L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

She laughed. “Why don’t you nd out what this is and then make up your mind—how
about that?”
I stood still, my palms soaked in sweat. I resisted wiping them on my dress.
“You can say no, Cassie. I’m only oering. Ready?” She seemed bemused more than
impatient.
“Yes,” I said, and I was. Enough equivocating. I shut off my reluctant mind, or rather, I
opened it.
Matilda led. I followed. My eyes were drawn back to the ivy-covered mansion and its
riotous garden. April in New Orleans meant vines and owers in full bloom. Magnolia
trees blossomed so quickly it was like they had thrown on ornate ’50s bathing caps
overnight. I had never seen a garden this lush, green and vivid.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“That’s the Mansion. Only members are allowed inside.”
I counted a dozen dormers, ornate ironwork suspended over the windows like lace
bangs. The turret was topped with a white crown. Though it was all white, it had an
eerie feel, like it was haunted, but perhaps by very attractive ghosts.
After we reached the coach house and Matilda entered yet another security code, we
passed through a big red door and were inside. I was hit by a blast of air-conditioning. If
the exterior was nondescript and blocky, the coach house interior was a study in midcentury
minimalism. The windows were small, but the walls high and white. On them
hung several stunning oor-to-ceiling paintings of vivid reds and pinks, dotted with
yellows and blues. Tea candles ickered on the windowsills, giving the place the
atmosphere of an expensive spa. I relaxed my shoulders, which had been hunched up to
my ears. Nothing bad could happen in a place like this, I thought. It was so pristine. At
the end of the room stood a set of doors that must have been ten feet tall. A young
woman with a sharp black bob and black thick-rimmed glasses stood up from her desk
and greeted Matilda.
“The Committee will be here shortly,” she said, rushing around the desk to grab the
groceries and flowers from Matilda’s hands.
“Thanks, Danica. Danica, this is Cassie.”
Committee? Was I interrupting a meeting? I felt my heart fall into my stomach.
“So nice to finally meet you,” Danica said. Matilda gave her a stern look.
What did she mean by finally?
Danica hit a button below her desk and a door opened behind her, exposing a small
brightly lit room lined in walnut, with a round plush pink rug in the center.
“My office,” Matilda said. “Come in.”
It was a cozy space, facing a lush courtyard, with a glimpse of the street just visible
beyond the gate. From her oce window I could also see the side door of the imposing
Mansion next door, a maid in uniform sweeping the steps. I took a seat in a wide black
armchair, the kind that makes you feel like you’re being cradled in King Kong’s palm.
“Do you know why you’re here, Cassie?” Matilda asked.
“No, I don’t. Yes. No, sorry. I don’t know.” I wanted to cry.
Matilda took a seat behind her desk, rested her chin in her hands and waited for me to