Page 73 of The Debutantes
That voice. It reaches out and scratches down my spine, the familiar Louisiana twang.
“We are here to thank Him for the beautiful mistresses He has placed at our sides.”
I want to yell, run, but I’m stuck, my jaw sealed shut as his stare tracks over each woman, landing directly on me.
Detective Marty Rutherford takes off his mask, a slow grin stretching on his face. “For without them, how could we be Kings?”
27PIPER
JANUARY 2, 10:10P.M.
I know Vivian’s recognized him at the exact moment I do.
Detective Rutherford, the man who’s supposed to be finding Lily, is here, calling himself the Lieutenant and leading this…whateverthis is. I don’t have a name for it, the way the men in the crowd are staring at him, enraptured by his speech like he’s a preacher at the pulpit and they’re his loyal congregation. Is that what this is to them? A church? It has all the makings of the cults I’ve heard about in documentaries and podcasts, the kind I always think I’d never be dumb or desperate enough to join—only this cult is made up of people I’m supposed to trust.
Glancing around the room, I try to put names to the masked faces, but it’s impossible in the dim light. Even the boys, some of whom look young enough to go to Beaumont, are hard to pin down. This room could be full of Dad’s friends, or the other Maids’ fathers, even our classmates—men who are supposed to be good and smart and capable. Men who are looking at us like we’re animals, something to shake bells at.
Men who turned my father in.
I clench my fists, wanting so badly to rush forward and connect them with every face, stomach, or nether region they can find. But we can’t give up our cover. We have to play the Maids they want us to be.
I breathe in, out. Lift my chin.
“Today has been a difficult day for our Krewe,” Marty says. “We were forced to sacrifice one of our own for the good of the brotherhood.”
Dad. He’s talking about Dad. I close my fists even tighter, squeezing until my fingers hurt so I don’t scream.
“But gentlemen, tonight is not about loss. What Deus takes, He gives. And tonight is a night of celebration. Tonight, we welcome our newest members into the fold.”
Marty’s focus shifts to the younger faces in the room, and a sick feeling spreads through me. Milford said the sons of Deus members can be initiated once they’re eighteen. How many of these boys do I know?
Has Wyatt done this already?
“These young men represent the best and brightest of what our city has to offer. They truly understand what makes a Deus man great: respect, strength, and devotion to their families, to their women, and most importantly, to our Krewe. They herald the coming of our future. A new Deus, stronger and greater than before. Tonight, we welcome them!”
The older men in the room erupt into the kind of cheering they do at football games, breaking from their quiet reverence into raucous masculinity. Marty lets it go on for a while before raising his hands to quiet the congregation.
“And tonight, we have another special cause for celebration. Our very own prodigal son, once fallen from our brotherhood, has returned to our ranks. I invite him to come forward so that we may officially welcome him.”
Marty extends an arm to a cluster of men. They part like the Red Sea as one of them takes an uncertain step toward us: a tall man, his face hidden by a wolf mask.
Not a wolf,I think.A Rougarou.Just like April said—the man on the balcony, the one who brought Margot here. The one who killed her.
“Come on, now.” Marty grins. “Don’t be shy.”
There are a few whoops and claps as the Rougarou comes closer, until he’s face-to-face with Marty.
“We welcome you back tonight as a reminder that for all Deus takes, He has infinitely more to give. May all of our sins be washed away.” Marty bows his head. “And as a sign of His mighty forgiveness, we have another gift for you.”
Marty gestures to another man, who comes forward with a crown perched on a golden cushion. I recognize it. The Deus crown, the one the King wears every year on Mardi Gras. With a bow, the man hands the crown to Marty, who lifts it like it’s made of real gold and diamonds instead of brass and moissanite.
“Tonight,” Marty tells the Rougarou, “you wear this crown. But remember, gentlemen, that no matter who serves as Deus, this crown belongs to us all.Omnes nos reges.All of us kings.”
He sets the crown on the Rougarou’s head.
“But lest we forget, no king is complete without a queen to rule. As a final gift, your Majesty, we invite you to select your own from tonight’s crop of beautiful mistresses.” Marty turns toward us, the women in the center, with a wolflike glint in his eyes. “Though we have welcomed them as guests into our circle, all of our mistresses understand their place: to stand at the side of a king. To share their beauty so that we may protect it. To honor and obey us, and to always be grateful that we have chosen them.”
Another grin snakes across Marty’s face, and disgust churns low in my stomach. It’s exactly what Aiden suspected: these men want to go back to a time when they were in charge, when everything was theirs to own, women included, even as they hide it under the guise of protecting us.Celebratingus. Only it’s worse—because it’s not just the old guard clinging to their ways. They’re initiating the next generation. Indoctrinating them.
