Page 32 of Tricked By Jack
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 motion, 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.
