I’d never known the cultists to slip up so spectacularly in the decades I’d spent committed to finishing what my mentor started. The sloppiest fucking sacrifice they’d made in all my years tirelessly hunting their infernal ilk. Rushed, last minute, and too public for their liking. Though a hurried death was still a boon for an eldritch god demanding ritual sacrifices in his honor.
Aside from being recklessly hasty, this death differed from the rest.
Something had triggered the impulsive kill.
From my point of view high over their heads, I watched them hum and bob their heads. I needed them to pick up the pace and deliberate or say something of value. Instead,they prolonged their undulating chants as if executing a performance.
Then again they said, “It started with an Ashcroft. It will end with an Ashcroft.”
One at a time, the apostles turned their heads to the speaker.
“The blood of The Betrayer has returned home,” he said, voice sibilant and eerily dream-like. “The sins of the father stain the soul of the child.”
“Sins of the father,” his companions echoed.
“The Ashcroft treachery will be rectified! Let the descendent of the one who broke the sacred vow act as the gateway to our master.” Now, that certainly didn’t sound promising. “Let not the muddled chaos of this first sacrifice dirty the honor we carry enacting our god’s will. In the confusion, we shall rise from the disarray and bring order, we will pave the path for Him to return!”
The conviction in his voice unsettled me. Particularly since it was my duty to stop them. His wicked brethren raised their arms and hooted in sync as the parliament agreed. The sound of it scraped against my eardrums and sparked an instinctual dread my self-discipline failed to subdue.
One apostle reached into their robe. They withdrew a photo and passed it around to the others. I craned my head, trying to make out the face of the person in the picture.
“This is the one we seek.”
I caught a flash of blonde hair. But it wasn’t enough. If they had a target in mind for another sacrifice, I’d do my due diligence in protecting them. Anything to stop Moloch from breaking free.
Gripping the beam tighter, I leaned further down. Only my superior balancing skills couldn’t save me from the beam groaning under my weight.
A loud metallic groan split through the warehouse.
My heart stalled.
Six bone-white masks snapped up, and gleaming yellow eyes spotted me among the shadows. An aria of shrieks rendered the space with a thunderous trembling. High-pitched and piercing, like an explosion of steam whistling high enough to shatter glass. And it did.
The remaining fragile windows of the warehouse erupted. Every pane of brittle glass fracturing sent splinters in every direction. My arm curved up to protect my face on instinct despite the black mask I wore. Eyes closed and muscles going taut as I braced myself for impact, I waited with a breath held.
Moments later, silence fell.
I looked down at the concrete floor. Brittle leaves skittered across the ground as the burst of wind settled. Heart pounding and ears ringing, I swung to the next lowest beam before dropping to the floor.
Aside from the broken glass littering the space, there didn’t seem to be any evidence they’d ever been there at all. No cultists, no monsters standing like men, no murderers planning their next strike.
I’d lost the bastards again and had no idea who they were after as their penultimate sacrifice. There weren’t any Ashcrofts in Kilbride and hadn’t been for years.
With a sigh, I placed my hands on my hips and looked around at the mess.
A single lonely feather sat among the ruins.
3
For three blissful days, I had a torrid love affair with my bed while my assigned reading gathered dust on the table. If I could have stopped time the night before classes resumed Thursday morning, I would have smashed that button into oblivion. It took insurmountable effort to drag myself from the warm cocoon of my comforter and put my feet on solid ground.
Dawn brought mist and gloom-drenched skies, and a soft pattering of rain on the windows. A quick, scalding shower helped wake me, but the promise of the coffee I knew was brewing from the automated machine in the kitchen kept me on the move. Dressed in high-waisted tan-brown trousers and a maroon sweater tucked into the front, I combed the blonde fringe over my forehead and left the rest of my hair to hang down my spine to air dry. Once I had a to-go cup of steaming coffee waiting for me, I slipped on my umber, heeled oxfords and grabbed my leather shoulder bag.
I left my phone on the kitchen counter, not quite ready to listen to all the voicemails building up. If I thought about them, I might not have the stomach to drink my much-needed brew.
A brisk wind tickled my cheeks when I opened the front door for the first time since I’d arrived and promptly burrowed in bed. Shivering, I circled back to grab a pea coat from the foyer closet before stepping back out and locking the door. Drowsiness dampened my nerves during the drive until the imposing, sharp architecture of the school burst through the trees. The skeletonof a forgotten time clawing up from the past, slowed by clinging ivy and crawling splotches of moss, but reaching, reaching,reachinginto the present to remain relevant.
I parked, and my stomach dropped as I watched other students with early morning classes huddled against the chill, scurrying from building to building. The mist grew into a careless drizzle, chasing everyone from one overhang to the next. My hand shook as I gripped my coffee tight to my chest and exited my car, finally succumbing to the knot of nerves in my guts. I made it halfway across the quad before I remembered to double-check the location of my first class.
