What Lies Beneath ▸ House of Anubis [1]

chapter eight. house of agendas

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After getting my bag and blazer unceremoniously taken away to be searched for something I definitely don't have, I change into a blue t-shirt and denim shorts and go into the corridor, running into Patricia and Mara who are talking about a file or something.

"File?" I inquire, curiosity getting the best of me. "What file?"

"Oh, just... Amber's nail file," Patricia says. She hesitated before saying nail file. She's lying, but honestly, whatever. "Have you seen it?"

"Mhm," I mutter disbelievingly, walking past them down the stairs and into the parlor. Sitting beside Amber, I look at her with a tilted head. Her arms are crossed and she looks mad and confused. Mick stood her up on their laundry room date last night. "You good?" She nods but doesn't respond verbally. Hm.

Patricia and Mara come in about a minute later, the former asking a mischievously smiling Clarke, "What are you grinning at?"

"Just happy to be alive," he answers. I roll my eyes.

"Any sign of Victor with our bags?"

"Nope," I answer, leaning my head. "Complete boredom shall resume."

Clarke states at the same time, "The perfect excuse not to do French homework." Two seconds later, Victor comes in with all of our bags. "Uh-oh, spoke too soon."

"Here we are!" Victor says, setting our belongings on the table. I reach forward and grab my bag, opening it to make sure my sketchbook is still there. Hope he didn't open it—I may have done an unkind drawing of him. "All checked."

"Find anything?" Patricia inquires casually.

"Nothing that shouldn't be there, no."

As Victor exits, Amber suddenly pinches her nose with her fingers and asks, "Does anyone else smell that?"

Clarke asks nonchalantly, "Smell what?"

I take a whiff of the air, the most pungent smell causing me to gag. "It smells like raw fish," I remark. "Trudy's not cooking fish for dinner, is she?"

"She might," Clarke says, slowly sliding his bag across the table. I narrow my eyes at him and lunge forward to grab it from him. "That's private property, Adams!"

I open the bag as he comes around, hovering over me. "Found the source of the smell," I say, my voice representing my disgust. I pull out a brown paper bag with an actual fish inside. There's only one reason why he would have a fish. "Really, Clarke, you were gonna put a fish under my pillow?" I question. "Can anyone say amateur hour? I expect better from you, man."

Clarke shakes his head slowly, eyes narrowed, and takes the bag from me.

"I'd throw that away if I were you," I suggest. "Since I just foiled your plan. And how did Victor not find that? I think his searching skills are getting a little rusty."