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Music blares in my ears as I head toward the small dirt road, which snakes through the trees, and as Fall Out Boy sings to me about the fourth of July, a clearing greets me beyond the darkness of the trees. Even though it’s fall, it’s not completely dark yet, but there’s an eeriness to the church that sits in front of me.
I’m half expecting mist to start collecting as I near the building. It’s old, three spires shoot to the sky, the bricks are dark and dirty, and the metal that surrounds the stained-glass windows flakes with the old paint that’s peeling from it.
The place is practically falling apart, crumbling in areas that should be strong and formidable. A few of the windows are broken, and I wonder what it looks like inside.
Pulling out my earphones, I listen for a rustling or any noise for that matter, but I’m met with silence. Nothing more than the soft breaths from my lips. As I near the church, my phone alerts me to a message.
Good girl. Come inside, we’re waiting.
Confusion settles in my gut like a lead weight. I should leave. I really should turn around and run away, but then I notice the black Audi R8 Spyder parked on the left side of the building.
Ares.
I make my way up the steps while rolling my eyes at his games and step inside the empty, eerie building. The doors creak behind me when I step into the musty space, but still, I find nobody when I enter. Instead, I’m met with dust and cobwebs. The dimming light streams through the stained-glass windows, and where some of them are shattered, they offer more of the reddish-golden hue of the sunset than the others.
“Is this your way of scaring me?” I call out, my voice echoing, bouncing off the walls. “Are we playing hide and seek?” I say to the emptiness. When I reach the altar, I notice one deep red flower, a dahlia, sitting on the top step.
The moment I pick it up, a needle pierces my fingertip, causing me to gasp as the prick sends a tingle of pain through my finger. A droplet of blood appears, and I press my thumb to my mouth to lick it clean.
There’s a small note attached to the flower with an emblem of a crown on it. But nothing more, not even a hint of where he is or why he’s doing this. My chest aches from my heart thudding wildly against my ribs. A soft whoosh sounds behind me, causing me to spin on my heel and there, hidden in the shadows, is a figure.
“Ares?” I step back, almost tripping on a broken tile on the steps of the altar.
The figure doesn’t respond, and when he steps out from the darkness, I notice the black cloak with the golden crown, which sits atop his head, even though it’s covered with a hood of the same material.
“Welcome,” the deep voice sounds, but it’s not Ares. I glance to my left as another figure appears. There are two of them now, one on my right, the other nearing from the opposite corner.
Stepping backward, I attempt to put distance between us, but I don’t run. I’m worried if I do, they’ll both be much quicker than I am, and I don’t stand a chance fighting off two of them.
“Ares, this isn’t funny,” I tell him, but I’m not sure which one is him. They’re both wearing gilded crowns, both dressed in these black robes, their faces obscured by thick heavy hoods.
“Little Flower,” the one on my left says. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he tells me.
“You told me to come.” My brows furrow, and I’m met with a chuckle.
“This town is ours, and you’re not welcome,” he says, his voice rigid, and I can’t tell if it’s Ares toying with me or if it’s his friend I saw with him yesterday. The one who flirted with Rukaiya.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, confusion heavy in my tone. “What do you mean I’m not welcome? It’s a free country—”
“This town belongs to us, you’re an outsider who will pay for the sins of the elder who came before you,” he warns me.
“What do you mean? Did my father do something? Please tell me what happened.” I’m nearing the door as I back away slowly, but deep down, I feel as if it’s a trick. They know I’m going to try to run, and perhaps they’re even planning on it. I can feel the cool breeze against my back, and I know if I can just get outside, I can make a run for it. If I can get myself amongst the trees, I’ll be good. I’m cursing myself for not taking my car.
I’m about to pivot when I feel hands grip me from behind, eliciting a scream from my lips, which bounces against the walls, against the glass, and hits back at us. I’m lifted—as if I were merely a rag doll—and held in the air.
