I’m breaking our greatest laws by bringing her here, but St. James is the one who set all this in motion. I’ve never gotten a birthday gift before, and he gave her to me. On the streets, the first lesson you learn is to hold on to what you have. He learned that lesson just like I did. He can’t blame me when I refuse to give her up.
Voices echo in the distance. I’m getting closer to my destination.
Light spills up a set of gray-green steps. I descend into the brilliant blaze, moving slowly until my eyes adjust. We’re on a narrow ledge, a balcony of sorts, overlooking our ritual space. Damien calls our meetings “church,” and it’s both ironic and accurate. This is where we meet, plan, and vow our allegiance to one another. On nights like tonight, it’s where we spill blood.
I sit down on a low ledge that will give us a view of the proceedings, with Elodie in my lap, rigid.
“You must be quiet,” I warn her and lift the blindfold to direct her terrified eyes to the dark sanctuary below us. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
Elodie
I can tellthe moment we’re not in Club Empire anymore. The smell gives it away. It’s the smell of dark underground places. Mold and sewer drains. There’s a clammy chill mixed with random blasts of heat and the faraway, screeching and rumbling sounds of a subway.
I huddle against Jaeger’s strong chest, hoping he doesn’t set me down. The farther he walks, the more my fear grows.
Then he carries me down a set of stairs to a warmer space, where the air holds a faint trace of a smokey scent, like incense.
There’s another scent under the smell of smoke and spices. Something fetid with a metallic edge.
The blindfold lifts, and for a moment, my senses are overwhelmed with light. I blink and take in Jaeger’s features. He murmurs a warning to be quiet and something about a ceremony. Panic rushes over my skin, chasing away the chill.
Jaeger brought me to a cavernous space lit by candles. We’re up in the corner, overlooking the rest of the huge rectangular room. It’s like we’re in a booth at a theater, and all the action is happening below us.
I peer over the ledge and bite back a scream. The room is filled with people, and every one of them is wearing a skull mask. Some are in street clothes. Some are wearing black robes. The sinister effect is the same. They fill the room, taking their placesin rows and rows of benches. It’s so quiet I can hear a candle guttering in its holder.
No wonder Jaeger told me to be quiet. I don’t think anyone knows that he and I are watching. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I can’t see from this vantage point, but I’d bet my hundred thousand dollars that all the figures are wearing rings.
The walls and floor are all black stone, shining like obsidian and reflecting the amber-gold light. There are fireplaces built right into the walls, and a strip of gas flames runs all the way around the room.
At the front of the room is an open space lined with standing candelabra and a stone circle filled with dark water—a small pool.
And I realize what this place reminds me of. The smell of incense, the rows of benches laid out like pews, the ceremonial space at the front of the room: it’s all a depraved imitation of a church. Alcoves line the walls, just like at St. Xavier’s, but instead of figures of the saints, each alcove holds a skull mask, spotlit with eerie amber light.
In the altar area at the front of the room, a group of robed figures gather. I shouldn’t be staring—I shouldn’t be here—but I can’t look away.
Among the group, one stands out. Blonde hair, pale skin. It’s Sarah in her new silver collar. In the darkness, her white dress shines like a beacon, and she’s being led by a silver leash that’s held by the man with dragon tattoos. Asmodeus.
A shorter man steps forward in a black mask stylized into a skull and wearing a crown. He raises his arms and chants something in a language I don’t recognize.
“That’s Damien.” The ghost of Jaeger’s whisper reaches my ears. “And St. James.” He points to a robed figure blending into the shadows behind the pool. “You know Asmodeus. He’s one of the Seven the Devil appointed as his generals.”
Oh gods. I don’t want to know all this. There’s another robed person beside Damien, sitting in a wheelchair. They have a slighter frame, and when they offer up a ceremonial dagger, the sleeves of their robes fall away to show colorful tattoos. Green vines with thorns, weeping roses the color of blood. I recognize the tattoos. I’ve seen them before on the woman who runs Inferno.
“Lucy,” Jaeger confirms my suspicions. I flex my forearms in their bondage, wishing I could run.
Another woman is standing nearby, a hood keeping her face in shadow.
“That’s the Devil’s woman,” Jaeger’s murmur stirs my hair. “His elita. I’d tell you her name, but he’d kill me. He’s extremely protective of her identity.”
The ceremony continues with the Devil and Lucy leading. Asmodeus leads Sarah to the head of the pool. Lucy hands him a goblet, and he orders Sarah to drink, holding the cup to her mouth. She’s shaking, but she drinks and then holds the cup for him to drink.
Then he uses the dagger to slice her palm and his, and they exchange some sort of vows. Another robed figure steps forward to lead them in this, his voice deep and level as he recites the Latin phrases. The words bounce off the walls but are meaningless to me. It’s clear the ceremony is as formal as a marriage, but in this upside-down world, who knows what sort of vows are being spoken?
But I know I’ve heard that voice before. The man speaking is hidden under a deep hood, but I can imagine him in my head: bearded and in a simple cassock, wearing a wooden cross.
Father Francis. Why is the priest here?
A door slams open, echoing in the space. I jump, and Jaeger hugs me tight. “Watch,” he says.
