Chapter 13

My earpiece crackled, and Aaron's voice whispered through the speaker. "It's go-time, Tori. He's heading for the garage."

I sucked in a terse breath. "Copy that."

The evening's event was about to begin.

Though I couldn't see the door through my crack in the ceiling plywood, the quiet clatter of the bolt was unmistakable. A man strode into view: late thirties with a powerful, confident bearing strangely at odds with his flat-featured face.

He marched to the lectern. With the click of a small cigarette lighter, a tongue of fire appeared. He used it to light the three candles in the candelabra—and their flames bloomed in an unnatural shade of scarlet. The glow bathed his plain face as he tucked the lighter in his pocket and turned. He disappeared from view, and the garage door banged again.

As I squinted at the creepy scarlet candle flames, Justin moved. He carefully slid his glowing phone screen in front of him. Aligning the camera lens with his spying crack, he started a recording.

Noticing my questioning look, he whispered, "Evidence. You never know when you might need it."

I almost pointed out that magic didn't photograph well—but people photographed just fine, including mythics.

"Two new arrivals incoming," Aaron whispered.

The door handle rattled, and a young couple entered. Aside from the long, skinny black candles they carried, they appeared completely normal in their jeans and jackets. They lit their candles from the eerie candelabra flames, then crossed the silver ring on the floor and knelt just outside it, facing its center. Their candles also burned crimson, making the scarlet walls dance like running blood.

"We've got more." Even at a whisper, tension threaded Aaron's voice. "Shit …how many are there?"

I didn't reply, scarcely daring to breathe. One little shift of my limbs could cause the plywood to creak or dust to sift down, alerting the couple below. My heart raced with adrenaline as I pressed my face to the crack.

With clatters of the door, an even mix of men and women filed in. They came in ones or twos, all twenty-something to thirty-something years old. Each carried a candle that they lit from the candelabra before taking a spot around the silver ring. Their placement didn't seem coincidental.

A final couple arrived, lit their candles, and sat, bringing the total to twelve. There was no room left in the circle, the only gap belonging to the wooden lectern.

The door thumped shut and the bolt clacked.

The tall, confident man strode to the lectern. Over his black sweater and slacks, he'd donned a floor-length scarlet cloak with a deep hood. Wow, I'd been right about the creepy cloak thing. The lava-lamp glow from the candelabra rippled over his shadowed face.

"Welcome," he intoned in a deep, somber voice. "Today, our newest Auditrix joins us for the first time, completing our circle. Welcome."

"Welcome," the group chanted back. I couldn't tell who was the first-timer.

Aaron had gone quiet. My mic was sensitive enough to pick up that someone was speaking—the man wasn't talking quietly—and Aaron wouldn't distract me unless he had to.

"In honor of the newest soul to find the Goddess's light, let us ruminate on how we came to be here." His gaze found each attendee in turn. "We are more than a mere circle. We are a family, united by the Goddess's love. We've gathered to share our love with Her and each other. Through our faith in Her and in one another, we are that much stronger.

"Here, we have acceptance and unconditional welcome. Here, the Goddess's light embraces us all."

The members smiled at their fellow worshippers.

"Outside our circle," the leader continued, "the Goddess has been forgotten. But how could the world forget the mother of magic who created mythics? Does the Goddess's power frighten them? Or is it fear of Her servants, who more so than the Goddess have been twisted into something else—something terrible and reviled? We know the truth, but the rest of the mythic world …all they know is this."

Crimson light flared from the leader's chest. It streaked down to the silver circle's middle, hit the floor, and pooled upward like bloodstained water filling an invisible mold.

A demon solidified in the room.

It was a type I hadn't seen before—seven feet tall, muscular like all demons, with four-inch horns, spines on its shoulders, and a pattern of black scales dotting its limbs. Not the ugliest demon I'd ever seen, but an unpleasant sight compared to Robin's lithe, humanoid demon.

At its appearance, one young woman gasped, while the others gazed at the otherworldly creature with starry, worshipful eyes. Well, I knew who the newbie was now.

Beside me, Justin's face, illuminated by the faint glow of his recording phone, had gone white.

"A crime," the leader sighed, gesturing at the demon. "A crime to call this magnificent immortal a demon. An evil, corrupting creature of myth? No. We know he is a Servus, a loyal servant of the Goddess. He exists to serve Her—and to serve those of us who walk in Her Light."

Several of the avid listeners had clasped their hands together as they gazed adoringly at the demon.

"Once, the Servi would pledge service to the Goddess's followers. And yes, the Servi would turn their brutal power on those who threatened Her children. That is their purpose, their calling—to protect."

He tugged on the chain around his neck, drawing his infernus out of his simple black sweater, his cloak swishing with the movement. "Now, generations of baseless fear and the MPD's restrictions have twisted the Servi's willing service into humiliating slavery—but that is not how it should be!"

The chain jangled as he raised the infernus higher, passion infusing his voice. "This Servus gave his strength willingly to me. He is not my slave but my precious ally, gifted to me by the Goddess. And when I leave this world, he will carry my soul directly into Her arms."

The demon lowered himself to one knee in a bow, his blank eyes staring straight ahead. The creature looked fully contracted to me, but whether the leader was lying or not, I saw no doubt in the enamored faces of his followers.

"We are the Goddess's beloved children," he continued. "In this life, we are protected by the Servi, Her guardians. And in the next, She will welcome our pure, devoted souls. We have pledged our eternal loyalty, and we will be forever protected. Let us thank the Goddess for Her gifts."

As the cultists bowed their heads, I tilted my face away from my viewport, needing a minute to swallow my stomach back down. Would Ezra's parents have stood a chance against this kind of rhetoric?

The sect's leader completed the prayer, and the group began a ritual that involved a lot of chanting in Latin. After that, he led them through a "Knowing of Her Light," in which all the members stared into their scarlet candle flames as though hypnotized. Some of them whispered or trembled, deeply moved by whatever they felt.

"The Goddess can feel your spirits and She is pleased," the leader murmured. "Now, through the gracious gift of the Servi, we will bind our souls to Her Light forever."

He pulled a silver chalice from beneath the lectern and swept into the center of the circle, his scarlet cloak billowing. The demon rose to its full, terrifying height and held out its arm. With its other hand, it dragged a claw across its wrist.

Thick, dark blood dribbled from the slice, and the leader caught the fluid in his chalice.

No. Oh please, no. Let this not be what I thought it was.

He let blood flow into the chalice, filling it nearly to the brim before pulling the cup away. The demon lowered its arm, blood dripping on the floor with loud, wet splats.

The leader turned to the woman kneeling to the left of the lectern. He extended the cup.

"Drink," he whispered, "and let the Goddess share Her power with you, Her child."

Without the slightest hesitation, the woman lifted the chalice and took a hearty gulp of the demon's blood.

I gagged. My heaving stomach tried to erupt and I clamped my hand over my mouth. Beside me, Justin's breath wheezed through his clenched teeth.

The woman passed the chalice to the next cultist. As he drank, the leader moved to the center of the circle, his deep voice rolling through the room.

"The MPD fears the Goddess's power. The Servi are too powerful when not bound into slavery, but more than that, they fear this: the gift of Her power, given to you. Let Her Light enter you. Feel your strength, your magic, grow."

The chalice was halfway around the circle now. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to block it all out. Had Ezra done this too? Drunk a demon's blood while a madman told him he was being gifted with divine power?

"The Goddess is the mother of magic. Her power is ultimate. Through Her, we can reclaim our true birthright."

This needed to be over. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

"Auditores, thank you. We will convene again next Tuesday at eight o'clock. Remember—vigilance, for the MPD is always watching. Until then, keep the Goddess in your hearts."

Opening my eyes, I peered through the gap. The demon had vanished, and all the attendees had blown out their candles, leaving only the candelabra to light the room. The cultists were on their feet, milling silently, then they filed toward the door.

Relief flooded me. The tension in my limbs released—and the faintest creak sounded from the plywood as my weight shifted.

Directly below me, a cultist looked up. My breath locked, my body rigid as a board.

"Did you hear that?" the cultist asked the woman beside him.

She looked up too. "Hear what?"

The urge to recoil was almost too strong, but any movement would trigger more creaking. They couldn't see me, I told myself. The gap was way too narrow.

With bold, confident steps, the leader strode around his lectern. "Auditor, what troubles you?"

"My apologies, Praetor," the man said. "I heard a noise in the ceiling."

I sucked in air through my nose. Silence stretched as the people below listened intently.

"It was probably a mouse," the leader decided, sounding almost comically mundane after his cult oration. "My cat died last fall, and the mice moved in over the summer. I'll have to set up more traps."

"Oh, yeah, I had a mouse problem when I lived in Salem," the sharp-eared cultist replied, looking away from the ceiling. He resumed his journey toward the door. "They wouldn't touch cheese, but when we loaded the traps with peanut butter, they …"

As his voice receded, the other cultist and the leader followed. A moment later, the door banged shut. The room was empty, all cultists gone, and I sagged limply against the plywood, gulping down air.

That had been way too close.