 90 percent of the boys on our admittedly pathetic football team.

  “What the…my wrist is seriously broken.” Alistair was standing now, cradling his left hand in the crook of his arm, his eyes wild and accusing. Even from my post at the tree, I could feel his anger, his absolute disgust. And it was all directed at Beefany. I was surprised she was still standing.

  “You had it coming after what you pulled at Candela.” I had to hand it to Beefany; she didn’t even pretend to feel bad about the turn of events. The girl had guts. In the same way the Brotherhood had formed to protect the interests of the all-boys school, the Sisterhood kept alive the feminist spirit of the original all-girls school.

  The Sisterhood had built the tunnels underneath the school generations ago, giving them unprecedented access to everything at Pemberly Brown. The Sisterhood had traded secrets for answer keys. And the Sisterhood had somehow managed to hack the password for every Pemberly Brown email account, including faculty.

  And at Pemberly Brown, Sciencia est potentia. “Knowledge is power.” As a result, the Brotherhood had been fighting to wrest power from the Sisterhood for the past forty years. And this past fall, they’d actually won. No thanks to me.

  But I wasn’t ready to think about what had happened the night I’d found out how Grace really died. I wasn’t ready to remember the moment I realized how she’d been sending me emails even though she’d been dead for over a year. The only thing I wanted to do tonight was to finally get some proof to end the societies for good.

  I wasn’t stupid. I kept my phone trained on Alistair and Beefany as they screamed at each other in the dead of the night. I was so focused on recording every single moment that I forgot Naomi Farrow was crouching next to me. Well, until she grabbed my phone out of my hand and deleted the entire thing.

  “Are you kidding me?” I hissed, grabbing my phone back from her. “I stood out here all night to get that footage. What’s your problem?”

  “You don’t want to mess with them, Kate.” She gave me the same sympathetic look she used to flash after kicking my ass in tennis. “You’re never going to win.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed, looking back to the boys huddled around Alistair. If it weren’t for his broken wrist, he definitely would have thrown a punch at Beefany. Alistair Reynolds was not the kind of guy who was afraid to hit a girl. Sadly, I’d learned that lesson firsthand.

  I never would have said it out loud, could barely admit it to myself, but I wondered if Naomi was right, if I was fighting a losing battle. I squeezed the phone in my hand, furious with myself for being careless and annoyed with Naomi for her misguided attempt to protect me.

  “Well, this has been fun, boys,” Beefany called out. “But I’ve gotta run. I’m sure you understand.” She broke away from the Brotherhood, white robe and slightly hysterical giggles trailing in her wake.

  “You better run!” Alistair shrieked. “You’re finished! I swear to God, you’re dead! You wouldn’t be the first Sister to get burned.”

  Naomi and I just looked at each other for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking. Grace. Alistair was referring to Grace.

  Screw the odds. Screw winning. The Brotherhood was going down.

  Chapter 2

  The clock tower showed six minutes after ten. The famous Pemberly Brown landmark had graced the cover of thousands of school brochures, and just looking at it reminded me how close I’d come the night before to having actual, irrefutable proof of the school’s secret societies. I had made it my mission to destroy them and I’d failed. Again.

  To add insult to injury, Pemberly Brown was finally breaking ground on a new wing of the school funded by donations made in Grace’s name. The Farrows had pushed for the reconstruction of the chapel, but the Lees had the final say, and to them, a chapel would have brought back everything they were trying so hard to forget. So even though it was Saturday morning, all of the school’s students and faculty were gathering for the dedication ceremony.

  And I was late.

  My mom would be twisting her rings nervously, a fake smile plastered across her face. Seats would be filled and mine would be empty. People would whisper excitedly about whether the broken best friend would come. I wasn’t ready for any of it. When Grace’s parents had asked me to say a few words at the ceremony, I’d agreed immediately, but I hadn’t really thought about what it would feel like to be here and to be forced to talk about her in front of the entire school.

  If I were smart, I would have spent last night writing the most amazing speech of all time, but sadly I was a complete idiot who had opted to spend her evening chasing rich boys in red robes reenacting scenes from an MTV reality show.

  I guess being late was the least of my worries.

  The site of the ruined chapel came into view and I hung back, observing from a distance. I hoped that if I watched for a few minutes, I’d feel like I’d been there a while, as though I’d gotten that awkward beginning part over with. Women eyed each other and whispered to friends, hands cupped close to their mouths. Men shook hands; guys punch
ed shoulders; girls waved each other over and saved seats.

  And then my eyes landed on them: Taylor Wright, Bethany Giordano, Alistair Reynolds, and Bradley Farrow. All of them sat front and center. You’d never have guessed that they were on opposite sides of warring secret societies unless, of course, you knew the story behind the cast cradling Alistair’s left arm. You’d also never guess that each of them had a hand in killing my best friend almost a year and a half ago.

  My hand flew to my neck, grabbing for Grace’s pearls. I had slipped them over my neck in the dark, silent morning to remind myself of the real reason I was here today. My truth.

  “Kate?” I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. The notes in my hand were crumpled and I felt disoriented, like I’d just woken up from some sort of dream. “We’ve been looking all over the place.” His forehead was wrinkled, as usual. I wondered how many wrinkles I had put there. “You ready?”

  I mumbled something in response and briefly considered ditching my notes and sprinting into the thick woods that edged the site of Grace’s future wing. Why did I put myself in these situations? I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.

  “It’s time.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the first row of pristine white chairs where my mom was waiting, a jacket slung over the back of a chair to save my place. The chairs were arranged around a gaping hole in the ground. A ridiculous white ribbon bordered the opening in an effort to soften our memories of what had happened here that night. It didn’t work. The flames that had consumed that old chapel and turned my world to ash were seared in my memory forever.

  A large glass vase stood empty on a table next to the podium. After the memorial, 157 written memories, sentiments, apologies, and secrets would be dropped inside, one from each of Grace’s classmates, another Pemberly Brown tradition. Mine was crumpled, the ink smeared in spots, probably illegible, which in my mind was better. Grace was the only person who needed to know what it said, and I wanted to believe that wherever she was, she already knew what I had to say.

  As we wound our way to our seats, I tried to ignore the way the whispers stopped when I came close or the way fingers discreetly pointed in my direction. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Dr. Prozac, my pet name for the shrink my parents forced me to see once a month, would be so proud.