Code(78)

“So—book learning, push-ups, and war games.” Hi ticked off fingers as he spoke. “Check, check, and check. Plus gray is my sexy color.”

Kit snickered. Whitney puffed her lips in annoyance.

Kit pulled into a spot fronting Summerall Chapel and killed the engine. One by one we exited the clown car.

“This is a good school.” Ben’s first words all night. “The Citadel’s been a part of Charleston since 1842. Enrolling here is just like joining the military. There’s physical training every morning and afternoon, drills, courses on leadership and weaponry, and regular college classes, too. Even meals are structured like the armed forces.”

“Are you interested in The Citadel?” I asked.

Ben’s speech surprised me—he rarely uttered so much at once. And I’d never heard him voice an interest in the military. It occurred to me that I didn’t know what Ben wanted to do after high school.

Ben shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s a good college.”

“It’s perfect.” Hi adjusted the lean of his top hat. “Shaved heads. Flags. Parading. Demerits. Everything a young man needs to express his individuality.”

Ben glared, but held his tongue. Support came from an unlikely source.

“Benjamin is quite right.” Whitney nodded at him with approval. “The pillars of South Carolina have matriculated here. You could do far worse for yourself.”

A figure approached from the shadows. “Everyone ready to present Victoria to society?”

Hi clapped loudly. “Bring on the first debutante! I’m bidding fifty bucks!”

Ben slapped him on the back of the head.

Jason’s tuxedo was identical to Kit’s—black vest paired with a long black tie. With his Nordic features and white-blond hair, he presented the opposite effect as Ben, but was no less attractive. I could get used to these tuxedos.

Jason turned and bowed, motioning toward the illuminated building behind him. “Your debut awaits!”

The lantern-lined walk led to a three-story hall posing as a castle. Inside, directly across the lobby, a grand central staircase climbed to ornate double doors on the second floor. Beyond them was a marble-floored ballroom.

Shelton whistled as we peeked inside. “Nice digs.”

The space was lavishly decorated. Silk streamers draped the walls, while towering floral arrangements centered each table. Golden candles flickered inside delicate hurricane lanterns. A massive crystal chandelier overhung everything, cleverly illuminated from within to cast prisms of light across the room. To say the setup was extravagant would be like saying Taylor Swift sold a few albums.

Rows of chairs filled the back half of the room, bisected by a runway wide enough for three to walk side by side. Beyond the chairs, a parquet dance floor ran to a raised stage set against the far wall, where a ten-piece band was playing “Take Me to the River.” The parquet was already half-full.

Corner food stations offered an array of delicacies. Sliced fruit. Goat cheese croquets. Shrimp cocktail. Thai chicken skewers. A gaggle of partygoers circled each one.

I’d attended a dozen fancy cotillion events. This bash left them all in the dust. The ballroom was infused with a royal-wedding level of extravagance. And waste. The kids I’d grown up with in Massachusetts would’ve been floored.

I sucked in my gut and tugged my dress into place.

Whitney had really outdone herself with this one.

I wore a strapless silk gown by Tadashi Shoji, whose name I’d never heard until the night before. To be fair, on a good day I could name maybe two designers, tops.

The floor-length number featured tiered white chiffon and a sweetheart neckline. Whitney had accessorized me with pearls, diamond stud earrings, elbow-length satin gloves, and sparkly silver sandals.

My hair was up, with loosely-curled tendrils framing my face.

I had to admit—I looked pretty damn good.

Whitney’s dress seemed intentionally chosen to counter mine—deep scarlet, low cut, and not-at-all floor-length. She drew many eyes as she scanned the party, relishing the attention while pretending not to notice.

From the doorway I spotted dozens of classmates and familiar faces. Several older men wore formal military dress, no doubt Citadel graduates. The women wore everything from satin to velour, in all colors of the rainbow.

Not so, the debutantes.

Wherever they clustered was a blaze of blinding white.

I stood a moment watching Charleston’s richest mingle, tiny plates in hand, basking in the indulgent glow of spent money.

Beside me, Ben frowned. Shelton fidgeted with his tie.

They felt it, too. How out of place we were. Intruders in a foreign land.

Only Hi seemed at ease, spinning his cane like the Mad Hatter.

Watch check—seven fifteen. Less than two hours remained in The Game.

My hope of answers jumping out at me was fading away. Inside their satin gloves, my hands began to sweat.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Whitney tugged Kit toward French doors on the left-hand side of the ballroom. “We shouldn’t crowd the debutante on her big night. Let’s adjourn to the parents’ lounge.” With an annoying wink, she sashayed Kit out of sight.

I took a calming breath. Tried to focus.

There was a bomb in the building. This ball was the target.

Nothing else mattered.

I turned to rally the other Virals, but had to hold back.