Scandal by Kate Brian Read Free Book Online Page B

only a few souls out on the grounds, all of them indistinguishable in the darkness, and none of them interested in us. They were too busy huddling into their scarves and coats, rushing back to the warmth of their dorms. We still had an hour before we were technically supposed to be inside our houses, but it seemed like most people had already hunkered down for the night. Ivy and I looked at one another in anticipation, took a breath, and ran. Our feet crunched through the untouched snow on this side of campus. It was slow going, even as we tried to hurry, and soon my lungs started to burn. With every step I waited for the shout—the voice telling us to stop, come back, that we weren’t allowed past the tree line. But, mercifully, it never came.
    As we ducked into the woods at the top of the hill we slowed to catch our breath. The snow wasn’t as deep under the trees, the leaves carrying the brunt of the burden, and we flicked the flashlights on, following the familiar path toward the clearing. My heart pounded with nerves, excitement, and sadness as we came to the clearing.
    “Reed? Come on,” Ivy said, urging me forward.
    I hadn’t even realized I’d paused.
    “Yeah. Coming.”
    We slid over fallen leaves, ducked branches here and there, and finally came to the end of the pathway. Rising up in front of us was an old white clapboard church, the steeple collapsing in on itself, the steps that led to the double doors crumbling. Two fluorescent orange signs nailed to the doors had DANGER! CONDEMNED! stamped across them, but the two-by-fours nailed across the door had been pried free. One of the doors hung slightly ajar, creaking in the wind.
    “Okay. This is spooky,” I said, shivering so violently I had to hug myself to stop it.
    “Spooky, but beautiful,” Ivy replied, running the beam of the flashlight over the dirty white planks of wood. “Shall we?”
    I swallowed my fear. This was for Billings. “Sure.”
    We picked our way carefully up the crumbling steps and pushed open the door. It cried out in protest, and the noise rousted some birds—or perhaps bats—from their hiding places, sending them flapping into the night sky. Inside, the chapel was bone-numbingly cold—even colder, it seemed, than the air outside. We stood in the corner of the long, rectangular room and shone our flashlights across the small space. There were several dusty pews with a wide aisle down the center facing an old altar, and half a dozen wall sconces held melted candles, their wax frozen in drips over their bases. The wood floor was littered with garbage. Cigarette butts, beer bottles, old joints, crumpled fast-food bags. The place was a sty.
    “I don’t really think my friends are going to like hanging out here,” I said wryly, taking a few tentative steps into the room.
    “My friends would love it,” she said with a glint in her eye. “Of course, they would probably tag the crap out of it.”
    I chuckled as my footsteps on the chapel’s aisle caused a cacophony of creaks and wails. Actually, I was surprised there had been no outright vandalism inside the chapel. Garbage aplenty, yeah, but no spray paint or anything.
    “We have to use it,” Ivy said. “It has the history.” She edged her way along the right side of the room, down the side aisle, and peered through an open archway riddled with cobwebs. Apparently finding nothing of interest there, she kept walking toward the pulpit at the front of the chapel. “We could clean it up. Make it more livable. With all new candles lit and the wood polished up, it could be amazing.”
    I took a breath. The stained-glass windows were beautiful and mostly intact, only a few of them cracked here and there. With candles glowing, and maybe some pillows and cozy blankets, the ambience could be just right.
    An idea suddenly hit me like a kick to the gut. The third task. I’d been wondering what sort of chore we could devise to fit the requirements of beautifying or improving some