Page 50 of Her Wicked Knights
"Sacred geometry reveres the triangle. Three points, each of equal distance, the smallest number of sides capable of closing out a shape... preventing outside influence."
I glance at Colton, who looks like he'd rather put his head through the wall than listen to another word of this nonsense.
"The only thing more sacred than the triangle is the trinity of triangles. Nine points, nine sides." He gestures to us, like we're points and sides and not fucking people who would rather be anywhere but here.
I'm not sure why we are, honestly. Mark, Nick, and Carson are all headed into their junior year of college, so you'd think they'd be above playing pretend with Mark's cousin. And yet, somehow, they seem to be here for it.
Audrey sits with a girl I haven't seen before, a red-head who keeps glancing around nervously. I don't blame her.
"Nine of you, who have agreed to the eternal bond of blood."
I'm not sure what bond he's talking about, but maybe Tripp does because he breaks the moment. "Ten, actually. Including you."
Whit's eyes run him over thoughtfully, and for a minute I think he may lose his shit. But he only nods.
"So, it is."
He flicks his wrist toward the back of the church, and I must turn too fast, because it looks almost like something flies out of his hand as he turns it. A moment later, I forget all about it as the door slam shut behind us, the heavy sound of them closing us in feeling suddenly more like a tomb sealing than anything else. The flames in the candles jump, towering impossibly high into pillars of fire, before they die down to their regular flickering.
"What the fuck?" Tripp whispers, leaning forward to try and see if he missed something.
The girl next to Audrey stands, clearly at her limit, and I watch as she walks fast toward the exit and pushes on the doors.
They don't budge.
"What is this?" Colton asks, watching the girl as she attempts to throw her body weight against them, clearly suspecting that something is wrong here. Multiple somethings, I'm guessing. Those doors are heavy, but they don't shut on their own, and they don't lock. Either someone is standing on the other side, holding them closed, or...
I don't really know what the alternative is.
Magic?
It seems too ridiculous to even think about. And yet, I swear I saw something come out of Whit's hand.
"Alignment. The last sacrifice on summer solstice helped bring back some of our power. But the full strength of it is chained,bound beneath rot and decay. More blood is required to break it free."
His admission to a sacrifice is as good as a confession, but it's not like any of us happen to be recording him right now. We're all a little too fixed on the fact that he's stalking down the aisle toward the doors that won't open- toward the girl who's frantically beating against them.
I stand, but my motions feel weird as I move, trying to insert myself between him and her.
"Whit." I say calmly. "Stop scaring the girl."
"She should be scared." Whit says, his eyes trained over my shoulder. He grabs me by the arms and attempts to move me out of his way, but I'm stronger. I plant my feet, shake my head. "Whoever's on the other side of the door, tell them to let her out. We're here because we want to be, but clearly she doesn't."
"You want to be here?" He laughs. "Prove it."
I don't have a chance to tell him to fuck off or to ask him how, because he holds his hand out to the side, and I think he's about to slap me, so I prepare to knock him out with a single punch. But instead of striking me, something silver flies into his hand seconds before his fingers wrap around it. I've just realized it's a blade when he holds it out for me to take. "Go on. Show me you want to be here."
"Please!" The girl screams, beating on the doors for another minute before turning back to take us in. Her wild eyes dart around the room, looking for an escape she won't find. When she seems to sense as much, she sinks to the floor, her back against the door. "Please, let me leave."
"Kill her." Whit commands, like he's just telling me to shake her hand or something.
"What?" I snort. "No. No, I'm not a killer."
"You have to be." He says. "Because it's kill or be killed."
"Knock it off." Colton growls, finally standing to try and reason with the megalomaniac standing before me, holding a fucking knife.
"Come on, Whit..." Mark tries. "Knock it off."
