I step into the mausoleum.
The inside is nothing like the outside. Instead of the damp, rot-smelling deathtrap I expect, it’s…clean. The walls are white marble, veined with gray, the floor polished stone. There are no coffins, just a long corridor lined with empty niches and a handful of brass plaques, their names unreadable in the dim light. It smells faintly of lemon cleaner and something metallic.
Raf leads us past the first row of alcoves, stopping at a small wooden door at the far end. He produces another key, this one newer, and unlocks the door. It swings inward to reveal a tight spiral staircase, the steps chiseled from raw stone.
“This is where it gets fun,” Ford remarks, voice echoing off the walls.
I glare at him, then look to Wes. He gives me a nod, then starts down the stairs. Ford follows, and Raf directs me to go next, his hand at the small of my back. I take a deep breath and start to descend, my footsteps echoing.
It gets colder with every step, the air thickening, tinged with something sour. At the bottom of the stairs, we hit a landing with a heavy iron door. Wes knocks twice, then pushes it open.
We enter a room the size of a small chapel, lit by flickering wall sconces. The ceiling is low, and the walls are lined with more marble, inscribed with Latin phrases and symbols I don’t recognize. Along one side, a series of black robes hang from metal hooks, each one marked with a silver crown on the sleeve. At the center of the room is a stone table with a white robe folded neatly on top.
Ford walks over to the rack, grabs a robe, and shrugs it on over his clothes, adjusting the hood so it shadows his face. Wes does the same. Raf comes to stand by me, holding the last black robe in his hands.
He nods at the altar. “That’s yours,” he says.
My legs suddenly feel unsteady beneath me, but I step forward and pick up the white robe. It’s silk, lined with something stiffer, and when I slide it over my dress, it feels like being cocooned in a body bag. Raf steps behind me and tugs the hood up over my hair, then Wes comes over, laying a hand on my shoulder.
“Just keep your head down,” Wes murmurs. “Whatever you do, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And if things get weird, just look at me, okay?”
I nod, but I’m not sure he sees it beneath my hood.
Ford glances at his watch, then says, “Showtime.”
Raf strides to a heavy wooden door at the far side of the room and pulls it open. A blast of even colder air hits us, and I shiver, teeth starting to chatter. He leads the way into a long, narrow corridor, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by the stone. We walk in single file, the only light emanating from the sconces behind us, until we reach a second chamber.
This one is bigger, but immediately feels claustrophobic when I see the five black-robed figures waiting inside. They’re lined up alongside a stone altar, each wearing a smooth, featureless black mask over their face. They look like mannequins. Or executioners.
Everything in me screams to turn and run, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
Wes stops just inside the door and bows his head. Ford copies the movement, then Raf steps up behind me, placing a guiding hand at the small of my back.
I step forward, my knees jelly.
The five men stand perfectly still, hands clasped in front of them, their masks turned in unison as we approach. The one in the center raises a hand.
“Are you prepared to present the initiate?” His voice is run through some kind of filter inside his mask, making him sound like a robotic demon.
“Yes,” Raf answers, his voice clear and strong.
“Then step forward,” the man replies.
Raf nudges me, and I move, the robe swishing around my ankles. I keep my head down, like Wes said, but I can still feel the eyes behind the masks drilling into me.
“The Kings of Corvus College present Ava Morrow as our Doll,” Raf announces.
The center mask tilts to the side. “Miss Morrow,” he says in that creepy-ass distorted voice. “Are you here of your own free will?”
“Yes,” I say, hating how small my voice sounds.
“Do you have her collateral?” another masked man asks, his voice modulated like the first.
Raf pulls his phone from his pocket, swiping something on the screen before pocketing it again. There’s a laptop open on the altar, and it pings, the screen flickering to life. For a second, I think it’ll be paperwork, or maybe some kind of digital signature.
Instead, a video starts playing.
My stomach drops through the floor.
