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When the weekend comes, so do the members of the Order. They arrive the way flies are drawn to something spoiled. Or to something too innocent to survive.
I leave Highstone Manor on foot, meandering down the driveway while the house looms behind me. It watches over my shoulder, waiting for me to return a different man. As if the man I am could get any better.
The bluff stairs wait ahead, cut into the earth like a wound that never healed. I stop at the top, hands in my pockets, and look out over Shadow Bluff.
A strip of bruised light still clings to the horizon behind me, faint and stubborn, but below, the town has already surrendered. Windows glow. Streetlights burn in scattered pools. Cars line the roads in greater numbers than usual, their doors slamming shut one after another as people drift towards The Cirrus, where Ophidia waits with its open mouth and artificial pulse.
A boat cuts across the black water towards one of the islands in the middle of the river. A private crossing.
Zaiya will get her first taste tonight. A glimpse of what this town keeps hidden under its politeness and friendly smiles that mask the knowledge of where the bodies are buried.
She’ll be afraid. I don’t blame her for that. I just need her to direct it at me, not them.
Fear is something I understand.
A car door slams nearby, breaking the spell of the overlook. I turn to the church and spot Reverend Bolton carrying a box up the front steps. The white facade rises in front of him with its polished lies.
I hate that Zaiya is under his roof. The thought of his voice in her ears, shaping her with scripture and gentleness, brings bile to my throat. That smug illusion of safety under God makes me want to wring his neck.
Men like him use religion to control their women. I don’t want it touching my girl. He won’t keep her small and obedient like his wife.
Apparently, Frank needs the fear of God to behave. But if a god has to threaten you into decency, then you were never decent to begin with. I don’t need a devil to recognize the darkness in my own thoughts. We’ve long been acquainted. I’ve learned to handle its weight.
I head towards the church just as Frank returns to his car for another box. He pauses when he sees me, then smooths his expression back into composure.
It doesn’t fool me.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Crotavere?”
His back seat is full. One box spills over with red fabric, heavy and ceremonial. Choir robes, by the look of them. Strange. I've unfortunately seen enough services in that church to know the robes have been green and white since I was a child.
Two more boxes are packed tight with white candles, clean wicks waiting to be ignited. Looks like enough to burn down the building. If only.
“A little late for work, isn’t it?” I ask.
“We’ve been busy with family time today.” He gives me a pointed look, making sure I understand exactly who he means. “The girls and I had a picnic at Pleasant Park. I’m just preparing for Sunday service. You’re welcome to join us.”
He lifts the box and starts up the steps, stopping at the top like he’s claiming higher ground.
The image he puts in my head sends heat raging through my chest. Zaiya sitting beside him. Listening. Nodding. Trying to be grateful for this man’s influence.
I open and close my fist at my side. “You’re not going to control her.”
He turns to face me.
“What you do with your wife and daughter is your business,” I say. “Zaiya is mine now.”
He looks at me with disappointment. Like I’m a parishioner he just couldn’t save.
“Edwin, what is your issue with me? I’ve shown nothing but compassion to your family after the hand you’ve been dealt.”
“My issue is that you’re trying to take over my town. You think you’re owed something. This high and mighty act is bullshit.”
His expression cools. “I came here to serve and help people. You can’t deny the crime—”
“There is no crime.” My voice stays even. “Everyone here knows how to behave. They know the price of stepping out of line.”
I hold his gaze.
