What Lies Beneath ▸ House of Anubis [1]

chapter fifty-eight. house of sting

☾ ☽

            Prom is tomorrow night.

            And so is our chance to put the Cup of Ankh together once and for all and end this. Patricia got a hold of Joy and told her what we knew now, and also told her our (read: Fabian's) theory on who the Bringer of Death is—me. According to Trixie, Joy said it was possible but she still hasn't officially heard a name, so for now, it's just a theory. A theory's not going to put the Cup of Ankh together.

            "So Fabian thinks you're this Bringer of Death person?" Jerome recaps as we walk through the school.

            I nod. "Yeah. And everyone else is starting to think it too. Apparently, I'm the most likely candidate, and to put together the Cup, we need both the Chosen One and the Bringer of Death."

            "Do you think it's you?"

            "I don't know. I don't know, it—Fabian's reasoning makes sense," I reluctantly concede with a sigh. "Especially if he's right on Lily being one and if it is actually passed down through family...maybe it's what Rufus meant by special bloodline. 'Cause Joy also said she heard her dad calling this person 'the descendant,' so...maybe it's Lily. Maybe it is me."

            "And you still have no idea what exactly it is and what they have to do with the Cup?"

            "No clue. Although, considering it's Bringer of Death, can't imagine it's anything good. What do you think?"

            "You're asking me?"

            "Yeah, give me your honest opinion."

            "Okay, fine," Jerome replies. I watch him as we keep walking, slowing down a little. "I think that if you aren't, then if you meet up with Joy tomorrow, she won't be able to put the Cup together. But if you are, then you two will. Although it being you and Joy doesn't make any sense."

            "What do you mean?"

            "It's you...and Joy. I know you were roommates but were you actually friends?"

            "Well, yeah," I start, throwing my hand in the air, "we were—acquaintances," I realize, "rather than friends. Okay, I guess you've got a point there. But either way, if we can't put the Cup together, we just need to keep the pieces safe until after midnight tomorrow. Then we're good for twenty-five years and it's someone else's problem."

            "I take it," Jerome says, "you won't be doing much dancing tomorrow night."

            "Which, by association, means you won't be doing much dancing tomorrow night," I confirm. "Regretting asking me yet?"

            "Surprisingly, no. Besides, too late to back out now."

            "Good. You're stuck with me, Clarke."