“In a manner of speaking.”
Sophia was waiting again, her hands folded atop her lap, her skirt neatly spread on either side of her legs. She had such a delicate, porcelain appearance, Angela didn’t want to believe she was anything else than a doll, a gift from the heavens to crown the collection ringing the room. Nina was an interesting person, and she had a few things in common with Angela, but she still had a very solid presence that grated after a few hours. Sophia blended much better with Angela’s paintings and artificial friends, like a precious coincidence that never stopped presenting itself. She imposed on Angela’s desire to be alone, but with the tact of a butterfly on a rose. It was like they’d been friends for years.
“This might sound odd,” Angela said as she stopped to peer into a mirror, disgusted by the knots in her hair, “but I was surprised to learn you didn’t have a roommate. I saw you talking to another student yesterday; some woman with blond braids. I thought maybe you lived in the same house.”
“She’s a member of the Pentacle Sorority,” Sophia said softly.
No way. That means—
“Are you?”
A brief pause. Then, “Yes.”
Goddamn it.
“So Stephanie sent you to spy on me?” Angela snapped, sounding more angry than she felt. It wasn’t easy to get mad at Sophia. Her disposition softened you somehow. Which must have been why Stephanie chose her. To entice Angela into dropping her guard even further.
And there I was giving her the benefit of a doubt.
“She didn’t send me,” Sophia said, lifting her hand. A golden ring, its red stone engraved with a gold pentagram, sparkled on a finger. “Don’t pay attention to this, all right? It’s a coincidence that we’re in the same house. Stephanie has nothing to do with rooming students together.”
“Yeah, well according to Nina, she only pulls every other string on this campus.”
“It’s true.” Her voice shook, genuinely upset.
“Why don’t you stay in their house anyway? Why are you on your own?”
“A punishment. I’m being punished.”
“For what?”
Sophia averted her eyes, her pretty mouth sealing shut. Angela was almost finished pulling up her tights by the time that whispery voice made itself heard again. “I can’t tell you why. It’s forbidden.”
“Then tell me this. Are you friends with her or not? You’re not a blood head. Neither is that blonde. You both had to ingratiate yourself with her somehow.”
“Like I said, I’m suffering through a punishment. The one you call ‘the blonde’ is in charge of that. It’s a fallacy that you have to be a blood head to join the sorority. That’s only the inner circle—the tier with privileges. A lot of students aren’t aware of that. Even those who’ve been here for years.”
Strangely enough, what Sophia said made sense. And instantly, so did the strange tension between Nina and Stephanie. In essence, Nina was bitter. Really, it wasn’t difficult to assume she’d also attempted to join the sorority, only to be cast aside like yesterday’s news. And if she’d told Angela the truth yesterday about hearing dead people moan and groan, then she’d also be a perfect candidate to join the lower tier. Instead, she’d been passed over, as if her abilities were defective at best.
“I’m not friends with Stephanie Walsh,” Sophia continued, “or with the blond woman you saw talking to me in the street. They can punish me. But my will is my own.”
She said the last words so strongly, a shiver crawled up Angela’s arms.
“What do you know about Lyrica Pengold? Or Brendan Mathers? Anything?”
Sophia frowned slightly, the expression full of polite contempt. “I’m kept from knowing too much about Stephanie’s personal affairs. Those names mean as much to me as they do to you and Nina Willis. Maybe less.”
“So you can’t tell me what’s going on in the Pentacle Sorority’s house?”
“I can tell you that Lyrica is the real underling to watch out for. Usually. Don’t be alarmed to find her spying on you or trailing you between classes.”
“I was more annoyed than shocked yesterday.”
“Good.”
Angela grabbed her clothes, hiding behind the dressing screen and its painting of extinct peacocks. What a sight they must have been, with their tails more gaudy than an opulent Vatican mansion, decked in iridescent purples and greens. She was slowly growing used to the gold scattered throughout the building, usually found in the form of tarnished brass. Her family had been rich but always preferred silver. “Never mind. I guess we should go to this ceremony together anyway. It’s not your fault if Stephanie’s punishing you—likely for something stupid. But if you cause me trouble of any kind”—Angela stuck her head out from behind the screen for a second—“you’ll pay dearly. I can tell you that much.”