As the SUV proceeded through a tall set of gates, I sat back, pressing myself into the leather seat. Each passing second deepened my sense of unease. When the truck completed its half turn around a bend that had been blocked from view by a thick cluster of trees, my stomach sank.

  More masked figures awaited me.

  They stood on either side of the long road in cloaks of black, all wearing some type of mask. A few held iron torches that flickered in the dark.

  “What the hell is this?” I murmured to myself. My gaze shifted from the windows and landed on a box-like structure that resembled a carriage without wheels. “And what is that?”

  It was covered in intricate carvings, sitting in the middle of the road. I couldn't quite grasp its purpose or the meaning of what was happening. No one was speaking. The silence was broken only by my questions and our breathing.

  “What’s going on?”

  Esther reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “The palanquin will take you the rest of the way. We’ll be right behind you.”

  A sense of panic rose up as I realized I would be getting inside the box.

  “Remember what I told you,” Nicolette said so quietly it was barely a whisper.

  I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw that there was more to this sense of understanding that she was trying to convey. There was something else there too—sadness. Had this happened to her as well? I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. It was a relief to know she’d survived whatever came next and appeared healthy, in the physical sense. It was also terrifying, because that meant she’d never escaped.

  I couldn’t have that same fate. Still, her words helped calm me just enough that when it came time to exit the SUV, I went willingly. I couldn’t see the faces of the people watching me, but I could feel their watchful gazes. I placed one foot in front of the other and kept my sights trained on the box.

  It was larger up close, with a domed roof supported by dark gilded wood and obsidian glass that made seeing inside of it impossible. Esther pulled open the door and together with Nicolette, they helped me get in. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t an intimate cocoon fit for royalty.

  Intricate carvings continued on all of the walls but two. The two panels of glass in front of me were like a one-way mirror and free of any markings. I sat on a seat made of rich, dark velvet and looked up. The domed ceiling was lined with tiny lights, so at least I wouldn’t be shut in total darkness.

  “Keep calm,” Esther whispered as she closed the door.

  Her words inspired the opposite effect. I didn’t get the chance to dwell on them too long. There was noticeable shift in the air, and then the silence was shattered by a symphony of whispers.

  Masked figures surrounded the box and lifted it with such care I didn’t have to steady myself. They began to carry me forward, the rhythmic motion only serving to magnify my apprehension. The trees that lined the path added to the obscurity. It felt like I’d been transported to another realm.

  The low whispers never ceased. They kept repeating the same thing over and over again. I couldn’t understand what was being said. The language was as mysterious to me as their ominous words. My mind raced with thoughts of what could be about to happen.

  As we emerged from the woods, the building that loomed into view seized my breath and heightened my fear. Positioned at a vantage point, I took in the massive structure. The essence of darkness seemed to be etched into every detail in different hues of black, creating a malign aura that sent a chill down my spine.

  Half of the building resembled a church, its spires piercing the starless sky. At the center of the walkway stood a fountain adorned with a gargoyle spewing water. Its presence added to the eerie ambiance. To the left of the church, seamlessly extending its form into a contemporary design was a long building. Its windows were shrouded, mirroring the church’s aesthetic.

  I was transported through one pair of arched doors, and then another, going right into the heart of the church. They closed with a muffled thud, and the whispering ceased, enveloping the space in a dense silence. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness I was gripped by a distressing sense of awe.

  My eyes swept across a barrage of splendor and dread. Dark marble flooring stretched before me like a cold, endless sea. In its center was a pentagram with the letter 'A' etched into its center, some sort of emblem.

  Above me, from what I could see, towering ceilings formed a void that seemed to swallow the light while stained glass on the bottom halves of the windows depicted some type of ritual. Rows of blackened pews were filled with a congregation of masked figures, their hidden faces adding to the bizarre scene. I was grateful now that this box couldn’t be viewed from the outside. I felt like enough of a freak show as it was, and their masked gazes weren’t helping.

  The atmosphere was charged with an intensity that was almost palpable. At the front, amidst the masked figures and in front of an altar hewn from black stone stood a man donning a leather beaked mask.

  Mr. Hawthorne.

  I didn’t need to see his face to know who commanded the entire room. Threads of fascination wove into my thoughts, despite my inner turmoil. He was a beautiful embodiment of sin.

  His clothes were regal, a fusion of gothic and ceremonial elements that made him look like a dark prince reigning over an insidious court.

  Beside him were four men, their presence of authority and allegiance. Two shared his distinguished attire but wore different masks. The other pair were dressed in cloaks of red. One man's hair triggered recognition. I’d seen him before. He was at the resort with Mr. Hawthorne.

  I expelled a quiet breath and leaned back, lifting my eyes to the imposing statue behind the altar. It was huge and carved with meticulous detail, meant to portray the devil himself. His tattered wings were spread wide in a symbol of rebellion and pride. The statue’s features were a blend of beauty and corruption, reminding me of Mr. Hawthorne.

  Especially with the way its intense gaze was trained on the woman of stone that knelt at its feet.

  The way she’d been crafted struck a deep chord of discomfort. Her head was bowed as she wept crimson tears. Spiral pillars of blackened stone stood on either side of the statue. Tapestries of the same symbol etched into the floor hung on both.

  Mr. Hawthrone stepped forward and began to speak. His voice resonated through the chapel, its tones carrying the weight of authority and reverence. "My loyal disciples, tonight marks a momentous occasion," he declared, his words punctuated by a pause that seemed to emphasize their significance. "We have gathered here to partake in a rite of initiation—a sacred honor that has been foreseen and patiently awaited."

  As the assembled masked members waited in attentive silence, Mr. Hawthorne’s masked gaze swept over them.

  His mere presence seemed to demand their allegiance. His head turned in my direction, and it felt like he was staring at me directly.

  "Amongst us, we have my Electi," he continued, his voice resonating with pride. "And not only her, but two additional chosen brides who have come to join our fold."

  My heart raced as his words reached my ears. I knew what an initiation was from watching TV and being an avid reader, but that was when someone was joining a gang. I didn’t know what occurred when someone was becoming part of a… a fucking cult. And I certainly wasn’t ready to learn.

  The atmosphere within the church seemed to intensify, the air charged with an energy that vibrated with a mix of excitement. As my brain tried to keep up with what was going on, I latched onto something he’d just said.

  There were other women here. I shifted and strained to see them, but they were hidden from view thanks to the confines of my box. Mr. Hawthorne’s speech continued, and I saw a grim fate being weaved that I could do nothing to stop.

  "Tonight, we stand on the cusp of ascension," he proclaimed, his words resonating with a sense of purpose. "But before we can embrace our collective new family, two phases of penance must be administered."

  As soon as he finished speaking an unseen door opened, its creak echoing across the vaulted ceilings. I watched yet another hooded figure wheel a circular contraption to one side of the altar.

  The design of it mirrored the pentagram with a star in the center, as well as a man. Leather restraints held him captive and there was a gag firmly placed in his mouth.

  On the opposite side of the altar, a woman was walked forward, this time by someone dressed as a masked nun. She stood with a cloth bag obscuring her features, but I recognized the long blonde hair and nightgown from the night before.

  “In case anyone has forgotten, there are consequences that befall those who challenge our customs,” Mr. Hawthorne proclaimed. He turned towards the man first. "Tonight, observe what happens when you disrespect what is mine.”

  At that, one of the men in red turned and lifted something from the altar. I leaned forward and squinted to get a better look. It was a large tool of some sort that reminded me of salad tongs but with U-shaped metal points on each end. He passed the device to Mr. Hawthorne, and a small murmur went up amongst the gathered crowd. I could sense their excitement for whatever was about to occur.

  “I’ve decided to deal with disciple Charles myself,” he announced, casually strolling towards the bound man. His companion from the resort followed beside him and removed the gag from the man’s mouth.

  Mr. Hawthorne stood to the side, allowing everyone to see what he was about to do. The man must have known because he began to plead. It was ignored. Mr. Hathorne looked right at me and declared, “He risked this by staring at my sun. It’s only right I grant him eternal darkness.”

  With careful precision, he brought the tool to the man’s face and began to remove his eyes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Anguished screams became the only sound inside the church. The man could do nothing but accept what was happening to him. A restraint kept his head from moving.

  My stomach churned violently as Mr. Hawthorne squeezed the center of the tool and forced the pointed ends into the man’s eye sockets. I’d never seen so much blood in my life. It ran down his face in widespread rivulets, staining the white shirt he was wearing and dripping all over the floor.

  The squelching sounds as his eyes were gouged and clicking of the metal tool had bile rising in the back of my throat.

  A disturbing scent filled the air, a mixture of raw agony and a metallic tang. I covered my mouth and looked away, unable to imagine the pain. I silently prayed that this man wasn’t being tortured somehow because of me.

  I was desperate to convince myself that this was nothing but a horrifying dream, a sickening nightmare born from the depths of my screwed-up mind that I would soon wake up and escape. As the screams became raw and guttural, every masked person bowed their heads and began to speak as one.

  “Vide malum quod Diabolus permits, audi susurros regni eius, et ne loquaris contra voluntatem eius."

  I looked out at the crowd of masked faces, trying to understand what they were saying. Diabolus was the only word I could clearly grasp, and assumptions were all I had to translate it.

  I didn’t mean to look at the gruesome scene playing out again. I regretted the second I did. Mr. Hawthorne stepped back, and even from where I sat, I could see there was an eyeball spiked through the side, attached to the tool in his hand. The other eye hung like an ornament by a bloodied strip of nerve, leaving two gaping holes in the man’s face.

  Mr. Hawthorne held the other up and his followers clapped as if he’d just given a great performance, again all at once reciting a twisted incantation.

  "Laus Diabolus, dominus tenebrarum, qui regnat in aeternum. Gloriamus in malum suum et nutrimus per viam obscuritatis.”

  I grabbed the edge of the velvet seat and held it tightly. A mixture of revulsion and terror surged through my veins. Mr. Hawthorne spoke to the masked figure that had wheeled the man out.

  His words were too quiet for me to hear, but the man was taken away afterward. His anguished cries faded until a chilling silence hung heavy in the air. The absence of sound felt even more wrong now. Mr. Hawthorne handed the bloodied tool off to a man in red, who returned it to the altar as the woman with the bag over her head was led forward. My heart raced as I watched her trembling form, the heady sense of dread intensifying.

  Mr. Hawthorne addressed the room again, announcing what the woman had done and what her punishment would be.

  "Her name is no longer relevant to us." His voice resonated through the church, tone cold and unyielding. "Her insolence and disrespect were directed not only at myself and my Electi, but the core of our devotion."

  The cloth bag was removed from the woman’s head, confirming what I’d already known. It was the servitor from Mr. Hawthorne’s home.

  “She will never speak another word again. Tonight, she will be granted eternal silence to reflect on her actions.”

  “Non loquere malum ultra doctrinae fines, ausculta tantum susurris tenebris concessis.” Just as before, the masked figures responded to his decree as one, not only acknowledging what was about to happen, but accepting it with ease.

  This was insanity.

  She’d been disgustingly rude and hostile, but I knew without a doubt that she didn’t deserve what was coming. With the bag removed, her tear-stained face was revealed for everyone to see. Her wide eyes darted around the church. Even though she couldn’t see me, it felt as if our eyes briefly met.

  Mr. Hawthorne went and stood behind her as another of his companions dressed in red approached with what almost looked like a vintage hand-pump vacuum.

  The realization of her impending fate seemed to grip the woman like a vise, and her lips trembled, as if trying to find words that would never come. The long tool was forcibly inserted into her mouth. Mr. Hawthorne held her still while the man in red turned a dial on the side, separating the flat metal ends and forcing her mouth to open impossibly wider.

  I told myself to look away, close my eyes and block this out, but I couldn’t. Despite my own revulsion and fear, I was ensnared in witnessing this gruesome scene. The woman’s jaw began to pop and crack, her muffled cries lashing at my soul as it visibly dislocated. I naively thought this was it and her punishment was done. Then I saw the thin blade Mr. Hawthorne had just been handed.

  My throat constricted as he attempted to wedge it in her mouth, cutting into the tender flesh on either side.

  The blood didn’t seem to faze him. Nor did the woman’s anguished cries. She wasn’t even standing on her own but supported by one of the men in red and another dressed similar to Mr. Hawthorne. Once the blade was in, he began the process of removing her tongue.

  Caught in a chasm of horror and disbelief, I grappled with the power that this man wielded and the nightmarish reality that had become my own. Mr. Hawthorne finished what he was doing and passed his blade off to one of the men in red before turning around and showing off the servitor’s tongue he now held in his hand. His people marveled at his act, repeating their earlier incantation.

  "Laus Diabolus, dominus tenebrarum, qui regnat in aeternum. Gloriamus in malum suum et nutrimus per viam obscuritatis."

  A wave of nausea hit me as I gazed at the lump of bloody muscle.

  The odd device was removed from the woman’s mouth, and she began to cough, choking on her own blood. Her jaw hung at an odd angle, making her situation all the worse. Two of his nuns donning demonic styled masks came forward and quickly took hold of the unstable woman, leading her away through the same unseen door she’d been brought through.

  Mr. Hawthorne placed her tongue on the altar and his indifferent voice pierced the room. "After reflection, she will give back to our Isle by being disbursed amongst our swine, a fitting honor for one who has shown such disrespect."

  His words settled over me heavily. How was one given to pigs? I prayed to God that didn’t mean what I thought it did. With a noticeable shift in his demeanor, he turned his attention back to the front of the room.

  "Now, the time has come for the Rite."

  A subtle undercurrent of excitement immediately seemed to ripple through the room as he continued, now addressing the two men in red specifically. "I know you are both eager to get your new brides home and strengthen your bond." His gaze swept over the masked followers, and he motioned with a bloodied hand.

  “Bring them to kneel.”

  From opposite sides of the dimly lit church, two women were led forward. The first was a stunning black woman. She appeared unnaturally calm, her movements strangely fluid as if under the influence. Her eyes bore a vacant expression, hinting at the extent to which she had been drugged to remain composed.

  The second woman was blindfolded, an iron skeletal mask cradling the top half of her face. A fancy collar wrapped around her neck, its gleaming chain snaking down to her bound hands.

  Despite her apparent captivity, her posture and demeanor carried an air of defiance, her hidden beauty only accentuated by the chains that bound her.

  "Tonight, Tenebrarius Graves, you shall claim the woman bound before you," he announced, his words carrying a sense of command. "And Tenebrarius Asari, the one you’ve patiently coveted shall be under your dominion."

  A hushed murmur erupted through the masked followers, their anticipation evident in the way their gazes remained fixed on the scene before them. As if choreographed, two members emerged from one of the unseen doors, carrying a small fire pit to the stage. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows across the ritualistic space. Their movements were deliberate, each step resonating with a sense of purpose. From the other door emerged the nuns.

  With an air of reverence, they approached the altar and presented each man with a branding iron, the end obscured from my view. My heart raced, and my breath caught in my throat as I tried to make sense of the impending horror. The blindfolded woman trembled, her bound hands betraying her anxiety.

  My heart broke for her vulnerability. She could see nothing and had to rely on the ones responsible for her misfortune to guide her through this nightmare. Beside her, the other woman's vacant gaze conveyed a disconcerting sense of submission. Whatever she’d been given had to be extremely potent.