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“Looks too good to be real, doesn’t it?” one of the other initiates says from my other side. I glance over and find a guy with messy brown hair and three lines tattooed under his right eye—a mark from another gang that operates up the coast.
“Seems that way.” I pocket my hands, keep my eyes roaming.
“Ever seen anything like it?”
“Can’t say I have.” That’s the truth. “What’s your name?”
“Isaiah.”
“Where you from?”
“Portland,” he says. “Used to be with the Fates; Terra Vitae made me a better offer.”
We walk past a barn where goats bleat their welcome or maybe their warning—I can’t tell. “You guys farm all your own food?” I ask the guy leading us around.
“Everything,” our guide says, pride lacing his voice. “Self-sufficient. It’s the only way to be in a world gone to shit like ours is.”
“Guess that makes sense.”
“Speaking of which…” He looks back at us and I catch a glance of the Eclipse tattoo on his neck. “Heard about the Angels’ latest screw-up? Word on the street is that they’re locked up in a battle over who gets to lead. Apparently the Archangel has a kid brother from when his dad got cucked.”
“I heard,” I say, schooling my features. Fuck…guess the word is out. “They’re losing ground by the day.”
“Bad for them, good for us.” He chuckles. “Eclipse is on the rise, brother. We’re the future. Us and Terra Vitae.”
“Sure looks like it.”
The memory of Gunnar’s pained expression flashes through my mind—how Oberon couldn’t even look me in the eye when I left. Vance, damn him, was just as torn up, but you’d never know it from his stony face. They think I’m wasting my time, scrounging around this backwoods utopia for a ghost. But that itch in the back of my head won’t let up.
It whispers Aisling’s name like a mantra.
And I’ve always had a knack for knowing things.
“Something on your mind?” The cultist squints at me, searching.
“Just thinking about what we’re gonna do when we take Celestial Hills.” I keep my tone light, dismissive almost. This is an Eclipse stronghold; I need to keep my damn mouth shut if I want to survive here. It’s why I came without Rook; the guy is horrible at keeping his mouth shut.
“Don’t speak too soon,” he says. “The Angels are putting up a tough fight. I mean…they’ve controlled that territory for decades. Got a lot of power there.”
“Right.” I force out a chuckle. “But they can’t overpower us, right?”
“Not as long as we stay strong, stay sharp.” He pauses, brow furrowed, and I realize he’s about to let me in on something he’s not supposed to talk about. “And have faith. The May Queen protects us.”
“Of course.” I nod, though every rumor has a kernel of truth, doesn’t it? And if the rumors led me here, to the heart of Terra Vitae, then I’m exactly where I need to be.
For Aisling.
For whatever scrap of hope is left.
The cultist’s boots crunch on gravel as we cut across a clearing. He doesn’t look back, and I match his stride. The barracks loom ahead, a dark wooden longhouse with timber walls and a red door.
“Here,” he says, pushing open the door with a grunt.
The interior of the barracks is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and herbs. A fire crackles in a stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the dozen or so men gathered inside. Their eyes are sharp, assessing, as if weighing me against some invisible scale. I meet their gazes head-on, refusing to show any weakness.
“New blood,” one of them mutters, his voice gravelly. “Where from?”
“Pacific City,” our guide replies, his tone proud. “He’s here for initiation.”
