Page 125 of When the Sky Breaks

“You were a skeptic from the start, Miss Ellington,” George said. “Amos was a true believer. Ezra as well, I like to think. But Amos proved it last night. And all for nothing. Young life snuffed out. Power wasted. All because you couldn’t convince yourself this was real. But let me remind you, Miss Ellington, that we have known for millennia that proper power comes from blood sacrifice. Not hard work. Not connections. Not new-fangled technology. No, those are the lies of modernity. This work we are doing here? This ritual? The shedding of blood in exchange for the fulfillment of dreams? That is the backbone of human civilization. Consider the Aztecs. Consider the ancient Hebrews. Consider the very Eucharist of our dear brothers and sisters across the water in Ireland and in France. And your doubt, Miss Ellington? Nearly proved it false.”

And with that George crossed the room and dragged Jenny out of her chair, hand fisted in the front of her dress. The girl was shaking, eyes cast down.

“And for that you shall suffer, Miss Ellington,” he said, then punched her hard in the stomach. Jenny doubled over, clutching her middle, gagging up blood. Red stains blossomed on her chest as the jolt opened up the cancerous wounds there. I gasped, and Ansel grabbed my wrist hard to stop me from intervening.

No one else said a word. No one else did a thing. Not even Ezra. George shoved Jenny down to her hands and knees.

“Perhaps next time you will have improved your disposition to the supernatural,” he said. “If you merit a next time.”

And then nothing more. Slowly, conversation resumed, with the young woman still there on the floor, spitting blood on the whitewashed boards.

Fifty-Seven

Ansel

“Mr. Mansard,” George called after me as everyone filed out from breakfast. “May I have a word?”

“If this is about payment I promise our banker will have it to you by end of day,” I replied.

“Oh nothing like that,” George assured me, with a smile too unsettlingly welcoming for a man who’d just punched a sick girl in the stomach until she retched blood not half an hour ago. “It’s just that you see we are completing a ritual tonight, a little after midnight. We would have had Jenny and her brother participate. But with everything that’s happened . . .”

He trailed off.

I nodded.

“We’d like you and Sally to fill our remaining two spots,” George said. “Provided you’re still interested? Provided you believe it might help?”

“Help my Sally?” I asked, brow furrowing, playing the doting father.

“Not in this case no,” George said. “Rituals are dedicated. This one to that gentleman over there.”

George gestured to the older man who’d been coughing up blood.

“His sister had consumption. Bankrupted the family. We’re sacrificing for mercy from the debtors,” George explained, “but you must have twelve or it won’t work. And you two would make twelve.”

“And will we be sacrificing . . .” I gestured at the old man.

“Oh no. Not him. Not tonight. Just a cow.” He paused. “So we’ll have someone come fetch you at midnight. Please fast starting now. Including water.”

And with that George walked off leaving me standing dumbstruck. Because George presented it all without shame, without suspicion, with blind faith and egregious self-aggrandizing piousness. And the bloody man was talking about summoning creatures from hell.

“They want me not to drink water?” Sorcha asked in disbelief, sitting on her mattress and glaring. I flipped through a stack of pamphlets George had given us.

“And they locked Jenny in her room,” Sorcha added. “No food. Nothing. I asked when they’d let her go, and the woman just said when she’d improved her disposition. Whatever that means.”

“They’re building a narrative,” I replied. “A narrative where piety and asceticism leads to successful worship. And successful worship of these demon beasts leads to fulfillment of requests.”

“And they want us to come sacrifice a cow?” Sorcha pressed.

“Exactly,” I said.

Sorcha shuddered.

“I’ll write the message to Neal tonight,” I said. “You go try not to faint from dehydration. And go to bed early. I want you awake and ready when they come to fetch us.”

Fifty-Eight

Sorcha