Made in Malice (Corrupt Credence Book 1)

I lose track of time on the ride, getting lost in the plush greenery creeping along the sides of the roads and the low, hanging Spanish moss draped over trees as my mind processes the new information. Apparently, my grandparents are loaded. I assumed they had some money, considering the high dollar luggage, and I let myself get intimidated by that back at the airport, which leads to the real discovery.

Not only do they need me for something, but if I understood Alden correctly, then coming here was never a choice for me. I wonder what they’ll think when they find out that I was raised as a poor kid and I have bum kidneys, assuming they don’t already know everything about me.

The dense tree line gives way to small houses before opening to a small coastal town with colorful shops and restaurants lining the shoreline. “Where are we?” I ask, speaking for the first time since getting in the car.

“About twenty miles from Charleston,” Alden answers before the driver can, but I watched his mouth open as if he would have. “Cadieux Island is just ahead.”

“Island?” I shift to see out the windshield a little better just as the driver turns onto a two-lane bridge surrounded by clear blue water. I doubt I hide the awe in my features as we approach a large stone structure stationed on the right side of the bridge.

There’s a traffic light, which is glowing green, attached to the side of the building, but the driver slows anyway as we bump over a thick line in the cement. “It’s a draw bridge,” Alden informs me. “It’s not lifted often, since boat traffic usually goes around it, but it can be opened and closed, cutting off access to the island.” Our eyes meet briefly, then he looks away to focus straight ahead again. The fact that he offered the information without me asking feels important.

I glance behind me to look at the road, and that’s when I notice a small building, right at the entrance of the bridge, that almost looks like a guard shack to a gated community. There’s even a red gate lifted to allow traffic through.

“This is where they live?”

“Yes, Cadieux is about eight miles from end to end. The college is in the center, and the remaining land is divided equally among the four founding families. There are no other residences besides those employed or hosted by the founders. Even the dorms are on the mainland.”

“That’s the college?” I ask, even though it’s a moot question. The building that comes into view before we even reach the island is a gothic dream, comprised of weathered stone, tall spires, and cathedral arches that would make Notre Dame weep. It’s not massive by any means, and it would be more comparable to a large high school than any university I’m used to seeing, but it’s still one of the most impressive buildings I’ve ever seen, certainly in real life.

We slowly pass through the lush green grounds, and I feel like I’m a world away from home where everything was brown or gray, dormant for the winter. However, I don’t see one student milling about or enjoying the sunshine, and it dawns on me that it’s probably winter break for them.

I don’t take my eyes off the school, not even when we pass the mostly empty parking lot and slip into the shade of the forest. If I didn’t see the sandy coastline minutes ago, I would never believe we were on an island.

As we round a curve, tall brick fences come into view on either side of the road. They match in size and color, but the jagged black points spaced evenly along the top distinguish them from each other. To the left, the points resemble a trident, or a pitchfork, while to the right, it’s more of a spade. “Your family occupies the northeast section of Cadieux.” Alden points toward the spade fence.

“Who lives over there?”

I motion toward the other side, and the driver makes a sound, almost like a grunt, but it’s Alden who answers. “The Morningstars.”

The name catches me a little off guard. It’s not every day you hear a last name synonymous with the devil.

The fence seems to go on for a mile or more, but we eventually slow down, and I see two wrought iron gates mirrored across from each other. The driver presses a button near the roof of the SUV, and the gate on the right slowly starts to open.

As we approach the driveway to turn, the gate on the opposite side begins to peel back. A sleek black car revs toward the metal from within the property without any signs of slowing. “Oh crap.” I reach for Alden’s leg, pulling him away from the door, at the same time I point with my other hand so he’ll see the car that looks like it’s about to crash into the gate, or maybe T-bone us.

In what seems like slow motion, he looks down at my hand gripping his thigh just above the knee instead of looking out the window. The car timed the gate perfectly, and now we’re the only obstacle in its path.

I wave my hand frantically at the driver, who seems to be staring right at us, but there’s no way he could see me behind the tinted windows. Heck, all I can make out through the windshield of the car is short dark hair. My entire body tenses, and I curl into the seat, but I can’t take my eyes off the car coming right at us.

I expect to hear crunching metal and feel the SUV rock to the side, but the black car turns, its tires squealing at the last possible moment as it fishtails down the lone road.

“What a psycho,” I blurt out and look at Alden, who I now realize has his hand on my back and is leaning over me as if he was going to shield me with his body if the car did hit us.

“Morningstar,” the driver curses. I almost ask why he didn’t move or get out of the way, but it dawns on me that it was a game of chicken, and we didn’t lose.

I release my death grip on Alden’s leg and lean back in my seat, my heart thundering wildly while they both look like this is an everyday occurrence. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

We stop in the center of the circle drive, right in front of the home that was clearly designed by the same architect who built the college, because it shares some of the same gothic features.

I wasn’t far off with the castle comment. The façade is obscured with ivy, concealing some of the stone. It’s hard to imagine knowing someone who lives here, let alone being related to them.

The door is opened by a man in slacks and a suit jacket, with light brown wavy hair tucked in neatly over his ears, but the top is a little longer. It’s not until Alden urges me closer that I notice his green eyes and the silver dappled through his locks. The image of my mom flashes in my mind, and I know this man is indeed her father.

The air gets knocked out of my lungs, and my feet stop working. His eyes roam over me in much the same way I was examining him, but he doesn’t show any outward signs of recognition. He’s definitely not the white-haired old man I was anticipating. His age is hard to guess, but I wouldn’t put him over sixty-five, and that’s only because my mom was forty-one when she died.

If it weren’t for Alden’s palm high on my back, I’m not sure how long I would have remained unmoving and just stared at him.

“Nova,” he greets after we climb the steps up to the massive, arched entrance.

“Y-Yes.” I’m not proud of the croak, but there it is.

“I’m Rory Umbra, you’re grandfather.”

“Umbra?” I question, looking over at Alden and feeling betrayed. I have no idea why I thought they would share my last name, considering he’s my mom’s father, but I wish someone would have mentioned this before.

“Pardon me, please come in.” He steps to the side, allowing me into the vast foyer. Maybe they have a different word for it in a house this big, but I don’t know it, we just called it the front or backdoor when I was growing up.

The floors are marble, or some other stone, that gleams under the sunlight shining through the high windows. I try not to gape as I look around, but it’s a hard battle. I cannot imagine my mom growing up here.

And she gave it all up. Why?

“Thank you, Alden,” Rory tells my escort warmly, making me feel like the interloper I am.

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to show Miss Devlin to her quarters?” He’s doing that stiff stance again, where his hands are clasped together in front of him like a soldier.

“If you wouldn’t mind, or I can call for Bridgit.” Rory ignores me to speak to Alden. Why the heck was it so important for me to drop everything and get here if I’m just being shuffled off to my quarters?

“It’s not a problem.”

Rory finally looks at me again, and there’s a tightening around his eyes for the briefest moment before his face becomes impassive again. “I’m sure you want to get settled after your travels. I’ll call for you this evening when Astrid can join us so we can discuss everything. I hope your trip was comfortable.”

I wouldn’t have had time to respond if I wanted to, because Rory pivots on his loafered heel and strolls away as if his rump were on fire.

“So warm and fuzzy,” I mumble under my breath. From the way Virgil described them, I was expecting a warm welcome, or at least an I’m so glad you’re here.

“Shall we?” Alden lifts his hand in a forward gesture and begins walking, expecting me to follow, which I reluctantly do because I don’t know what else to do.

He leads us down a long corridor, in the opposite direction Rory went, and takes a right when we reach the end of the hall. “What’s behind all these doors?” I question as I pick up my pace to keep in step with him and stop gawking.

“Rooms?”

“Duh, what kind of rooms?”

He gives me that single arched eyebrow again, probably because I just said duh. I don’t think that’s part of the normal dialogue here, or maybe he just thinks it’s strange that a twenty-year-old still says it.

“All different kinds, but none that you need to worry about. These are your rooms.” He stops at a set of arched double doors and pulls a single key from his pocket to unlock it, then he tucks it away instead of handing it over to me.

“Uh, shouldn’t that be mine?” I point to his pocket, then flush when I realize I’m also pointing at his groin.

He ignores my gesture. “You’ll have your own set.”

“Why do you need a key?”

“Because I do.” He motions for me to go into the room.

“Who else will have a key? Why bother even locking it if everyone can get in anyway?” I’m shuffling past to get through the door while keeping an eye on him, so I don’t get a look at the room until he walks in right after me, forcing me to move faster or risk him bumping into me.

“Holy crap.” I forget all about the key and the ulterior motives behind why I’m here. I’m slightly embarrassed to realize I might be easier to buy than I thought.

“No one but you will have the key to your bedroom, however, the property is secure,” he tells me, but I barely hear him. I’m too busy gaping at my quarters, which have a fully furnished living room, doors leading I don’t know where, and a darkened hallway off to the right. The lead glass windows all along one wall allow late afternoon sunlight to stream in, warming the expansive room.

“The Umbras’ private wing is on the north end. This is the guest wing,” Alden informs me as I spin. Should I be ashamed that the sting of my supposed grandfather’s chilly greeting is easier to ignore now? I find myself making excuses for him and his indifferent behavior. Maybe it’s a class thing and rich people don’t show emotions, or maybe my grandmother will be warmer.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Alden tells me and starts to back toward the door.

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Is there something you need?” His question reminds me that a familiar face does not equal a friend. He works for the Umbras, and he’s done his job by delivering me here.

I force myself to ask a question, so he doesn’t know I just didn’t want to be alone yet. “Am I supposed to just stay in here until someone comes to get me?”

“That’s probably for the best until you speak with your grandparents. Your things should be brought along soon, so you can get settled.”

“Okay,” I agree, already resigned to the fact that I’m in deep waters without a lifeboat. I need to rely on myself, which isn’t anything new to me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a while now, which is probably why I foolishly jumped at the chance of having a family that was offering me school and a home.

Alden hesitates as if he can read my thoughts, or maybe I’m just not as good as I thought I was at pretending to be tough.

“Thanks for hauling my stuff around,” I say as a dismissal. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, and that’s what this feels like it’s careening toward.

“Miss Devlin.” Alden does that weird head lowering thing, and I kind of hate it. I haven’t done anything to earn his respect or deference.

“Later.” I pivot around and wait to hear the door close before I start properly exploring. One thing is for certain—it’s a heck of a lot nicer than my apartment. Who cares if I’m still just as lonely for the time being?