1
ELIAS
Children’s laughter grows louder outside the trailer as the sun sets in Marrow Falls, the music from the rides distorting it, making it sound sinister. The Seven Sins Carnival’s opening act is beginning soon, the grand ceremony to herald in the activities of the next two weeks.
Two weeks my brothers and I will spend hunting and torturing the Prophet who lives here. Ezekiel Moore’s days are numbered and about to get a whole lot less pleasant.
Two decades ago, I led six of my friends, brothers in circumstance if not all in blood, in an unlikely escape from the clutches of a cult its Prophets called the Sanctum of Ash. Now, we’re the ones with righteous blood on our hands. Now, we hold the power of life and death over them. Vengeance never tasted so motherfucking sweet.
“You seem broodier than usual, Elias,” my half-brother and second in command, Silas, purrs from where he’s practicing his illusionist tricks by the switched-off heater. We share a father and have every intention of killing him soon.
“He’s always tense,” Jonah says, his deep voice a rumbling bass. He’s looking out the trailer window, but there’s a smirkon his lips, letting me know he’s just teasing. He may be the carnival’s strongman, but he’s a gentle giant. Always feels so fucking guilty when he has to get his hands bloody.
Cole chuckles, throwing one of his knives in the air, then deftly catching it by the handle.
“What’s so funny, asshole?” I ask our resident Pretty Boy. “Today is important.”
He mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key. But the twins pick up the thread.
“Today, we’re taking back our childhood,” Rowe begins, imitating my voice and doing a pretty damn good job of it.
“The pain they doled out shaped us as boys,” Logan continues fiercely.
“But as men? We became its masters,” Silas adds, finishing my usual intro speech.
I throw my hands up, the rings on my fingers glistening under the low lights.
“Fuck you guys,” I grumble. “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, get the hell out of my trailer. I can’t breathe with all your egos filling out the space.”
“We are taking it seriously, brother,” Marek says quietly from his shadowed corner. He never has to speak up for us to listen—he’s trained us well.
“Yeah. We’ve just heard you say this a dozen times by now,” Cole drawls.
“Fine,” I relent. “You all know the plan. Once Seven Sins shuts down for the night, Prophet Ezekiel’s torture begins.”
They murmur in assent, their eyes a bit glazed with memories of the past. I know the look—I see it in the mirror all the fucking time.
“What do the cards say, Marek?” Cole asks jovially, bringing us back to the present. Or rather, the future.
While Silas and I share a father, Marek and Silas share a mother. That was a rare occurrence among the cult’s chattel,Rowe and Logan aside—the women usually didn’t survive the Prophet’s tender mercies long enough to give birth twice. The two men both prefer a touch of mysticism with their shows, though with Marek, it doesn’t feel like an act.
The rest of us watch in silence as he turns three cards: Justice, The Chariot, and The Tower.
Marek taps the first card. “We will get what’s owed.” His finger hovers over the second card. “We won’t be diverted from this path.”
“Hell yeah,” Rowe says irreverently, bumping fists with his twin.
“However,” Marek says before a long, cryptical pause. His light gray eyes are glued to the third card—The Tower.
“However?” Jonah asks gruffly, voicing our collective impatience.
“However, what we built will not survive unchanged.”
I blink at Marek, my fingers tapping nervously against my thigh.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Logan scoffs. I can hear the apprehension he’s trying to hide, though—none of us fuck with Marek’s cards. We’re too superstitious, too much a product of a vile religious cult.
Marek’s pale eyes turn in my direction, staring at me unnervingly. “You’re first.”
