Once I reached the end of the long hall, the house seemed to open up. There was a large round table in the center with a large glass vase that contained red roses. So many roses. It must’ve cost a fortune just to fill this vase regularly. Just past the table, there were two grand wooden staircases covered in dark red carpet. To either side of me, there were two endless hallways, but unlike the one I was in, light from outside shone in and basked both sides with the natural, dim light that the setting sun provided.
“Hello?” I followed the music, rolling the suitcase behind me.
To my left, there was an open space, a sitting area with fancy sofas I wouldn’t dare to dirty. Beyond it, there were windows that looked over the back of the house. The only things I could see were woods and more woods. I kept walking. The music grew louder still. My grip tightened on the handle of the suitcase as I opened my mouth to call out again, but stopped when I reached the next open area—a vast room with a black grand piano in the corner, three large white couches surrounding it, and four guys wearing different color polos. One of the guys was sitting behind the piano, his fingers moving deftly on the keys as he seemingly played along to the song blasting on the speakers. The other three were sitting on the couches looking relaxed with glasses in their hands. One was passing a joint to the guy beside him when I did a little wave to catch their attention. Then, the one passing the joint, hit a button on the control beside him, putting a stop to the music on the speakers, but the pianist didn’t seem to notice as he continued playing along, a beautiful, haunting melody that seemed impossibly difficult to play.
“Um. Hi.” I licked my lips. My voice was small in comparison to my surroundings.
The pianist stopped playing instantly and stood in one swift motion. He was tall and lean and when his eyes met mine I felt a jolt of lightning strike through me. He kept his expression guarded, so I couldn’t be sure he’d felt it too, but at least as I stood there, the air felt charged and my words seemed to be stuck in the back of my throat, unable to make their way out of my mouth.
“Are you Stella?” the pianist asked after a moment.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat, tilting my chin up a little, wondering if the real Stella Thompson would feel small or like she fit in just fine with the likes of them. “Stella Thompson.”
“You were supposed to be here yesterday,” he said.
“I got caught up in something.” I took a deep breath. “But I’m here now.”
The three guys on the couches looked over at the pianist as if waiting for him to comment on how to handle the situation. I looked at him as well, even though the scrutiny in his eyes made me feel like I was shrinking by the second. I’d never enjoyed being in a room with rich people. Once, I’d had a job in the country club by my house as a hostess, and I never felt like I belonged. They were never outright mean to me, but the judgment they cast was enough for me to know I wasn’t worthy of sitting at their tables, only cleaning up after them. It was fine. I wasn’t like my friend Aisha, who always felt the urge to fit in. At the end of the day, the demons I carried were enough to remind me that I was an island all on my own. I studied the faces of each of the guys in the room, who all seemed surprised by my presence, and fought the urge to turn away. These specific kinds of rich people were the worst—entitled and unforgiving.
“She’s a woman,” one of them said.
“Well, now that we got that out of the way, can you tell me what I’m doing here?” I looked at him and back at the pianist.
“You’ve been hand-selected to potentially join our society, The Swords,” the pianist said.
“Potentially?”
“There’s a test you have to pass before we officially invite you in.”
“A test?”
“A test,” the pianist said. “Will is going to show you to your chambers now.”
I tore my gaze from him to look at Will, the joint passer, as he set his glass down and stood, walking over to me. The closer he got, the bigger he got and the more he reeked of weed. He smiled a little as he stopped in front of me and it reached his brown eyes, setting me at ease, at least momentarily.
“Right this way.” He signaled toward where I’d just come from.
“Stella Thompson,” the pianist called out just as we began walking away. Will and I stopped walking. That was another thing I hated about rich people. It was as if they rehearsed the exact moment in which they’d call the room’s attention back to their target. I met his gaze again. “The party is at nine. Be ready by then. We’ll have food brought up to your room in the meantime.”