He leans into my ear. “Make me,” he whispers.
Before I can retort, the door swings open, and Lanz jumps back just in time.
It’s Kingston.
“Come in.”
He sweeps us into the basement, and the cold feeling in my stomach spreads to my chest.
I don’t like it in here. Not much. The first time the three of them brought me in, I thought it was some kind of hazing ritual. I had no idea that the Caliburn fencing team was…more than just fencing. I remember Kai had asked me at the end of practicethat day if I was baptized. Weird question, I thought. Figured he was joking or something.
Then they brought me to the black table, and I found out it wasn’t a joke.
I try not to stare as Lanz and I walk to our seats. Brothers in habits—that’s nothing new. Saw that daily all through high school. But these aren’t the friendly monks of Catholic Memorial here to teach me Chemistry or Theology or whatever.
This is the Consistory.
They’re standing around the black table, ten or twelve of them, all in thick white habits, all with the hoods up, all with this…mesh across the front.
We can’t see their faces.
I grip the back of my chair to steady my hands.
“Where is your fourth?” comes a voice. From which one, I don’t know. I dart a glance around, worried.
Kai. He must be with Gwenna, I think. I look to Kingston, panicked. Did he explain?
Do they know about her?
Kingston’s face doesn’t move. “He’s…”
“I’m sure,” comes a voice from the door, “he’ll be here soon.”
Luther Pendragon enters from the stairs, striding with ease to stand behind the chair next to Kingston.
Maybe I’m imagining it. But it looks like Kingston stiffens a little.
My eyes catch Lanz’s as I look back to stare at the table. They’re wide. Concerned.Stop it,I want to tell him.Just…play it cool, for once.
“I see.” A hooded head nods in acknowledgment. “We should commence, then?”
I look to Luther. But Luther looks to Kingston.
Kingston nods. He bows his head.
So I do, quickly.
“Spes mea in Domino,” someone says—the same brother or a different one, I can’t tell—and when the prayer is finished, I look up.
“Please,” Kingston says. “Sit.”
They do. Almost in unison. All but one, who glides over to the side of the room to retrieve something. I feel like I can barely find my chair beneath me as he hands a package to Kingston, with a small bow of the head.
“A gift,” comes the muffled voice. “We bring from Avignon.”
Kingston looks briefly bewildered, but swiftly nods and places the package on the table to unwrap it.
It’s candles. Four long, white tapers. And a small jar of honey.
