Chapter 11
The Brid e
T he ferry hums beneath my boots, steady and slow as it cuts across the water. Wind snatches at loose strands of hair and tugs at the hem of my coat, but I barely feel it. Not when I’m surrounded by laughter and perfume and the kind of nervous energy that bubbles over in the absence of logic.
Shelby’s pressed against my side, practically vibrating with excitement. When I glance at her, she isn’t watching the island lights—she’s watching me, as if contemplating what to say, before pasting on a grin.
“Can you believe this?” she whispers for the fifth time.
One of the other women hears her and leans in, eyes glittering. “I know, right? I heard they make us walk down an aisle blindfolded.”
“I heard they make you bleed to seal the vow,” another chimes in, voice giddy.
Shelby snorts and rolls her eyes as though this is tedious to her.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, catching her eyeing me nervously. I can’t really put my finger on what it is that’s making it seem insincere to me, but her relaxed attitude almost feels forced.
“Hmm? Yep, I’m good.” Her smile twitches. “It’s a big night, you know?”
Sighing, I move so I’m in front of he r. “Come on, Shel. I know something’s up. Talk to me.”
We might not have been friends forever, or survived childhood and adolescence together. But we’ve been in each other’s lives for a few years. We used to occasionally cross paths professionally, and we were always on good terms.
Then in February she contacted me out of the blue, wanting to go for drinks, and we did. That quickly became a weekly tradition, one we both treasured.
Shel’s my first real friend, and I want to be there for her as much as she’s been for me. She might not have realized it, but until her, I felt awkward as hell in any social situation that didn’t involve work. But now, thanks to her, I feel better in my own skin, so to speak.
“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, looking away. “Hey, Eve, you know I’m your friend for real, right?”
I tilt my head. “Where’s this coming from, Shel?”
“Nowhere,” she says too fast. “Just… I’m just reminding you. You know, in case tonight gets weird.”
Frowning, I laugh nervously. “Of course I know,” I reassure her.
She nods. “Good. Keep that in mind.”
The island comes into view—Governors Island, but it doesn’t look the way it did last summer when Caleb dragged me here for that Fourth of July disaster. Now it’s transformed.
Cloaked in fog, lit only by the warm flicker of jack-o’-lanterns nestled between twisted trees and iron fence posts. They glow like embers from a dying fire, their carved faces leering through the mist.
When we dock, a woman waits at the pier. She’s tall, mid-forties maybe, with severe cheekbones and sleek black trousers that fit like a second skin. A tablet dangles from one manicured hand. Her hair’s twisted into a glossy bun. Not a single strand out of place.
“Good evening, Brides,” she says, with all the warmth of a judge reading out a sentence. “I’m Lorna. Follow me.”
As we fall in behind her, a man wearing a skull bandana around the lower half of his face turns toward us. His piercing blue eyes punch the air from my lungs. Is that… no, it can’t be. Just as I manage to convince myself it isn’t him, I see the arm wrapped in a cast.
“Caleb?” I call out. Instead of looking up again, he turns and disappears into the heavy fog.
The sound of our shoes clicking on the stone path feels louder than it should. Fog pools around our ankles, and above us, the sky seems to darken with each step we take.
Though the walk isn’t long, it’s disorienting. Trees loom too tall. There’s a chanting in the distance that I can’t quite make out, like a choir warming up in Hell. And everywhere, the scent of wax, wood-smoke, and damp leaves. The kind of smell that makes you think of rituals and rot.
We arrive at what looks like a black velvet circus tent stitched straight into the earth. Its entrance is flanked by wrought iron candelabras, each flame flickering blue.
Inside, the air is warm and perfumed, lit by twinkle lights strung across the peaked ceiling. Dressing screens line the perimeter, and assistants move like shadows between them, handing out matching sets of black lingerie.
Lorna steps forward again, her tone clipped. “Your Grooms are waiting.” A ripple of squeals and whispered speculation moves through the Brides. Assistants begin handing out sets of black lingerie. “They’ll be watching as you’re led to them. Tonight is the first time you’ll see them.”
I can’t help but smile since I’ve seen my Groom already. Not without the mask, but still. I’ve seen and felt him. It feels like an illicit secret, so I keep it to myself.
“Shel,” I whisper, turning to… no one. Where the hell did she go? I swear she was right here beside me.
While Lorna continues to explain about the Groom introduction, I look around for my friend, but I don’t see her anywhere. She’s gone.
“I wonder what my Groom is like,” one girl sighs breathlessly.
Another adds, “They say some Grooms bring gifts… others just bring orders. I hope mine is dominant.”
Lorna’s voice slices through the room again. “Get changed, Brides. Hurry up.”
The other women are already in moti on, stepping behind screens, some giggling, some flushed with nerves. I force myself to move. One step. Two.
“Wait.” I stop mid-motion as Lorna’s suddenly at my side. “You don’t need to change.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling as though I understand less and less.
“Just wait here,” she clips, already moving away.
By the time everyone’s done, we’re told to line up. The others rush into formation, but while they fight to be in front of the queue, I hang back. Lorna paces down the line, tablet in hand. Her gaze lingers on each of us in turn.
“We’ll proceed in order,” she says. “There are two carts waiting outside. They’ll take you to your Groom. Now, please be patient. It might take a while, but everyone will get to where they need to be.”
The first two women move forward. The curtain swallows them, and we’re left listening to the click of heels as they disappear somewhere outside of what we can see.
It feels like an eternity passes before Lorna snaps her fingers. “Next.”
Two more go.
Then six are gone, and before I know it, it’s just me left.
Lorna calls for me. “Eve Mortis.” My name shouldn’t feel like a threat, but it does. “You may leave.”
Wasting no time, I walk through the opening I saw the other potential Brides disappear through. The curtain parts around me like a mouth opening wide, and as soon as I’m through, night air hits my exposed skin.
Beyond the fabric, there’s a tall guy waiting for me. He’s dressed all in black, with a featureless mask. Instead of speaking, he nods once and steps aside, gesturing for me to follow. We walk a short stretch, stopping when we reach a vehicle parked behind the tent.
It looks like a golf cart—sleek, extended, polished black—outfitted with leather seats and low-burning lanterns along the roofline. The guard opens the door and gestures for me to climb in. I hesitate, but only for a second. Then, I duck my head and slide onto the seat .
The guard takes the seat next to me and starts the engine without a word. The cart hums to life beneath us, gliding forward on silent wheels.
I glance back, watching the tent recede into darkness. It glows faintly at the seams, like something still pulsing with heat after being used. Then it’s gone—swallowed by fog and distance.
I don’t know how long the ride takes. A few minutes, maybe. Long enough to make me feel like I’ve crossed into something else entirely. Like I’ve stepped into something I can never come back from.
Yet, every time I have that thought, excitement spreads through my veins, my heart beats harder, and my core becomes slick with need. My body doesn’t want to go back, it wants to chase this… whatever it is I’m now a part of.
The guard doesn’t slow down until we’re approaching another tent. This one is orange, and the entrance flap is adorned with a glowing print of a gas mask. As soon as I step through the flap, I’m pulled into a tight hug.
“There you are!” Shel exclaims, somehow managing to sound both relieved and like I’ve done something wrong. “I got worried when you weren’t waiting for me here.”
“I… umm…” For some reason, I can’t make the words come out to explain what happened. They’re stuck in my throat. “Where the hell did you disappear to?” I ask, deflecting.
Letting go of me, Shel pulls me over to a section of the tent complete with a vanity table and mirror. She gestures for me to take a seat. When I don’t immediately do as she wants, she rolls her eyes and exhales audibly while pushing me into the waiting chair.
“We don’t have much time,” she mutters. Picking up a brush, she starts working on my hair. A series of tugs follows, each one more pronounced than the last. “I had to get ready first so I could come back and help you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before leaving?” I demand. “Talk to me, Shelby.”
Her fingers still, and she speaks in a calm tone that’s so at odds with what’s happening. “You know I can’t tell you everything, Eve.” I nod as she sets the brush down. “You’re just going to hav e to trust me. Remember what I said, I’m your friend. That part’s real.”
“So what isn’t?” I ask, picking up on what she isn’t saying. Squinting, I feel as though I’m seeing her for the first time.
Instead of the outfit she wore when I last saw her, she’s wearing a long, tight dress. The black fabric shimmers under the twinkle lights. Her makeup is bold and dramatic. She looks like she’s been exhumed and glamorized—some undead pageant queen pressed into service.
Her hair is meticulously twisted into a sleek, polished bun, not a single strand out of place. But what really gets me is her expression. It’s eerily calm and detached, resembling the blank, indifferent face of a department store mannequin.