Page 37 of Sinful

“I know,” I said, jaw clenching. A blinding red rage was suddenly pulsing in every cell in my body. Who the fuck did she think she was?

She looked over at me, eyes widening. “Oh. No. I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” she said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t be saying all of this. She was your actual mother, and here I am raving on—”

I lifted a hand and forced a half-smile. “It’s all right. I’m glad you have such fond memories of her.”

Her pretty face fell with relief, though her voice was still tinged with anxiety. “I wish you could have had more memories with her,” she murmured, turning back to face the shadowy path.

The people in front of us stepped away, revealing the massive clearing ahead.

Jesus fucking Christ.

This place was like the Blair Witch movie series on steroids. Huge stick talismans forming humanoid figures hung from the trees that surrounded the space, and carefully stacked piles of rocks sat in various locations across the grass.

A roaring bonfire lay in the middle, with an enormous altar in front. My stomach tightened at the sight. It was just like the altar my mother’s body was found on; stone adorned with deer antlers and animal bones.

“Let’s find a spot close to the fire,” Rose said, gesturing to the center. “That way you can see everything.”

We slowly made our way through the crowd of Alderwood locals. The whole clearing was alive with activity—rhythmic chanting, people dancing around the fire, others drinking and singing—and the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and energy.

A man in an elaborate crimson robe stepped forward, handing each of us a chalice filled with sweet-smelling liquid. I watched as he retrieved a small glass bottle filled with blood and carefully added a drop to each chalice. “For vitality,” he explained.

Rose looked at me, eyes glimmering in the firelight. “You don’t have to drink it,” she said softly. But I knew it was a test, a way to prove myself to her and the rest of the Covenant.

Without hesitation, I raised the chalice to my lips and drank deeply. The liquid was sweet and warm, tinged with a metallic hint from the blood. I swallowed, feeling the eyes of the gathered crowd on me.

Rose gave me an approving look, her smile one of genuine satisfaction. The others observing us turned away, looking equally satisfied, and the robed man swept over to another group to offer them a drop of blood for their drinks.

The music and chanting swelled around us, and for a moment, I felt as if I were trapped in a fever dream. The firelight danced in Rose’s doe eyes as she took my hand again, leading me toward a series of log seats near the bonfire.

Augustus stood by the altar, along with several other men in hooded robes. When he spotted us, he smiled and dipped his chin in a brief nod.

“When does the ritual start?” I asked, looking at Rose.

“Soon.” She looked up at the sky. “He should arrive in a few minutes.”

Just as she predicted, a teenage boy in a white linen shirt and black trousers stepped up to the altar three minutes later. The music stopped, and the people in the clearing fell silent.

Augustus and the other elders greeted the boy. Then they lifted their hands, palms turned upward to the dark sky. A ritual chant went up, filling the space with a low hum until Augustus’s voice sliced through the night once more.

“Welcome, everyone,” he boomed. “Tonight, we observe Thomas Dubois’s proving ritual to determine his fitness in becoming a healer. If he is successful, he will be sent to prove himself further in the outside world.”

“And if he’s not successful?” I muttered, leaning toward Rose.

She raised her brows. “You’ll see,” she whispered.

The crowd around us slowly parted, revealing a man in brown clothing. In his arms, he held a hissing snake, its black scales glinting in the firelight. He stepped forward, the snake coiling and uncoiling with each movement, and began to chant in a low, rhythmic voice. The crowd fell silent once more, and an eerie stillness settled over the clearing.

Thomas Dubois’s face had gone pale, but he stood with his shoulders straight and chin lifted high. The snake-handlerslowly stepped closer, holding the snake right out to the boy’s chest.

“What the fuck?” I looked at Rose again. “Is it venomous?”

“Extremely,” she replied calmly. “If it strikes him, he will perish. But if he is worthy, the snake will leave him alone.”

“How does that prove his worthiness?” I asked. “Isn’t it just luck if the snake strikes him or not?”

A beatific smile lit her face. “What is luck if not divine providence from the Entity?”

I turned my attention back to the strange ceremony. The snake’s forked tongue darted out, tasting the air by Thomas’s face. Then it lowered its head and coiled around the handler’s arm, seemingly uninterested in biting the boy.

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