The air was heavy with the scent of a bonfire and the damp, rain-muddied dirt. The smell of the smoke triggered harsh, demanding stabs of fear inside my chest — fear that weighed me down like anchors hanging from my shoulders. But I couldn’t go back, not now. I couldn’t let another sacrifice happen.
Muddy footsteps covered the old wooden stairs to the cathedral’s tall front doors, the chain that usually bound them unlocked and set aside. There was a murmur of voices within, but I didn’t dare get too close to the doors. I had to find another way in.
When we were teens, Victoria and I used to sneak through the back door that led through the kitchens. If you were any kind of young deviant growing up in Abelaum, you’d end up at St. Thaddeus eventually. We’d come here to smoke, drink, or fuck our latest crushes in the dark corners behind the pulpit. It had felt blasphemous and edgy, our own little taste of stolen freedom. We’d been here a dozen times before the day Victoria led me through those doors and I found out our secret place wasn’t so secret at all.
The old kitchen smelled of dust and mold. Puddles of rainwater sat stagnant on the destroyed wooden floor, and dust covered the empty shelves. Another door separated me from the nave: just one door, between me and the cult waiting outside. My heart was pounding, nausea rising. The more I thought about where I was, the heavier the wave of light-headedness that overtook me.
This wasn’t a memory, this was reality. This was the here and now. But God, I wished Zane was with me. His presence would have calmed me, it would have given me the net of protection I so desperately needed.
The old boards creaked behind me, and a ragged breath sent a shiver up my back. I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut tight for a moment. I didn’t need to look back to know the Watcher would be there. Stalking me, waiting for its opportunity. Waiting for the moment when my fear would become too much, and it could push me into that deep, dark, dangerous void of my nightmares.
Zane had said to ignore it. I wasn’t even going to fucking look at it.
I exhaled aggressively. I was in control. I just had to stay calm.
I crept toward the door, and slowly eased it open to just the slightest crack. The dancing light of a fire filled the nave, casting eerie shadows up the old walls and over the steep, broken ceiling. I couldn’t see anything toward the front side of the church, but I could see the pulpit. It was surrounded by lit candles, perched upon a mountain of their own wax that had built up through the years. There was a murmur of voices and shuffling feet from the nave, the crowd of congregants just out of my sight.
Jeremiah leaned against the pulpit, dressed in a crisp white suit, looking out upon his congregation. It was his now, there was no doubt of that. I’d known killing Kent would throw them into chaos, but I hadn’t anticipated Jeremiah would react so quickly and so…violently.
It was like he’d been ready for it. Like he’d been waiting. This wasn’t the outcome I’d been looking for. I’d been anticipating a few weeks of power struggle within the Libiri, as all those vying for the top spot tried to make their move.
But Jeremiah had already put himself into position as their leader. He had his men behind him, young men who I assumed were his classmates; people he’d sucked into his lies, who craved the kind of power he offered. The power to snatch a woman off the street with no repercussions.
I hated Victoria, but it made me sick to see her tied up at their feet. Her jacket was gone, her shirt was torn and she was covered in mud, as if she’d fallen on the way here. She was gagged with a dirty cloth in her mouth, and her lip was bleeding. She was behind the pulpit, surrounded by people. There was no way in hell I could get to her.
“Brothers, Sisters,” Jeremiah suddenly spoke, his voice echoing around the cathedral and silencing the crowd’s murmuring. “It’s time.”
I had no way to stop this. If Zane were here, we could have slaughtered them all, we could have laid waste to this mess once and for all.
But it was just me and my knife, and that wasn’t enough. Goddamn it, it wasn’t enough.
A hush fell over the church. All that remained was the sound of the rain and Victoria’s soft, desperate whimpering. Jeremiah’s eyes moved slowly over the crowd I couldn’t see, narrowed, his hands gripped tightly onto the edges of the pulpit. I could still envision his father standing there, all too clearly. I could still hear the way Kent had addressed his followers, how earnest he’d sounded, how he’d spoken like a man who truly believed what he was doing was right.
That had made it all the more horrifying — how truly they believed they were doing the right thing.
“A few days ago,” Jeremiah said. “We all suffered a great loss: the loss of our father, our guide, our shepherd. Outsiders will be told he killed himself, as they must be, to protect what we have. But we know the truth, don’t we?” There were murmurs of ascent from the crowd. “We know that Kent Hadleigh was murdered for his devotion to God!”
Louder cries began, jeers of anger and cries for justice. My hand tightened on the doorframe, making the old boards creek, and I instantly held my breath, shrinking back. But Jeremiah was too absorbed in his speech to notice me.
“But we will triumph, Brothers and Sisters!” he said. “I will lead us forth. I will ensure our oaths are fulfilled. And I will ensure my father’s death is avenged. I will ensure his murderers suffer for their blasphemy, as God wills.”
“As God wills,” the congregation murmured. I needed to leave. There was nothing I could do here. I had no way to stop this that wouldn’t put me in imminent danger. But then Jeremiah crouched down, seized his sister’s arm, and dragged her up beside the pulpit.
“As God wills, my dear sister Victoria will go to join the Deep One,” he said, as Victoria strained against him. “Three lives spared must be three souls given. Here, today, we shall send the second soul to God, in thanks for Its mercy, in hope of the new world to come.”
“Three lives spared, three souls given,” the congregation repeated. Victoria wasn’t looking at them — she was looking at Jeremiah, her eyes wide in accusation, in horror, in hatred. Gripping her so tight that his fingers dug into her skin, Jeremiah leaned down and kissed her forehead, murmuring something I couldn’t hear as she began to frantically shake her head. Then he released her, and two of his men stepped forward to restrain her before she could crawl away. She was screaming again, muffled by the gag. Jeremiah returned to the pulpit, and lifted up a blade so it caught the fire’s light.
I knew that knife. The dark curved handle was textured with little bumps, like the underside of a cephalopod’s arms. I wanted to back away, I wanted to leave; but I was rooted in place. The knife held me fixated as Jeremiah stood before Victoria and said, “Our Sister Victoria is afraid, but are we not all afraid of the mightiness of our God? Are we not all afraid of what It may demand of us? But we are no less devoted. We are no less determined. This is as it should be.”
“This is as it should be.”
“We will not allow Victoria’s fear to keep her from her devotion to the Deep One. We will be strong for her. We will ensure her duty is fulfilled.”
He was like his father — it was like Kent reborn.
The floorboards behind me creaked again. Cold breath sent a chill over my neck. In my peripheral vision I could see the blood-red figure standing there, but I refused to turn toward it. I swallowed hard, cold sweat dripping down my back as those stiff, flayed fingers brushed over my shoulder.
“No,” I whispered. “This isn’t a nightmare. I know where I am.”
As Jeremiah leaned down with the knife, I saw myself in Victoria’s place. I saw myself screaming, weeping, struggling, begging. I saw the masked faces that had surrounded me, watching me in silence, offering no help.
With the taste of bile in my mouth, I watched them cut her.
She was screaming, but the sound was muted. Everything felt hazy. I focused on the texture of the old doorframe beneath my fingers. I tried to lose myself in the scent of the smoke and the sound of the rain. I was falling, closer and closer to that dangerous vulnerable place.
The Watcher’s gaze was cold on the back of my head. It still had its vile fingers on my shoulder. I couldn’t let it suck me back into the dark. I bit my lip, hard; I bit it until it bled. The pain kept me grounded, but only barely.
It seemed to last forever. When Jeremiah stood up straight, the knife dripping blood onto the floor, everything rushed back to speed with startling clarity.
“Let us take her up the hill,” Jeremiah said, and it was like a light had gone out in his eyes, leaving only vast, cold darkness behind. “Let us take her to God.”
I stood slowly. I backed away, as carefully as I could, until I’d reached the doorway through which I entered. Then, and only then, did I glance over. Only then did I look at the Watcher face-to-face, now crouched in the shadows in the corner, staring at me.
Its fingers twitched. Its wide eyes didn’t leave my face for even a moment.
It wanted me. It wanted my terror, my pain. It wanted the endless screams in my nightmares.
I shook my head. Not this time. Not fucking this time.
I slipped out the door, and with the cool rain on my skin, I ran.
I was halfway back to the car when my stomach revolted. I doubled over, vomiting into the dirt. Victoria’s muffled cries were still ringing in my ears. They sounded like mine. That awful place, the knife, the smell, the cold…
I’d stood and watched in silence. I’d done nothing — but I couldn’t have. Victoria deserved to die, she’d done the same to me. She’d led me in to be slaughtered. She’d abandoned me to be tortured.
I spat, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. I needed to get the hell out of there. I needed to get back to Zane, back to safety. The wind whipped through the trees above, and with it came the wretched stench of death.
As I looked ahead, down the trail that would lead me back to the car, I noticed something I hadn’t before: numerous clusters of pale white mushrooms. They were everywhere, sprouted from the dirt, clinging to the sides of the trees, burrowing up from among the roots. Hundreds…thousands…they were everywhere.
I looked down at my shaking hands. Hands that had drawn blood, hands that had killed, that had helped me survive. Hands that had once clawed me out of the very mine Jeremiah and the Libiri were about to throw Victoria into.
I’d been thrown down alive. They’d throw her down alive too. There was still time to stop the sacrifice.
