Page 7 of Like Grim Death: Part One
Still, I think I see something in the afterglow… In the center of the circle.
Something.
Someone.
“Lucifer.” My name spoken from an unfamiliar voice, heavily accented.Russian.
I say nothing. My mouth is dry, but I know what’s happening. It’s similar to another ceremony.
Death.It’s typicallymortem,the Latin word, laced in the chanting, when someone dies for their—or our—sins.
But not tonight.
My stomach swoops.
No, tonight…
“By your hand, he is ours.”The same voice. Speaking to me.
I clench my hands into fists.
Home. I want to go home. No more flinching, I have too much to live for to ever long for death again.
By your hand, he is ours.
I know what this means. Those words.
I’ve been at ceremonies just like this, when the 6 inducted new members to various subcults, then they were sent to different corners of the world. I was very young, but I remember the words spoken. For those who didn’t serve from Alexandria. Who flew back to Moscow, Dubai, Dublin, London. Other places where the 6 could subtly corrupt the government and get away with it, over and over and over again. Pull the strings of politicians.
Puppet masters.It’s what we are.
I know what this ceremony means, but I’ve never had to do it before. Never taken more than a passive role. None of my brothers have. It’s always been something we’ve simply listened to and observed, and always in Latin.
I don’t like what I think this means.
A. New. Fucking. Member.
My body feels hot.
In the quiet, thinking of twisted family, my mind conjures up my stepmother again. What my wife and Maverick did to her.
A smile curves my lips.
I’m leaving here alive, whatever it takes. I don’t know who is in the center of this circle, and I don’t really want to know why. But I’ll do what needs to be done because I have a reason to live. I’ll repeat what I’ve witnessed when I was simply able to stand on the sidelines.
I step forward, and I hear a rumble of approval.
The snick of a match, then a sconce is lit. A shadowy figure moves around the inner circle, lighting another fixture. Two poles on either side of the body at my feet, the slate gray of the cement floor glows beneath the light.
The person who lit the sconces recedes back into the circle of eleven around me. Around the victim, the initiate—I assume—lying before me.
A cold sweat breaks out over my neck as I think of Lilith. What would happen to Rain if I did not obey tonight.
I don’t want to grow this brotherhood. We can’t fit any more loyalty in our veins. But perhaps this one will be sent away like the others. Maybe the Russian means nothing at all. Maybe it’s not just meant formyears, like an implicit directive.
My eyes drop to the plastic body bag, and I bring my fingers up to the edges of my hood, flipping it back off my face. I’m grateful for the fingerless skeleton gloves I wore tonight. I won’t get blood all over my fucking hands.
My smile inches higher, thinking of the bloodshed.
