Page 54 of A Wild Darkness

My eyes glance around the room as the other members grumble to themselves for how displeased Andrew’s life ended.

From my side, a person with an elaborate animal mask catches my eyes, causing me to flex and reach for the missing gun in my waistband, but they just lean over the table to fill the wineglasses in front of me and Stevie.

As they continue to fill to the top, my hand covers the bowl. “Enough,” I say. The person with the animal mask that looks like a ram moves toward Stevie’s glass, and I do the same. “That’s enough for her, too.”

“I like a killer who needs control,” Silas comments on my interference with how much Stevie can drink.

“Don’t we all?” the woman sitting across the table adds with a wink.

I ignore them and place my hand on Stevie’s thigh.

As the server rounds the table, Silas continues speaking at the front. “I would also like to formally welcome everyone back for this year’s killing season.” He raises his glass into the air above the table. “I’ve heard that some of you have already gotten started in this lively city…” A chuckle vibrates around us as the members share an inside joke that me and Stevie should know. “But I can’t blame you, I already got an old man last week. Poor guy came in for open-heart surgery…and oops, didn’t make it out.”

Stevie’s muscles tense under my hand, and I wonder why. “Being a surgeon has its perks, doesn’t it, Silas?” one member blurts from my left.

A sinful smile slowly crawls Silas’s face. “A respected member of the community has its advantages in regards to flying under the radar,” he replies. “Now, let’s get back to our toast. Will everyone raise their glasses?”

I grab mine, followed by Stevie lifting hers.

“To an eventful and educational killing season as we will all be surrounded by like-minded individuals. Let’s toast to a safe and nonjudgmental space. May your victims be ripe, may they scream—if that’s what you like—and may it all go well, and feed the inner monster in all of us.”

What the fuck?

A collective “Hear! Hear!” rings in my ears—the sound of their response runs up my spine like a knife grinding against stone. It’s maddening. And how easy it would be to take that knife and slice each one of their necks and be done with this entire charade.

The group takes a drink in celebration. As I bring the rim of the glass to my mouth, my eyes slide to Stevie, where hers meet mine. They lock onto one another, and I watch to make sure she spits the contents back into the glass. She does as I instructed.

Another set of servers dressed in masks shaped as animals enter the room holding trays with platters of food covered by dome metal covers. They once again make their way around the table, placing one platter in front of each member, including Stevie and me.

“Silas, did you remember to leave the Society’s mark on your recent victim?”

The mark? Is she referring to the mark Stevie found on one of her clients this week? Is she right? Is that why she tensed up?

Stevie’s silver fork drops into her lap, causing her to jump in her seat. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He pulls out the wooden-backed chair at the head of the table and takes a seat. “Of course. And thank you for bringing that up.” He smiles and turns to me. “The Black Veil Society is proud of who we are and makes an effort to commemorate this year’s killing season. You will mark every victim with an X on their upper thigh.”

Stevie sucks in a barely audible breath next to me, but her body remains stoic, staying in character.

Forks clatter and hit the china as the members casually enjoy their food.

Silas clears his throat and continues. “The symbol shows the Roman numeral ten, to show we’ve reached our capacity of ten members in this chapter, and for this being the tenth killing season since we had to go into hiding at the beginning of the nineties.”

One of the members sitting across the table from me, with white hair and skin weathered like he’s seen many days in the sun, interjects. “There are only nine of us.”

Silas takes a slow bite of his food. “That is correct. We have not seen one of our other members yet this year, but we know he is alive and in the area.”

“But I thought we’re not allowed to miss any events,” the woman asks.

Silas rests his fork on the plate and clasps his hands underneath his chin. “It will be handled before the final event of the season back at Moore Mansion.”

A younger guy with a mouth full of food speaks up. “What does that m⁠—”

“It is being handled,” Silas repeats, firmer this time. “We will not discuss it further.”

Another member? And one who’s not accounted for? Did he go rogue? Or did the Society dispose of him?

A few minutes later, while I watch Stevie push her food around the decorative plate, I grow curious about what else is to come tonight. We’ve gleaned some information, but I feel like there’s still much Silas is holding back. This can’t be it for Stevie and me? They either have to gain our trust for us to continue, or this is all the information we’ll get tonight.