Page 112 of She Haunts Me Still

She’s standing in the narthex of a small, dark church, enveloped in a bitter stench. As she creeps into the nave, shadows cling to the stained-glass windows, rising toward the peaked ceilings. A biting cold fills the tenebrous space and clusters of red candles line the black-painted pews, where figures in dark cloaks are swaying in tandem. Hunched over, as if in prayer.

It takes Mallory a moment to notice the masked trio standing near the pulpit, robes draped over black suits and red ties. Just like the photograph in Ezra’s room.

The figures remove their masks. And Mallory’s breath thins as she stares at Ezra’s father, grandfather—

And a younger Ezra. Flushed cheeks and dark hair, green eyes darting in the reddened candlelight. Mallory peers at him from a distance, seeing the fear in his expression. Like he’s trapped.

“One hundred years ago,” Jacob says to the cloaked crowd, “after studyingThe Book of Angels,I awoke Our Lord with the required gift of a perfect heart: dead, but alive with blood.” He smiles, teeth glowing. “I was told it couldn’t be done, that the evocation would result in my death. But my interpretation of the book’s language was correct: The ritual created an eternal bond between Our Lord and the bloodline of that first sacrifice, returning him to this realm. Every woman in that bloodline hereafter has offered her own carved-out heart for Him to drink, sustaining His presence, and Our Lord has blessed this congregation with wondrous health and prosperity in return—but the best is yet to come.”

He pauses, as if to survey the anticipation on everyone’s faces.

“I have lived to see six sacrifices. The next offering,” Jacob adds, “will be the most special.The Book of Angelstells us that the gift of the seventh perfect heart will allow Our Lord to remain permanently in our world, bestowing our community with something no human has ever achieved: Unending life. Immortality. Lasting power, for all of time.”

The crowd releases a murmur that ripples through the shadows.

“When this miracle occurs, I will be gone,” Jacob says. “And my son, Victor, will be old. The future—yourfuture—belongs with my grandson.” His ring-covered fingers close over Ezra’s tensed shoulders. “I have seen it in my visions. Our Lord will reclaim what the witches tried to take from us, and as a result, the seventh gift will not be a self-sacrifice. Instead, that bleeding heart will be cut out and delivered by Ezra’s own hand. He may merely be a child now. But upon obtaining this ultimate gift, he will be made a god. One that can perform miracles for all who dare to follow him into the dark.”

Mallory sinks into an empty pew as she watches the other men rise to gather around a boyish Ezra, pressing kisses to his knuckles. Unexpected empathy overtakes her, along with an inexplicable desire to rush to him. To put her arms around him and save him from this fate.

She wonders if she’s witnessing the night he became less of a boy and more of a weapon.

Just then, a cold hand clasps hers. She turns, finding Kiki next to her. Kiki, at five years old, always in that nightgown, always with that blue teddy bear under her arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers, skin translucent in the red lights. “I’ll protect you.”

A buzzing sound thrashes in Mallory’s ear. She swats at it—an invisible fly, a raven’s wing—but the buzzing continues, vibrating in her teeth.

Herphone. Her phone is buzzing.

She sits up with a gasp.

Bathroom. Towel. Steam.

Opening night.

Fuck—

Mallory snatches her phone from the floor and leaps to her feet.

“Saskia, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I fell asleep. I’m on my w—”

“Mal.”

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” She rushes into her dorm, discarding the towel and grabbing clothes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone that long, I—”

“Mal, stop talking!” Saskia’s breath rushes out. “It’s now! The show isnow!”

Static cracks in her ear.

“What? No, that’s not possible, we have a few hours! It’s light outside, it’s…”

Mallory’s words disappear as she looks out the window.

To the blackened, starlit sky.

“No, no, no.” Mallory stumbles, grasping the side of her bureau. “What the fuck?”

She glances at the clock: 9:29p.m. The show started over an hour ago.