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Chrissie laughs. “Wow. Of all the people I never expected to express that sentiment. You clearly need that ritual purification more than I thought.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you mean. If you’re a fan of the whole high-cheekboned, floppy-haired, smirking arrogant face thing, then he certainly does that well. Personally, I like a man with a bit more meat on their body and a bit more humility on their face. But either way, Leah should have known better. And if she couldn’t keep her legs closed, she could at least have kept her mouth shut about you.”
“It doesn’t matter. He knew the moment he saw me.”
Chrissie stops ranting and pulls me into a tight hug. “Sadie, don’t think about him, please. We won’t let him hurt you, and we won’t let him get inside your head. Remember that night at the casino? He might be stronger than all of us individually, but united as a family, we’re unstoppable.”
What would she say if she knew I’d done the same thing as Leah? I haven’t cheated on anyone or shared any secrets. Does that make it okay, or is sleeping with Gabriel an inherent sin, from my family’s point of view? And if so, is being a Sadler by blood a mitigating or aggravating factor?
“Bath’s ready,” Mum calls. “Pour yourself another glass of Prosecco and bring it up.”
Downing alcohol isn’t entirely in line with the spirit of purification, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
To be fair to Mum, the bath looks and smells amazing. The huge rolltop tub is full almost to the brim—presumably achieved through magic as it’s only been running for ten minutes at most—and is a vibrant green, dotted here and there with tiny pink crystals. There’s a woody, earthy smell, undercut with something more feminine and aromatic.
I pull off my clothes—body inhibitions have never really been a thing in this house—and slip in. It verges on too hot, but that’s half the point, and my body quickly adapts.
Mum sets a thirty-minute timer on her phone, then leaves me to it. Within minutes, my muscles are floppy and my head’s clear. By the end, I’m slightly dizzy and struggling to stay awake. When the timer goes, I barely have enough muscle control to pull myself out of the bath and into the warm embrace of the towel Mum left out for me. I want to go and pass out. But in a nice way.
“Drink plenty of water,” Mum calls from the hallway. “All the salt and heat will have dehydrated you. You need to be well hydrated by the time the fast starts.”
“Mum! I know I’ve been away for a while, but it’s not the first time I’ve done a purification bath.”
“All right, darling. Just making sure you’re okay.”
I down the first glass of water that Mum’s left out for me, then refill it from a large jug. I walk outside, still in a towel, and stretch out on a swinging bench at the far end of the garden, hidden beneath a weeping willow. It’d been a favourite hiding spot for the four of us as children. It’s credit to the power of Mum’s potions and Chrissie’s stone magic that I’m fighting off sleep instead of lying there wide awake with panicky thoughts of what’s to come tearing through my brain.
As a general rule, I don’t really believe in all this rigmarole. You don’t need crystals and scents and fancy clothes to work magic. You simply need concentration, will, and that connection to the earth. But the Ritual is different. I might not know the precise details, but I understand the basic principle: we protect the Dome by pouring something of ourselves into it. It’d be practically impossible without strengthening and focusing our minds, and incredibly dangerous without protecting our spirits.
That’s most of the reason for all the song and dance my family put into this one piece of magic. But it’s equally as important that we look the part and make a scene, for the benefit of our allies, our enemies, and anyone debating which they ought to be.
I only realise I’ve fallen asleep—or passed out, it’s a fine line in this state—when the buzzing of my phone snaps me back awake again.
I hear you’re doing the Ritual tomorrow night. I can’t decide whether to be impressed or disappointed. I just know you’ve lost what little moral high ground you had. G
Goodness knows how he got my number. Leah, probably. Or else Imran, the mesmerised prosecution lawyer. I shouldn’t reply. But with him, I can’t help myself.
I’m loyal to my family. I’m a real Sadler, deep down. I don’t know why this is so hard for you to understand.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, scenes flash up. Gabriel kissing me all over. Gabriel under Leah. It’s yet more testament to the power of the bath that the first makes me neither disgusted nor horny, and the second makes me neither sad nor angry. They’re just two random things that happened recently, no more or less interesting or emotional than anything else.
It’s a fiercely fought competition, but I think the Ritual is the thing I hate most about your family. Still, I’d love to see you in all that high priestess get up. You’ll look beautiful. And I’d almost die watching you channel that much energy. You’ll be so powerful. My dream woman.
My emotions are clawing their way back to the surface. I’m tempted to reply with something cutting and caustic. Something furious. Something light-hearted and dismissive. I settle for turning my phone off, then I meditate like my life depends on it.
All through the bath and the aftermath, I’ve been going back and forth on what exactly I might be asked to do and the pros and cons of putting my scruples aside in order to support my family and the town. But that settles it. There’s only so far I’m willing to go, but if Gabriel disapproves of me doing the Ritual, I’m at least going to take part.
* * *
Thirty hours later, and as I’d feared, I’m standing in the clearing at the centre of a wooded hill, just out of town. I’m semi-delirious from lack of food. The potions I was persuaded to take aren’t helping. I’ve always steered clear of drugs, unless you count alcohol, but as a one-off, there’s something wonderful about being this disinhibited and disembodied.
It might be the hunger and hallucinogens talking, but I feel beautiful and powerful in equal measure. Irresistible and unstoppable. The floor-length scarlet dress, cut to the thigh on both sides to reveal a gold wire garter isn’t exactly my usual style, any more than the giant crystals are. But it’s certainly a strong look. Make-up that your average drag artiste would think was a touch over the top completes the effect.
My father is at the apex of the hill and the centre of the circle. Mum, Chrissie, and I form a rough triangle around him. The other women—distant relatives, those affiliated with the gang, and loyal local practitioners, like my old friend Becca or Connor’s mother—create a circle around us, arms linked.
The men make a similar circle a little further out. Liam, Connor, Shane, and Ray will be amongst their numbers, though it’s impossible to see them over the tall flaming torches that stand between the three of us and the other women. There are also various crystals between them and the men, plus salt forming an outer circle. It’s exactly the kind of over-ritualistic magic I’ve always vaguely disapproved of, but tonight, it makes me feel safer and more powerful. Detached from the world and what we’re about to do.
