12. Damon
We don’t leaveuntil the lights go dark in Misty’s apartment.
I would’ve stayed here all night, but there’s something we need to oversee at The Vaults, and we’re already late. Not that anyone would dare say something to us.
I stretch out my neck and reach into the glove compartment, my fingers brushing against the two cool, weighty masks tucked inside. Each one is shaped like a snarling wolf’s head, its mouth gaping open as if ready to devour.
I hand one to Matthias, twisting the other one in my hand.
The gold wolf is the symbol for the Lords. It denotes power without a word. The Everette family has been the keepers of these masks for the last century, and we don’t plan on that ending.
I pull up to the Everette hotel, the valet taking my keys as we get out. There’s a wedding happening in the ballroom, but that’s not why we’re here. We take the spiraling staircase that leads to the basement. The grooves worn into the marble make each step uneven; mixed with the dim light coming from the sconces, the entire place feels medieval. The Order of Saints came over from London in the 1800s and built The Vaults to resemble their own chambers.
The hotel above has been continuously renovated, but other than updating the electricity, The Vaults have remained unchanged.
A reminder that the Order of Saints is steeped in centuries of tradition.
Bash and Xander are waiting for us at the bottom, their gold wolf masks already in place, as Matthias and I slip ours on.
“Fucking took you long enough,” Bash complains.
I cut him a sharp glance, and he looks at the floor. This is not the place.
They push through the door, and the crowd goes quiet. The men wearing cloaks with hoods covering their heads disperse to line each side of the aisle, heads bowed low as we pass. Their silver fox masks denote them as Saints.
My brothers and I take our spot at the head of the dais.
“You may rise.”
The men stand at once, facing us.
“Tonight, we witness the Unsainted become Saints,” I say, already dreading tonight’s events. It’s hours of pure ceremony that I’d rather spend watching the live feed of my Little Nymph. Even if I can’t see into her room.
It’s comforting just knowing she’s in there…safe.
“Bring forth your initiates, and let’s begin.”
My brothers and I sit on large, delicately carved wood thrones, knowing this will likely take all night.
Men without masks, dressed in white flowing dress shirts that look like they’re from a different time, line up next to their Saints sponsors.
There are three main tiers to the Order of Saints, although those tiers are unofficially divided and sliced several more times.
The Lords.
Matthias, Xander, Bash, and I make up the head members of the Order, a position granted to all Everette direct descendants. We are the leaders, the kings. Our power in a room full of the most influential men in the world is insurmountable. They are at our mercy.
The Saints.
All Order of Saints members who have been initiated are called Saints. They wear silver fox masks to denote their station. They’re able to lean on the power of the Order to influence the world around them. They are the men who rule the world, who sway the tides of war, policies, and politics.
They create the laws so that none can hinder them.
The Unsainted.
These are the uninitiated members of the Order of Saints. Generally, they are the younger siblings of the families, waiting for their turn once they are twenty-one. They have power through proximity but can’t rely on the Order of Saints’ full influence until they’ve gone through their ceremony and become Saints.
“Proceed,” I command, keeping my words clipped and to the point. As a Lord, I stand above and leave no room for argument.
The first two men approach us.
Even with the mask, the head of the Volkov family is easily recognizable. The Unsainted beside him is his eldest son.
The Saint, his face hidden behind a silver mask, grasps a sharp knife from the antique table placed at the front of the room. A dark and ancient scroll bearing hundreds of names written in blood sits alongside a quill and a glimmering silver bowl.
“With this knife, I pledge my unwavering responsibility to you,” the Saint utters in a low, menacing voice. “Your actions will determine my respect.” He reaches out and tightly clasps the hand of the trembling young Unsainted.
Only those escorted by their sponsor are allowed into the Vaults, but never for ceremonies like this.
With a quick jerk, the Saint pries open the Unsainted’s fist, drawing a sharp gasp as the tip of the knife makes an incision into his skin and a thin trail of blood drips into the bowl below. He then cuts his own hand and allows their blood to mix together in the vessel.
All is silent as the Saint dips the quill into their mingled blood and scrawls the name of the Unsainted onto the scroll.
I rise from my seat and approach the two men, holding out a silver fox mask between them. “Welcome to The Order of Saints,” I intone coldly. As I place the mask over the man’s head, he bows deeply in submission. I call out to everyone gathered in The Vaults. “May the power of Saints forever reign.”
The resounding reply echoes through the dark halls, sending shivers down my spine.
I return to my seat as the next two men approach and suppress a groan at the fact that we still have at least another two hours of this.