“Yeah.”
“Maybe he’s already gone through?”
“Maybe. We’ll find out soon enough.”
We glance around the cavernous hall, see the goons have blocked off the entrance, and then another door opens.
It creaks loud enough to make us both jump, but we step toward it. No one tells us to go or to stay, but there’s not exactly a rave happening in here.
One way in.
One way out.
I squeeze Wynter’s hand then disconnect our fingers as we separate to head through the narrow opening that reveals an antechamber.
A hooded woman stands in the center of a formalized mudroom—benches line the walls, hooks nailed above them. “Show me your coins.”
Slipping my fingers into Maxim’s pocket, I retrieve the one they gave me and the one I earned. “There.”
With a nod, she passes me a red cloak.
Once Wynter’s completed “show and tell,” she’s handed a white cloak.
By the time we’re dressed like choir boys, the other chick’s gone, but another door opens, revealing a floodlit space.
I step over to it, Wynter at my side, and hiss, “We’re back in that goddamn sand pit for overgrown toddlers.”
“They missed their calling for drama club,” she snarks back.
We’re also alone again.
On the sand, at least.
I learned last time that the shadows on the seats mean dick—they’re all full.
A spotlight circles the floor in front of us and trails toward the center. We follow it until it veers into two spots. I take one and Wynter the other, until we’re at the east and west cardinal points.
I swallow when the center of the floor suddenly drops in.
Wynter presses a hand to her throat.
This is starting to feel like Maximus Decimus Meridius’s last fight in the Colosseum.
Praying that the creaking and groaning noises aren’t lions, my shoulders hunch in relief when the floor resettles itself. That patch of sandy nothingness, however, is freshly occupied.
A man slumped on his knees, head bowed, perches pride of place dead center. His chest’s heaving, a sight that’s visible because he’s naked.
100% naked.
In the back of my mind, I can hear Maxim grumbling about me seeing a naked dude that isn’t him.
I’d question my sanity if I didn’t find the memory of his voice comforting.
“A brother has betrayed us, my fellow brethren. He has brought attention to us. To our dealings. He has abused his position. He has abused us. And now, we look to our potentiate and initiate to rectify our past mistakes.”
Finally.
Dyers.
