Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Father Francis taught us world history and how empires rise and fall. Damien and St. James were the first to understand that whoever rules the underworld rules the streets. First, with smuggling routes, then the illegal gambling and fight clubs, and, when Fraternitas had obtained enough wealth and control to make us powerful, the whole city.
Now we rule above ground, but we’ve never forgotten the place that made us. It’s ours to lose, so we must keep it and use it for our most secret meetings and rituals.
And now I’ve brought Elodie here. My brothers need to know what she means to me, and she needs to understand what Fraternitas truly is. The best way to do that is to show her and show them all.
I stride quickly through the dank tunnel, following the lost light. I know the way by heart and reach a section lined with grime-covered subway tiles and turn right. The way grows darker. I’m in the oldest part of the city, long forgotten.
Elodie is shivering in her thin dress, but she doesn’t make a sound. It’s not fair to put her through this, but she has to know what Fraternitas is. I’ve dedicated my life to them. They took my violent impulses and gave them purpose. And now they’ve given me Elodie.
I’m breaking our greatest laws by bringing her here, but St. James is the one who set all this in motion. I’ve never gotten a birthday gift before, and he gave her to me. On the streets, the first lesson you learn is to hold on to what you have. He learned that lesson just like I did. He can’t blame me when I refuse to give her up.
Voices echo in the distance. I’m getting closer to my destination.
Light spills up a set of gray-green steps. I descend into the brilliant blaze, moving slowly until my eyes adjust. We’re on a narrow ledge, a balcony of sorts, overlooking our ritual space. Damien calls our meetings “church,” and it’s both ironic and accurate. This is where we meet, plan, and vow our allegiance to one another. On nights like tonight, it’s where we spill blood.
I sit down on a low ledge that will give us a view of the proceedings, with Elodie in my lap, rigid.
“You must be quiet,” I warn her and lift the blindfold to direct her terrified eyes to the dark sanctuary below us. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
Elodie
I can tell the moment we’re not in Club Empire anymore. The smell gives it away. It’s the smell of dark underground places. Mold and sewer drains. There’s a clammy chill mixed with random blasts of heat and the faraway, screeching and rumbling sounds of a subway.
I huddle against Jaeger’s strong chest, hoping he doesn’t set me down. The farther he walks, the more my fear grows.
Then he carries me down a set of stairs to a warmer space, where the air holds a faint trace of a smokey scent, like incense.
There’s another scent under the smell of smoke and spices. Something fetid with a metallic edge.
The blindfold lifts, and for a moment, my senses are overwhelmed with light. I blink and take in Jaeger’s features. He murmurs a warning to be quiet and something about a ceremony. Panic rushes over my skin, chasing away the chill.
Jaeger brought me to a cavernous space lit by candles. We’re up in the corner, overlooking the rest of the huge rectangular room. It’s like we’re in a booth at a theater, and all the action is happening below us.
I peer over the ledge and bite back a scream. The room is filled with people, and every one of them is wearing a skull mask. Some are in street clothes. Some are wearing black robes. The sinister effect is the same. They fill the room, taking their places in rows and rows of benches. It’s so quiet I can hear a candle guttering in its holder.
No wonder Jaeger told me to be quiet. I don’t think anyone knows that he and I are watching. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I can’t see from this vantage point, but I’d bet my hundred thousand dollars that all the figures are wearing rings.
The walls and floor are all black stone, shining like obsidian and reflecting the amber-gold light. There are fireplaces built right into the walls, and a strip of gas flames runs all the way around the room.
At the front of the room is an open space lined with standing candelabra and a stone circle filled with dark water—a small pool.
And I realize what this place reminds me of. The smell of incense, the rows of benches laid out like pews, the ceremonial space at the front of the room: it’s all a depraved imitation of a church. Alcoves line the walls, just like at St. Xavier’s, but instead of figures of the saints, each alcove holds a skull mask, spotlit with eerie amber light.