Page 40 of Sinful Storms
“Okay.” Instead of moving her hand out of the way, I closed my fingers over hers, turning the dial through the combination of numbers. With a click, the safe opened, and we both peered inside, Aria’s hair brushing against my cheek as I swept my phone torch over the interior.
As I’d expected, the contents were sparse. My grandfather had never been one for jewellery or sentimentality, and aside from a small collection of watches, the only other item was a single wooden box. The size and shape made me immediately think it was a ring box, and sure enough, when I lifted it from the safe and opened it, I found a tarnished gold ring.
“It’s the same ring.” Aria tapped on the crest.
“Yeah.” It had to be my grandfather’s society ring, unless we’d interpreted everything wrong and there was some other explanation.
“Do you think there’s anything else here?”
I closed the box, returning it to its original position within the safe, and then closed and locked the door. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if I speak with my grandfather. If anyone finds me going through his shit?—”
“Are you scared?” Aria stared at me.
“What? Fuck, no, I’m not scared. I’m realistic, and I have a sense of self-preservation. Don’t roll your eyes.”
“I’m not.” She widened her eyes, waving her hand in front of her face.
A smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah, but you wanted to. Don’t deny it.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, climbing to her feet and heading through the wide archway that split the space between a dressing area and a personal study. I heard a loud creak, followed by a muffled swear word, and I sighed again, rising to my own feet. It wasn’t a good idea to leave Aria to her own devices in my grandfather’s private wing. I hadn’t been joking about my sense of self-preservation. If anyone found us snooping around, I’d have no excuse. No reason to be in here, in a house that wasn’t even my own, when everyone else was downstairs celebrating.
“Tristan!”
I moved faster, crossing the space to find Aria leaning over my grandfather’s desk. Papers were spread across the surface, and one of the drawers was wide open, more papers spilling out.
“Aria! What the fuck,” I hissed, but she beckoned to me impatiently.
“Look. I spotted the symbol on the cover of this book in the very first drawer I tried.”
I stared at the leather folder—nota book—that Aria had discovered. Sliding it across the desk, I carefully pressed down on the metal clasp, and it popped open.
My breath caught in my throat.
“The missing pages,” Aria breathed.
Angling my phone so the torchlight fell across the paper, I began to read, snapping photos at the same time.
As I turned over the final page, scanning the remaining few lines of text, a soft creak sounded from outside the room. Aria and I froze, and then, as one, moved, stuffing the papers back into the folder, closing the drawer, and trying to make the desk look as it did before we’d started digging around.
Another creak sounded.
My heart was pounding like I’d run a marathon. My fingers found Aria’s, and I curled them around hers, squeezing her shaking hand. We both held our breath, listening.
Everything fell silent.
Then, the door that led to the hallway opened, my grandfather’s frame filling the space.
INTERLUDE
The candles sputtered as a gust of wind whipped through the open window.
“Careful.” One of the hooded figures moved, using their body as a shield against the elements. After a moment, the light steadied, a gentle flickering once more.
The hooded figure holding the rope tugged at the knot they’d made and then nodded, satisfied. “It is ready. Signal the initiate.”
Another member of the Brotherhood came forwards, bearing a heavy iron lantern. Carefully, they positioned it in front of the window, where the light could be seen from below.
The hooded figure with the rope moved to the table, pen scratching across parchment as they recorded the details of the initiation ritual. From their position, they could see the rope jerk and grow taut as the initiate began their climb.
