Chapter XIV #2
The tension is palpable. Ever since the arrest of the archbishop, the leaks, the vandalism, everyone has been on edge.
That’s the thing about the wealthy—they think they’re untouchable until something actually happens.
They came here with the expectation that they’d be sequestered away from the reality of life.
Lucian is shattering that facade.
Unlike The Order of The Holy Sacrament, the school officials can’t just turn a blind eye.
This kind of thing spreads like wildfire in high society social circles.
Parents have already started pulling their children from the school.
If this continues, by next semester there’ll hardly be any students left enrolled.
Finally, night envelopes the campus.
I’ve been stalking the grounds relentlessly, hoping that the burn from walking so much would calm the chaos in my mind.
It doesn’t. I pass students frozen in fear, nuns hastily retreating to their rooms. Lucian is nowhere to be found, but his presence is everywhere like a ghost’s.
The voices have only gotten worse, the need to seal Eden to me burns every inch of my nerves.
I can help you.
The Spirit’s voice slices through the cacophony of thoughts in my head. My heart finally stops feeling like it’s going to beat out of my chest. I find the nearest quiet enclave to commune—locking myself inside an empty broom closet.
Bring me real blood and I shall grant you what you desperately seek.
You failed in your last attempt to bind her.
This will ensure your success.
The surety that comes from The Spirit’s promise rattles my spine, sending a shiver of electricity shooting through the base of my neck.
“What do you seek?”
Sacrifice her to me.
My whole body turns hot.
“Eden?”
Yes. I shall bind her to you irrevocably.
My heart starts to thrum in my chest…
“Are you suggesting—”
Yes, the Sacred Binding Rite.
Hesitation wraps around my throat like a cloak on a dark night, clawing at my windpipe, stifling my breaths.
The Sacred Binding Rite was banned from use in The Order of The Holy Sacrament.
The last time it was done—albeit accidentally—the entire school was destroyed.
The details are sketchy, word of mouth passed down from the 1900s.
But one uncomfortable detail remains true…
“The one who is bound loses their soul to the one who binds them.”
The dust in the broom closet swirls suddenly, knocking me back a few steps. A hacking cough rips through me. As leader of The Order, The Spirit is most connected to me. The campus is its domain, and despite my position, I’m aware that at the end of the day, I’m still an adherent.
Isn’t that what you want? For her to be yours forever?
An affirmative answer is at the tip of my tongue.
But a vision of Eden flashes before my eyes—there’s no warmth in her smile, her eyes glazed over even though they’re glued to me, everything from her lips an echo of my own thoughts. My stomach lurches uncomfortably.
“I want her pliant, but I want her to do it willingly.”
A hollow laugh fills my head.
Every so often I remember why you were my second choice.
Fire rips through my veins.
“I’ll give you real blood. Just not hers.” I say through gritted teeth, running a hand through my hair here, while I clench the other so tight my fingernails draw blood from my palm.
The dust swirls, only less violent.
Very well. Tonight.
Then the presence disappears.
I suck in a breath so deep it rattles my entire body. I slide down the wall, resting the back of my head against the wooden wall behind me. The Sacred Binding Rite is my last resort. As stubborn as she is, I want Eden as she is—with all her thoughts, dreams and annoying desire for independence.
I want to break her soul myself.
While I’m sitting on the ground trying to stabilize myself, I get my phone out and head to the Order’s group chat. I scroll past a message from Anastazya letting me know that Eden is in her room sulking.
I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
We meet tonight.
Cedric:
The Communion is in a few days.
I know. We still offer tonight.
There’s a long moment of quiet in the group chat.
I knew that there would be some sort of push back, but ultimately they will bend the knee, because I am their leader. And this specific ritual? It will prove my worthiness as leader of The Order of the Holy Sacrament.
The Spirit’s slight jab at me was intentional.
It was once a human after all, with a soul too powerful to be contained by Hell, so now it lives as a Spirit in the liminal space of the Augustine Diocesan Academy campus.
A restless, thirsty Spirit who seeks blood in exchange for the kind of power that can only come from beyond the veil.
The kind of power that latches on to you after you leave this place.
Every member of The Order of The Holy Sacrament rises to prominence.
As long as they do what the Spirit asks.
Alistair:
Who shall it be?
Max:
The girls are extra wary on campus.
That doesn’t matter. We need a girl from the nearby town. A nobody.
Another few minutes before one of them has the guts to respond. And of course, it’s Cedric. The only one who even comes close to having a backbone.
Cedric:
Why is that so important?
Instead of replying, I send a disappearing photo of my bleeding palm with the caption: The Spirit wants real blood, and tonight we shall indulge it.
Max:
What are you suggesting Silas?
My response is immediate, my fingers flying across the keyboard almost as if the thought isn’t my own.
Executio Altaris. We shall feed The Spirit and then feast. Set your intentions.
Alistair:
That ritual hasn’t been done for over a hundred years.
Max:
There’s a reason why it’s only spoken about in Latin.
There’s a reason why I am the leader. Do you seek to rescind your membership Maximillian?
Max:
No.
Alistair:
I have my own concerns.
Save them for after. If you think it wise to attend such a powerful ceremony without any intention, or thought of what you seek to gain—that’s entirely your prerogative.
Alistair:
Who will find her?
Cedric:
I will.
And just like that, the conversation takes a different turn. I remind them that we shall meet where we usually do. Cedric mentions his intentions to leave immediately to find our girl in the town. Max volunteers to accompany him.
Everything is going well until my phone starts to ring.
Alistair.
“Yes?”
There’s shuffling on his end—perhaps he’s clearing space on his desk, moving parchment paper and oil paints. “Why?”
“You’re questioning my judgement?” I snap back.
He sighs. “Is this about Eden?” And just like that, my tongue ignites. “You’re engaged to her, your wedding is planned, what more—”
“What more could I want from life?” I snap.
He’s silent.
“You’re the weakest link among us,” I say.
“The one with his head always in the air. Your life has been planned for you, and in the places where it isn’t you have no concern about what might happen.
That’s the beauty of being a Montague, I suppose.
Your family’s reputation is propped up by its contribution to the arts.
” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Did you call me to tell me that you don’t want more?
That you don’t think this ritual will benefit you, as well? ”
More silence.
“I know you’re in love with a commoner. I saw the portraits you drew of her in your sketchbook when we returned from summer break.” I hear him gasp. “Ask The Spirit to bring her into your life without losing everything.”
I end the call there.
He doesn’t call back—he knows better than that.
Because he knows how far I will go.
They all know how far I will go.
Obey or die.