Chapter 17
There were at least twenty people surrounding me. All were dressed in black monk-like robes, standing with hands folded together before them, their heads bowed.
I was pulled toward them by my captor, who shoved me into the hands of another cloaked figure. My captor rushed away, and the person before me pushed me to my knees.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked around and recognized this place from Maggie’s vision. The giant fir and oaks surrounded us, enclosing us deep in the woods, far away from prying eyes, which meant I was far away from any help.
My heartbeat was a roar in my ears, and grew even louder as the group began to chant, the words making absolutely no sense to me. Sweat poured off my forehead, and as the chanting grew louder, I struggled against the binds that held my hands together.
Terror gripped me, making it hard to even breathe. Was this it? Was I about to die at the hands of a cult?
A sacrifice…just like the lamb.
But now I was the lamb.
The person in front of me pulled out a knife, and the blade glimmered in the light from the fire. I felt the anticipation of the crowd around me, the way they came closer, the way their voices became louder, the chanting faster.
“Please let me go,” I whispered. “I swear I won’t say anything. No one will know.”
The figure ignored me. He raised a hand to the others and the chanting abruptly stopped.
It was so quiet.
Too quiet.
There wasn’t even a breeze. I was so tense, I jumped when the wood on the fire crackled and popped.
The cloaked figure lifted the knife high in the air.
This was it. I was history. I thought about my dad and my brother, and wondered how they could possibly handle such loss again.
The group resumed their chanting, in a strange language I didn’t understand.
I concentrated on the voices, and I heard male and female voices—and even one or two that sounded young. Who would bring a kid here?
I swallowed past my painfully tight throat. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Silence met my question.
My stomach coiled as I was pulled to my feet and dragged over to a makeshift altar. Using all my strength, I jerked away from my captor and ran for the tree line, but with my hands tied behind my back, I was at a huge disadvantage. I could hear more than one person follow me. Seconds later, I was tackled and yanked over toward the altar.
I went completely limp, hoping to trip them up—but they dragged me back to the shrine.
One figure, slighter than the rest, came forward. He or she carried a goblet, similar to the one from Maggie’s vision where lamb’s blood had been drained into the goblet.
My fear was all-consuming, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from screaming.
Within minutes I would be dead. I knew it with a bone-chilling certainty. These freaks would slit my neck, drink my blood, and life as I knew it would be over.
Finished. No more pain. No more loss. No more…
I fought against my captors again, which earned me a smack against the head. The side of my face throbbed, and I felt blood flow from a wound on my forehead.
I struggled against my binds, and the ropes burned my wrists. I kicked the person before me and I was abruptly pushed back.
“Riley,” he said sternly, and I stopped cold.
I gasped. Oh my God, I knew that voice.
“Ian?” I said in disbelief.
He pushed the hood back with both hands. His brilliant eyes were cold, cruel even, as he looked down at me with anger and hatred. “You must die now,” he said matter-of-factly. Lifting the dagger, he fisted it with both hands and brought it down hard.
I came awake with a startled cry.
What the hell? The comforter was wrapped around my legs, and my T-shirt was soaked with sweat. I ran a trembling hand down my face. What was happening to me? Was Laria messing with me again? Were my dreams turning darker by the day because I was getting closer to Ian?
Shane whipped my bedroom door open. Baseball bat in hand, he looked around wildly. “What the fuck is going on?” He finally turned to look at me, obviously surprised to find me alone. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, too afraid to say anything for fear I’d burst into tears. The dream had seemed so real. As real as the vision of Ian’s death, but this time it had been my death, and Ian, the person I trusted more than anyone, had killed me. I had felt all the emotions a person facing death must go through, and as much as the idea might have held some appeal, ironically, I wasn’t at all ready to go. I had fought for myself, for my brother, for my dad. I’m not so sure I would have even a month ago, but I was a different person now. A stronger person, thanks to Ian.
Shane relaxed a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I just had a bad dream.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Not really, but thanks anyway.”
He shut the door behind him, lowered his voice. “You shouldn’t have gone into that mausoleum. Why didn’t you just take a truth question?”
I didn’t tell him why I was afraid of a truth question. I had too many skeletons in my closet, and I didn’t want anyone here knowing anything about me. “Sometimes it’s smart to play your cards close to your chest,” I said, remembering Mom telling me that very thing shortly before her death. She’d been worried about me getting too friendly with Ashley.
He nodded. “Do you want me to crash out on your floor…at least until you fall asleep?”
I was surprised by the offer. Years ago, when he was about four, he’d come into my room whenever he was scared. Back then he’d just climb under the covers, a hand reaching out for me. I’d squeeze his hand, just smile to myself, roll over and when I woke in the morning, he’d be gone, usually up and about, and neither of us said a word to our parents. “No, that’s okay. The floor can’t be that comfortable.”
“I don’t mind.”
I could tell by his expression that he didn’t mind. In fact, I think he needed to sleep on my floor as much as I needed him to. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
He actually smiled. “Just make sure you don’t tell any of your friends.”
“Trust me, I promise I won’t say anything.”
He went into his room and I took the opportunity to change out of my sweaty T-shirt. By the time I came out of the bathroom in a fresh oversized T-shirt, he was walking through the door with his comforter and two pillows.
“Thanks, Shane.”
“No problem.”
He curled up on the floor between my bed and the door, and we fell into an awkward silence.
“Riley?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to your legs?” he asked. “What are those marks?”
My stomach clenched tight as my mind raced about what to say. I didn’t want to lie to him, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I had lived in fear of the subject ever coming up. “When I was in the mausoleum I was a little freaked out and I accidentally scratched myself.”
He swallowed hard. “Janie Anderson told me you cut yourself.”
My heartbeat was a roar in my ears.
“I didn’t believe her until one day when you left your backpack on the bus. Alex and a couple of his buddies went through it to see who it belonged to…and he found a blade. He swore to me that he would never breathe a word to anyone—well, except for Janie.”
I remembered Alex, how sweet he’d been, especially after our mom had died. He’d been our next-door neighbor since his family moved across the street the year I’d started Kindergarten. Janie was his equally sweet band-geek girlfriend.
“I have cut.”
He flinched, and I could tell by his expression that he didn’t want to believe it.
“But you don’t anymore, right?”
I chewed the inside of my lip. “I don’t want to an
ymore.”
His brow furrowed as he thought about it for a few seconds. “I won’t say a word to anybody, I swear.”
“Thanks, Shane.”
“If you ever need to talk about anything, just let me know. I don’t want you hurting yourself, Ri.”
Hearing the sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. “Okay,” I said, laying down as a myriad of emotions rushed through me, including embarrassment. It was one thing to own up to cutting to Ian who had caught me red-handed, but admitting I had a problem to my brother was tougher than I thought it would be.
“Riley, do you ever dream about Mom?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, do you?”
“Sometimes. Actually, I used to dream about her every night after she first died, but now the dreams don’t come as often. In fact, half the time I don’t dream at all.”
“It’s probably all that pot you’re smoking.”
He laughed under his breath, and I smiled at the sound. God, I missed that laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He sat up, hooked his arms around his knees. “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to…but do you remember anything about the accident?”
The shrink used to ask me that question every single time I’d visit him, and I know my dad was curious about the details of that night, but he never pushed me. “No, I just remember waking up in the hospital and Dad sitting beside my bed.”
Shane chewed on his thumbnail.
“I really am sorry, Shane.”
He frowned. “About what?”
“About Mom.”
“I didn’t mean to make it sound like—”
“You didn’t. I just feel responsible.” My voice cracked and he was beside me a second later, hugging me.
“I should have just come home on time that—”
“Listen.” His hands cupped my face. I had never seen him so serious before. “Mom’s death wasn’t your fault, Ri.”
“But we wouldn’t have been in the car at that minute.”
“She could have been on the way to the store to pick up milk, or picking me up from practice.” He hugged me again. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have been there. It could have been me in that car. It could have been Dad.”
But it hadn’t been. It had been me, and I had to live with that guilt forever.
“Just know it’s not your fault, Ri. It never has been. It never will be. I don’t want you to ever think that I blame you.”
My breath left me in a rush. I’d wanted to hear those words for so long.
“It’s alright,” he said, squeezing me tight.
I rested my head on his shoulder and let the tears fall.
The Deepest Cut, (MacKinnon Curse series, book 1) Page 17
