Page 65 of Wicked Salvation
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.
