The Similars (The Similars #1)(48)

Madison sends alerts to our plums about a midnight session, and Pippa and I wonder if Tessa will be there. No one’s seen her since her father’s guilty conviction, but we doubt she’d miss a Ten meeting.

That night, as I climb into bed at ten o’clock, fully clothed, with no intention of dozing off, I think about how much Jane and Booker are suffering. I keep running what they said through my mind, that the Similars’ guardian is now a key shareholder in their company.

I ask Dash to run a search on Augustus Gravelle, and he finds article after article about Gravelle’s accomplishments in the business world, but none of them share a thing about his younger years. It’s like he didn’t exist before the age of thirty.

Restless and feeling like I’ll lose my mind if I stay in my room any longer, I slip on my boots, leaving my key on my bed. Now that our keys can track our whereabouts, it’s risky to carry it while wandering the grounds at night. I don’t really want to invite the company of campus security. Though we’ve been warned not to ever take our keys off, and I have no way of knowing what will happen if I do, I take that chance and leave it behind, putting a piece of masking tape where the bolt would meet the doorjamb, so that the door to my room looks closed but doesn’t actually lock. It’s a silly trick, but it’s better than being tracked.

I still have Oliver’s key around my neck. It can’t be traced, and I’d never dream of leaving it unattended. It’s my only remaining connection to Oliver in his last moments. Well, besides his note, which I can’t for the life of me decipher. As I walk out the front door of Cypress and into the biting night, I run Oliver’s note through my brain again. It will explain everything. Especially about him.

I’m so caught up in my own thoughts, I walk all the way to Dark Lake. I’m almost to the edge of the woods when I see six figures illuminated in the moonlight. They stand in a row on the bank of the lake with their backs to me. They are so still—too still. In a way that’s almost inhuman. It’s them. The Similars.

In one perfectly synchronized motion, they dive into the lake, their sleek bodies slicing though the onyx water. The water around them ripples, and their bodies disappear under the surface. The lake stills again.

I gasp, amazed and impressed by their orchestrated motion, the way in which they all moved as if choreographed.

I inch closer, expecting them to pop out of the water at any moment. I wonder if it will be all in one fluid motion. As I walk toward the lake, careful to stay in the shadows of the trees, I look at my plum, noting the time. It’s been about twenty seconds since they dived in, and the water hasn’t rippled since. It’s as still as an obsidian mirror.

I watch, then glance at my plum again. It’s been more than a minute since their initial dive. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure most people can’t hold their breath underwater for much more than two minutes, though I suppose they may have trained for this on their island, like Olympians. Maybe holding their breath was a daily exercise there.

Still, a feeling of dread washes over me as I wait for them to emerge, the seconds—and minutes—ticking by. At the back of my brain, I recognize the beginnings of panic. Are they in trouble? Should I call for help? Dive in after them? I can’t imagine what could be keeping them under for so long. Come on, Emma. They’re fine. They’re simply skilled at swimming, like everything else.

I check my plum again and can hardly believe what I’m seeing—it’s been more than four minutes since they first went in. I’m sure of it. My heart racing, I scroll to the Darkwood emergency icon. Something is wrong. No matter how trained they might be, no one holds their breath for that long. I haven’t seen the slightest disturbance on the surface of the lake. If they aren’t swimming, what are they doing under there?

I’m about to click the emergency button, my pulse hammering in my throat, when it happens. In one clean motion, the figures cut through the glasslike lake, bursting into the air like dolphins at a show.

I let out a breath as I watch them swim toward the shore. Each strong, lithe movement is synchronized. The Similars climb out of the lake onto the bank, shaking the water off their clothes as though what they did was perfectly normal. Seeing them lined up like this, I am enthralled by their athleticism, their beauty. None of them have the same body build, and yet, they all share the same physical strength and skills from training on Castor Island.

As the Similars head away from the lake toward campus, it dawns on me that the water they climbed out of must be freezing. A week ago, I dug out my heavy coat from the back of my closet, and I’m wearing it. Even so, I’m cold. And here they are, soaked through, none of them the slightest bit bothered.

Theodora and Maude sprint toward a nearby tree. Theodora starts climbing, and Maude follows right behind her. In what feels like seconds, Theodora has reached a branch about ten feet up. She stands slowly, meticulous with her movements as she steadies herself by holding onto a branch above her head, and then she lets go. I watch her creep away from the trunk. My instinct is to be afraid for her. But as she steps one foot in front of the other, arms out like a gymnast on a balance beam, it’s clear she’s an expert with little, if any, fear of falling.

Her friends cheer her on. Not one of them shows any worry as she walks farther out onto the branch, gaining speed and confidence as she goes. I’m quite certain there’s no way it will hold her weight. Are they going to let her fall? I wonder. Would they do that to one of their own?