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little wax candle with a paper drip guard and then lighting it.
    “Your candles symbolize the torch that has been passed to you by us, your most senior sisters,” Brooklyn says. “It is now your responsibility to keep the flame of our sisterhood alive.”
    The thin trail of smoke tickles my nose, and I sneeze. My candle goes out. Everyone stares at me, and Sigrid moves in to relight it, holding the lighter low to the wick for so long that hot wax bubbles over the side of the paper guard and onto my thumb. “Ow!”
    “Sorry,” she says with an ice princess smile.
    “Oh no, I love hot wax searing my flesh, it’s my favorite.”
    “Pledge!” Suddenly Brooklyn is standing over me, her toned arms folded in disapproval. “First rule. Don’t disrespect your older sisters. Sigrid has put countless hours into our organization and will be overseeing many of your new membership activities.”
    Sigrid smirks, and I take a page from Iris’s book and roll my eyes. Of course Sigrid is Brooklyn’s second-in-command. What’s a noble queen without a scheming advisor to mess things up?
    “Brooklyn?” comes a timid voice. It’s Mags, carefully holding her candle away from her to keep it from catching in her wildly curly hair. “Are you going to tell us about the competition?”
    Competition? I sit up straighter. If there’s one thing I love, it’s a contest. I nearly punched a kid in the face in first grade over a spelling bee. He was a total cheater, though. What first grader knows how to spell ‘obsequious’?
    Brooklyn sighs heavily and sweeps her hair out of her face. Sigrid takes over, shoving forward importantly. “I got this, Brook. Get out of here. You have practice first thing in the morning.”
    “Sigrid will be your main resource. She’s graciously offered to lead things with you new girls,” Brooklyn tells us as I die a little inside. “I’ll be heading out now, but I fully expect to see all of you at our first event this Friday.”
    I perk up. What event? But apparently it’s up to Sigrid to explain it to us, because all Brooklyn offers us is a small smile before leaving the candlelit room.
    The moment Brooklyn disappears, Sigrid undergoes a transformation. Her seashell-pink fingernails lengthen to predator claws. Black races along her satiny red hair until she’s got a witch’s mane. Her teeth sharpen and crawl over her bottom lip until they extend an inch from her chin. She grins a horror movie grin, leaps on the nearest pledge, and tears her head off.
    That all doesn’t actually happen, but it’s the closest I can come to describing the way Sigrid’s expression changes. She curls her lip and looks at us all like we just peed on her grandmother’s grave. “Let’s get one thing straight, girls. You are beneath me. You are beneath all your older sisters, none of whom are being paid to babysit tonight, and that’s why I volunteered to be the one to explain to your newly-minted asses how things work around here. But first, you’re going to thank me for my time.”
    Shock settles over the room. Beside Sigrid, Ellie smiles at the ceiling. She’ll be no help. A chorus of mumbled thank-yous rises from everyone except me. Sigrid notices. She notices and stalks forward in her heels—who the hell wears heels to a secret meeting at midnight—and leans in so close to my face that her hair brushes the tops of my crossed knees. I don’t flinch. I open my mouth, about to tell her exactly how unimpressed I am with her authority-gone-overboard routine, but then a hand closes over mine and squeezes tightly.
    I glance up. It’s Mags, who’s scooted over and wedged herself between Iris and I. She clutches tighter and there’s a big neon warning in her eyes. In front of me, Sigrid is smirking, and it’s going against my every instinct not to take her down a peg, but Mags is cutting off circulation to my fingers and there’s got to be a reason for that.
    “I missed your thank you.” Sigrid’s breath is