“Ambrose?” I call as soon as I fling the door open.
No reply. I run into his bedroom, but it’s empty.
I don’t even bother to close the door behind me as I sprint to the garage out back.Please be in there.
But even from here, in the dreary gray afternoon, I can tell the lights are all off. I check anyway, and my panicked shout echoes off the walls of the empty building.
He has to be around here somewhere, which means there’s only one place left that he could be.
The church.
I run down the path, the freezing rain like needles against my face as I sprint across the pale, dead grass.
When the old church comes into view, my heart drops. The door is cracked open, but the energy reverberating through my bones tells me something’s wrong—like electricity in the air right before lightning strikes.
I don’t even pause to consider the potential danger of walking into the church. The only thing running through my mind is the desperate, raw hope that I’m not too late, and that Ambrose is still alive.
CHAPTER 45
"These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume.”
—William Shakespeare
The church looms at the end of the clearing like a monolith, pale as bone against the gray sky.
Through the rain, all I see is the flash of Ambrose’s black coat as he enters through the heavy wooden doors. I cry out to warn him, practically screaming his name, but he doesn’t hear me over the torrent of raindrops hurtling against the vinyl siding of the church.
The freezing air burns my lungs, coming out in clouds of vapor as I race to the doors, dead grass crunching underfoot.
The hinges shriek when I fling the door open.Inside, the air is still, the atmosphere blurring the thin line between sacred and sinister.
“What an unexpected surprise,” Samuel muses with a glance over his shoulder. All pretenses of goodness are gone, revealing the sinister creature beneath the mask. The warm glow that usually surrounds him is gone, replaced by a sharp crackling of frenetic energy.
Every one of the dozens of candles is lit, their light flickering throughout the room, throwing wavering shadows across every surface and illuminating the rich colors of the stained glass windows.
A small rush of relief fills me when I see Ambrose, still alive and well, standing near the pulpit. His eyes are trained on me, mirroring my relief but reflecting the same fear sinking into my skin with the situation we’ve found ourselves in.
Elias and Samuel face him, their backs to me, though Elias’ eyes flit between all of us with unease.
I freeze in the doorway, the gun heavy in my coat pocket, the necklace cold against my skin.
“Brielle, stay back. They’re dangerous,” Ambrose warns.
Before I can reply, Samuel says, “Oh, she’s well aware of who we are. Isn’t that right, Brielle?”
Ambrose’s jaw slackens as his eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze sliding from Samuel to me and back again. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been meeting us here for months now. Though it was my understanding that she’d be gone by now after we told her about your lies when it came to the bargain.”
“It’s not what you think,” Ambrose pleads, remorse and fear twisting his features.
I want to say the same thing, especially as a sneer crosses Samuel’s expression as he looks between us.
“What a tragedy,” he taunts. “The star-crossed lovers have both betrayed each other, and now they both will die.”
