Page 24 of Unholy

Then curiously, he asks, “Who gave you that?” His head nods toward it.

“Thomas.”

Then I remind him, as I take a step forward to grab my juice, “We aren’t in a session. Rylee is what you will call me.”

Nathaniel blows out a deep sigh and shakes his head. “My apologies. But I’ll need you to leave that here.”

I’m agitated now. “No. He said it was fresh green juice,” I respond in defiance. I will never have a man tell me what I’m allowed to eat or drink.

Unscrewing the tin lid, he brings the glass jar to his nose and smells it, then places it back down. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Nathaniel then informs me, “It’s poison.”

Why would Thomas try to poison me?

My face apparently says it all.

“It seems like my son doesn’t care for your presence here. But don’t mind him; it’s harmless. He knew I would stop you from having it.”

Perplexed, I question, “Thomas is yours too?”

“No. Thomas is who Elijah had deliver you this cocktail. Thomas likely had no idea what was inside. See, harmless,” Nathaniel reassures me casually, but I don’t feel reassured at all.

I don’t respond to any of it.

Elijah is a member of The Exiled.

Is he trying to do to me what they did to my mom?

I turn and start walking away from my host, my heart racing alongside my mind.

Before I am able to fully escape his presence, he shouts behind me, “Greta needs to speak to you. It’s important.”

I stop, caught off guard by his statement.

He and my grandmother are closer than I care for. This is the second time he’s mentioned her, and I don’t like it.

Walking down the staircase,the house is quiet. Nathaniel’s bedroom door is closed. I had a message from Greta waiting on my phone after my shower. He was right; she wants to talk and will be over later this evening.

I feel unsettled.

Clothes were waiting for me in the dresser, leggings and an oversized tee. My hair hangs long over my shoulders, still damp.

Rogers pokes his head out from the hall. “I’ve sent someone for your belongings; they should be here shortly.” He then disappears.

Nathaniel is going to pay for this later.

Roaming around, I find myself in the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee is calling my name with a mug sitting next to it. I pour myself a cup and drink it immediately. I love it hot, like burning tongue hot.

With my coffee in hand, I walk back upstairs, as another closed-door room had piqued my interest from earlier.

Standing before it, my hand reaches toward the cool metal doorknob. Turning it, I can tell it’s not locked now as the knob allows me to rotate it fully around.

Pushing the door open, the room is dark with a sliver of light peeking through the curtains. It’s also dusty and aged. Flicking the light on, a couple pictures are hung that look like a child has drawn them. Stepping onto the carpeted floor, I take another sip of my coffee as I examine the drawings. A little boy with a bat—this must be Elijah’s childhood room. The space is sparse, shelves without clutter. The bed is made, and the dresser is bare.

“Get. Out.”

The words startle me.

Slowly, I turn. A man with a skeleton face stares back at me. His wooden baseball bat is pointed at me, dented and bloodstained.

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