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And when I closed my eyes, I saw an image of a man in the road—stark naked, outstretched hand. He was beckoning me. Except, it wasn’t me. Red hair blew in the wind, and I realized this was a memory. Sorina’s memory. The man was blurry in the memory, but his hair was long.
I shook my head and blinked. “What the fuck was—”
“The blood is the tie, a red thread.”
“What was that?” I demanded.
“A memory. One of mine. What did you see?”
“A man in the road. Naked. Long hair.”
“And who might that man be?”
I turned to the right, the Archer house one block over. “The … the Deacon,” I said.
“He was waiting. He was waiting for me that night. In the heavy weather, I walked to him willingly, into the woods, into his arms. I didn’t know what he was, and if I had, maybe I could have saved myself. But I didn’t know.Youknow. I’m giving you the warning I never received. Please, Nicholas, please heed it,” Sorina whispered before she dropped to her knees and gripped my hands. When her eyes met mine, they were begging. She was ice, stone, cold, and at that moment, a prayer. I never wanted to bring a girl to her knees.
I wanted to wake from this nightmare.
“I could never live with myself if I didn’t save them. What happened to the girl who said she wasn’t scared of anything? The girl who sang to me?” I asked, tipping Sorina’s chin up. She closed her eyes, and another red tear fell.
I dropped to my knees without a thought, ran my tongue up her cheek, lapping at the blood like a dog, and she gasped, then grabbed me, pulling me closer.
I wanted to fuck her on the sidewalk, wake up sleeping townspeople.
I wanted the Deacon to hear.
But I didn’t act on the desires of my heart or my body.
I let go, pulled away, and walked toward the Archer house.
THIRTY-THREE
When I stepped into the Archer house, it felt like the old building sighed with relief. As if it had been harboring a deep secret and knew my arrival would mean it could whisper it into my ear.
I’d come in through the kitchen, and a flash of white moved by the doorway that led to the foyer.
I closed my eyes. Maybe a foolish thing, but I knew what I was facing.
Or, I thought I knew.
I heard a soft cry, and I ran into the foyer, where the room opened up to the staircase and the living room on the far side of the house. There were candles lit everywhere, and in the center was a chair. Valerie was sitting there, and below her, on the floor, with her neck exposed, was Kyrie. Her eyes were wide, and a piece of cloth was tied around her face, stuck in her mouth. Her blue dress was dirty and when she saw me, she cried out, and Valerie’s face jerked.
It’s then I saw Valerie’s eyes—black, no pupil, no iris. Nothing but black. There was blood at her temple, as if she had been hit. It dripped down her face, stopped at her jaw. A few drops were on her dress.
She had a blade in her hand, and it was at Kyrie’s neck.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, palms up in surrender.
“She can’t hear you,” a voice said behind me. I whirled around and watched as the Deacon walked down the stairs that led to the second story. His long hair was pulled back, his white button up undone, untucked from his grey pants. He was shoeless, and I glanced at his feet as he took each step toward us. The staircase was littered with dirt, debris, and broken glass. And he looked as though he were walking on water.
When he made it to the landing, he strode past me to Valerie and Kyrie, and I flinched, wanting to run forward, afraid for Kyrie.
“What do you mean, she can’t hear me?” I asked.
“Well, maybe that’s not completely true,” the Deacon said. “Her ears hear you. But her mind, who you know her to be, it’s in a box, shut soundly and locked with a key. She cannot understand you.”
I looked at Valerie. No mind, no will. Just a dagger in hand, her master close by. “What, like a zombie?” I asked.
