Walking through the school in the last hour of curfew felt like travelling through a city preparing for imminent disaster, everyone rushing to do whatever they needed. Ellie was no exception. Scurrying through the grounds, she felt like a rodent, not wanting to get caught on her private scavenging mission, and since learning about Haru there was never a moment when she didn’t feel watched.
She ducked her head irritably as she stepped past another security guard in a black jacket on her way into the art block, his presence a reminder of everything she’d caused. The school didn’t feel safe any more; it felt like a cage – one that Lottie was getting blamed for, one in which Lottie and all her friends were also trapped, with Haru as their keeper. And it was all Ellie’s fault.
It had been hours since the incident in Anastacia’s room. The images in Ellie’s mind of Jamie on the field with their enemy and Lottie’s crumbling face as she admitted to yet another secret she’d been harbouring to protect her burned a hole in Ellie’s chest, leaving her feeling hollow. Round her neck like a lead, the wolf pendant and her family locket tangled. She ignored their heavy pull.
With quick, echoing steps through the grand mezzanine where Rosewood displayed its most prominent art pieces, Ellie shuddered at each looming shadow from a statue or dead-eyed stare from a painted portrait. Picking up her pace, she glanced around to make sure she wasn’t being followed, and squeezed herself through the double doors at the very back of the hall. The doors closed behind her with a heavy groan; the sound was ominously similar to a tomb being shut.
No longer was Ellie surrounded by the bright, open space of the modern art block; what lay in front of her was the winding, dusty labyrinth of the old building and, if she completed the maze, she’d find who she needed at its centre.
Every school has a notorious clique. Students with crocodile smiles and predatory stares, whose presence inspires rabbit-hearted fear. At Rosewood this clique was a group of art enthusiasts. They called themselves the Artistocracy, and they delved into the more shocking extremes of artistic expression. Theatre of cruelty, gory prosthetics and – the reason Ellie was here now – tattoos.
This is what she had to do if she was ever going to make everything right again – leave a mark that wouldn’t let her forget, that would stop her from caving in the moment she saw Lottie. She had to stop being selfish, no matter how much it hurt.
With confident strides, Ellie pushed through corridors of discarded and damaged art, dismembered hands from statues and wispy sheets of torn canvas brushing her skin with curiosity, until she reached the winding stairs to the now-unused photography department, and made her ascent.
At the top of the stairs, the floorboards were misshapen from water damage, twisted in a way that gave the illusion of wooden waves, their current pulling all who entered towards the black door of the old darkroom on the opposite side.
Ignoring the boarded-up doors in her peripheral vision, Ellie headed straight to the one with little baby-doll arms reaching out, beckoning her forward.
With no thought of turning back, Ellie knocked on the door. Rustling and murmurs could be heard from the other side, and finally the first of the two-door gateways opened with a sigh like an airlock.
‘What do you want?’ A mismatched pair of white and black irises appeared from a sliding peephole in the second door, eyelids heavy with blood-red shadow and intricate swirling eyeliner like spiderwebs.
The Rosewood art department was not a realm Ellie usually ventured into; she preferred the simple, straightforward worlds of sports and science. Art was confusing. It didn’t have solutions or finite methods, instead consisting of abstract ideas that were intimidating to engage with.
‘I’m here to see Stephanie Gallo.’ Ellie refused to be intimidated by this stony un-welcome. ‘I heard she can help me with something.’
The sliding panel slammed shut, followed by more murmurs and whispers, louder this time, until the panel opened once more, this time to reveal a set of dark brown eyes and marker pen eyebrows decorated by an array of metal bands and rings.
‘You’re that little pink princess’s sidekick, aren’t you? The one that turned the school into a prison,’ Eyebrows asked, tilting her head back, nostrils flaring around a septum piercing as if she were sniffing her out.
‘Don’t talk about her like that – unless you want to take this outside.’ The response was instantaneous, an electric current that she couldn’t stop. She could never control herself when it came to Lottie, and that’s exactly why she was here.
‘OK, OK, we won’t make fun of your little girlfriend,’ Eyebrows said, relenting, but Ellie could tell by the way she scrunched her nose that she’d learned her lesson. ‘Do you have payment?’
‘Yes,’ Ellie said quickly. ‘But I’ll only give it to Stephanie.’
Once more the panel slid shut and once more the murmuring started up, until the door opened again, revealing the full extent of Eyebrows and Spiderwebs. Ellie didn’t have much time to take them in, only catching a glimpse of their torn uniforms and brightly coloured hair. She stepped inside and Eyebrows shut the door behind them with a thud that left the tiny corridor in total darkness. The two of them strolled towards a second door with ease, and Ellie could almost believe they could see in the dark.
The loud groan of the heavy darkroom door was followed by a flood of red and blue light.
‘Welcome to the Parlour,’ Spiderwebs said with a grin, revealing a surprisingly elegant gap tooth.
The Parlour, as they called it, was one of the darkrooms that had been commandeered by the Artistocracy. The windowless room was hazy with bergamot incense that scarcely covered up the smoke that clung to their clothes. Displayed proudly was a selection of shock-value art pieces, ripped-up baby dolls whose limbs grew out of the furnishings, their dead eyes cut out and glued to the walls, watching all who entered. There were two others in the room. One of them was someone Ellie knew from her maths class – Max. Their hair was shaved short and dyed in red and white stripes. And finally there sat their leader, leaning back casually in a black-velvet chair with her legs flung over the armrest. This was who Ellie had come looking for.
Stephanie Gallo was large in both height and build, and all of her was intimidatingly gorgeous. She wore her black hair in a styled beehive with flicks of her natural tight curls peeping out round her neck like an elegant necklace. Rumour was that hidden away beneath her shirt, only visible in private, was a secret garden of floral tattoos. While the other members of the Artistocracy were the children of models turned actors turned philanthropists, and heirs to organic superfood brands that were only affordable to the wealthiest clean-livers, Stephanie was different. The story went that Stephanie’s mother was an ex-Bollywood star from Jaipur, who had the most beautiful voice in the world, capable of creating music that could make the toughest man fall madly in love. She’d made her fortune by marrying a string of wealthy men who’d mysteriously died in tragic and unexpected ways. Ellie doubted the story was true, but Stephanie certainly walked around with enough confidence and flare that it was easy to believe she’d inherited her mother’s golden tongue and could talk herself out of any situation.
‘I always wondered when you’d pay me a visit.’ Stephanie’s voice was deep as the sea and equally as mesmerizing. ‘You know, you’d fit in pretty well with us. We’re all queer and angry too.’
‘I’m terrible at art,’ Ellie said coolly.
‘No one’s terrible at art,’ Stephanie chided, fixing her hair in a clamshell mirror. ‘I hear you want one of my henna tattoos.’
Ellie nodded, trying not to be drawn in by the push and pull of her voice.
‘You have payment?’
‘I do,’ Ellie said, crushing the screaming doubt in her mind.
‘We’ll see about that,’ Eyebrows cackled, taking a spot on a purple beanbag.
‘That was Gem and Paris who greeted you at the door,’ Stephanie said, gesturing for Ellie to take a seat in the wooden chair next to her. ‘And this is Max. They’ve told me lots about you.’
‘They’re in my maths class,’ Ellie replied inanely, giving Max a little wave. She was relieved when they returned the gesture. Having someone she recognized was a small comfort.
‘So, what’s your payment?’ Stephanie asked, leaning her plump chin on her hand, her smooth sapphire-painted lips pursing with anticipation.
Money is boring to people who already have an endless supply of it, so Stephanie Gallo offered tattoos for payment in kind. What Stephanie wanted was secrets – and Ellie had the perfect one.
Reaching to her chest like she was reaching for her very heart, Ellie grabbed the locket that usually sat on her bedside table and, ignoring the static that stung her skin when her fingers brushed her wolf pendant, she freed it from under her shirt. ‘Open this.’ Looking away as if she were committing some unspeakable act, Ellie dropped the locket in Stephanie’s hand.
With a barely audible click, the locket popped open. Stephanie leaned in closer, face contorting to get a better look. ‘What? This is just you as a little girl and …’ Stephanie’s echoing and sultry voice trailed off like the tide drifting, realization dawning. ‘Holy crap!’ she said, her eyes shooting up to get a better look at Ellie. ‘This whole time you were the real princess.’ She was practically hissing, although her expression made it clear that she was thinking that no one in a million years would have guessed Ellie was royalty.
‘Is that a good enough secret for you?’ Ellie asked.
Stephanie’s eyes stayed firmly locked on Ellie, until she laughed. A gorgeous, hearty cackle.
‘What tattoo do you want?’ she asked, still smiling. ‘Though I must warn you for health and safety reasons, on extremely rare occasions people experience reactions from henna.’
‘I know,’ Ellie said. In fact, she had first-hand experience of being one of those ‘extremely rare occasions’ that had left a tiny scar on her foot, and secretly she hoped her tattoo today would also burn a permanent mark.
Ignoring the way Stephanie’s eyes narrowed on her suspiciously, Ellie pulled a scrunched-up bit of paper from her trouser pocket and flattened it out on the desk to reveal the simple calligraphy depicting the Maravish word bol’shbrota.
‘What does it mean?’ Stephanie asked, already reaching for a silvery cone filled with henna mixture.
‘It means to do something painful for the sake of someone else.’
‘Like cruel to be kind?’
‘Sort of,’ Ellie replied, watching the sharp point disappear beneath the earthy mixture. ‘Except this means you’re being cruel to yourself as well.’
‘So what are you doing that’s so cruel?’
The smell of the henna caught in Ellie’s nose, a thick scent like clay, and she chewed her lip before answering. ‘I’m going to rescue a little princess from a nasty pack of wolves.’
Ellie made it back to the dorm just before curfew.
Easing the door open carefully to not make a scene, she found Lottie locking something away in her bedside drawer.
‘Ellie!’ Lottie rushed over to wrap her up in a hug she didn’t deserve, but she leaned into it anyway, filling herself up with the sweet smell of roses that clung to Lottie’s hair. ‘Where were you? It’s nearly curfew.’
‘Sorry about earlier,’ Ellie whispered, ignoring how her tattoo hissed at her. ‘I’ve sorted my head out.’
Lottie beamed. ‘Good. I knew you would. Do you want to get started on your Florence Ivy tribute for the PoP?’ she added, already rifling through her books. ‘It’ll be a nice distraction, and we can talk about Haru tomorrow.’
‘Sure.’ Ellie smiled back, allowing herself this moment to take her in, her golden curls and tickled pink cheeks, the way she spread warmth around her like she was the sun itself.
Of course she was still hiding something. Ellie knew that. Lottie was always worrying about her, always trying to help, and that was Ellie’s fault for dragging her into her world, but it wouldn’t matter soon – none of this would matter soon. Not now that Ellie had made her decision.
