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“So, you’re like, an atheist?” I ask, confused.
“Sorta. I’m—we—are members of the Church of Satan.”
My eyes go wide as my mouth drops open. “You worship the Devil?”
“Not exactly. We believe in what he represents, but we don’t believe he’s a real entity.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Dara offers me a sympathetic look as she lightly squeezes my arm. “I know. Don will explain more tonight. Just promise you’ll keep an open mind. I appreciate that much of what you see and hear will be new, and you won’t understand most of it, but I think if you open yourself up to our teachings, you could find a real home here.”
CHAPTER NINE
Nerves hammer against my chest and twist my stomach into knots as Dara leads me down a torch-lit staircase into the crypt. The flickering flames create ghostly shadows along the stone walls, and as a chill creeps into the air, I cannot help but question the decisions I made that brought me to this point.
Still, I descend further beneath the ground. Call it curiosity, or perhaps God is pushing me onward, but I can feel something calling to me from the dark depths below, whispering for me to come closer.
“What is that?” I whisper when chanting reaches my ears.
“Congregation. It’ll be over soon, and then the celebration can begin.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“Life,” Dara says easily. “Once a month, we have a meeting, and then together we celebrate our lives and the fact that we are surrounded by people who share our beliefs.”
It sounds surprisingly wholesome, and I fail to see why Don kept it such a secret and why Dara felt the need to warn me beforehand.
The chanting grows louder as we continue our descent, and by the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, the noise echoes off the walls and I feel fully submerged in it. I can’t make out the words, yet they wash over, through, and around me. Resonating with me on a bone-deep level that I don’t fully understand.
“This way.” Dara takes my hand, leading me down a dark tunnel. The only light is that cast by the blazing torches, barely enough to illuminate the markings on the wall. Reaching out, my fingers brush along the etchings—old symbols and pictures that I imagine have been here for centuries. This whole place is steeped in history, and I swear I can feel the souls of the dead reaching out to me.
Eventually, the tunnel spits us out into the forest. A full moon shines from above, partially cast in shadow, and watching as Dara leads me over to a large stack of firewood. Taking a lighter from her pocket, she holds it against a torch which must have been dipped in some sort of lighter fluid as it immediately whooshes to life.
Holding the torch to the stack of firewood, it quickly catches fire, building into an enormous bonfire.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, looking around. We’re the only ones out here, although I spot two more piles of wood nearby that I’m assuming are more bonfires waiting to be lit.
“They’ll be here.”
She leaves me and goes to ignite the other two fires. By the time she returns, the ground is vibrating with the beating of drums.
Dara bounces in her heels with excitement, and a second later, people spill from the mouth of the cave, all of them whooping and laughing. I watch in amazement as each of them removes a black cloak before running out into the woods. As some of them move closer to the fire, I notice half their faces are painted red.
What appears to be hundreds of people gather around us, and the beating drums I heard before develop into a dark yet resonating tune that vibrates through the air and adds a profoundly eerie quality to the night.
My focus returns to the cave as the final few people rush out of it. Following behind them is a lone figure dressed in a similar black cloak. What differentiates him from everyone else is his white ram skull mask, with black horns protruding from the top. Twine is wrapped around each one and hanging down the side of his face, with bird feathers attached to the ends.
Despite the fact I can’t see his face, I immediately know it’s Don. It’s as though my body is attuned to his.
“Why is he wearing that mask?” I ask Dara, unable to tear my eyes away from her brother as he stands and seemingly looks out over the crowd.
“He’s our Deacon. Just like our father, and his father before him.”
I watch as he sheds himself of his mask and cloak, revealing dark jeans, a matching top, and the only pair of boots I’ve seen him wear since we first met. The rings on his fingers reflect the moonlight as he lifts a hand to push strands of thick black hair out of his face.
Lifting his head, his eyes connect with mine, as though he knew all along that I was here. His face gives nothing away, but even from here I can feel the sheer intensity of the look he gives me as he prowls my way.
Some woman steps into his path, halting his progress as she forces him to stop. They are too far away for me to hear what she’s saying; nevertheless, it sparks jealousy within me when she places her hand over his chest. My eyes narrow as I watch them converse, that ugly emotion gathering momentum until all I can see is red.
