“Do we know what the code is?” the Prince asked. “It’s such an entertaining parlor game here.”
“Allegedly, the boy needs to shave his head, and that will be the sign. Etan thought it would be amusing to make the boy in his own image. He’s so playful.” She turned to Lucian, a slight smile on her lips. “He’s enjoying this process while still getting the job done. You could learn something.” Lucian didn’t even look at her.
“Excellent,” said the Prince. “But the other one?”
“He will be easy enough when we have Haven. In the meantime, Raphaella has been giving him some attention.” She stopped for a moment. I could see her thinking, deciding whether she wanted to go on. And she did, tentatively. “He doesn’t appear so interested but, again, he will follow when we have Haven. He will do whatever she tells him, I can tell by his eyes.”
The Prince nodded at this report. “Keep me abreast of this. Before long we may have to take drastic measures, but for now, please get her of her own volition.” Lucian, somber, just bowed his head. The Prince stood, rebuttoned his suit jacket, signaling, it appeared, that he was about to leave. “So, who do we think is expiring tonight?” Now his tone was perfectly light, excited. “I’ll be looking forward to having someone returned to me. That is, of course, supposing we don’t have another situation.”
“What happened with Calliope was an anomaly,” Aurelia said, in a soft, defensive tone. “It certainly will not happen again, of this I can assure you.”
“You can and you will and you must.” It was a warning.
With that, he stepped back where the fiery circle had burned and from nowhere the flames flew up once more, the circle reigniting. Just as fast, he was gone and the embers burned out. My own scars tingled at this. My body felt relieved to have him gone.
Lucian and Aurelia sat in silence, frozen, for several long minutes until finally Aurelia rose from the sofa and reclaimed her seat behind the desk. Glaring at Lucian, she said, “I will see you at half past three. I trust the Vault will be prepared. We have quite a large class to induct, as you know.”
“Of course,” he said. He got up and walked to the front of the desk, then leaned forward, both hands on the desk, staring her square in the eye. She tried to look away but he grabbed her chin tightly in his hand. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.”
“And sentimentality doesn’t become you,” she cooed.
With a little shove, he released her chin and stormed out the door. Aurelia didn’t watch him go; instead she focused on some paperwork in front of her, looking like she didn’t care. But as soon as the door slammed, she stared off into space, one hand touching her chin. I waited a few minutes but I saw no point in staying forever. I had only a few hours until I would need to make my way down to the Vault for whatever event had been scheduled.
As I tiptoed away from that peephole my body had never felt so weak. I longed to be in my bed—not my bed here, but the one at home, in my room next to Joan’s room. I wanted to be nestled in under those covers, free of any worries more grave than tests in school and navigating through that sea of people who were indifferent to me. Here, for the first time, I felt the opposite of that. Not only was I not ignored, but I was being watched and monitored; I was important to these people. Important for the wrong reasons, important because they wanted something from me and would harm me to get it if necessary. The weight of responsibility tugged on my shoulders. I wasn’t going to be allowed to be left on the sidelines.
21. The Induction
Two-thirty rolled around so much sooner than I had expected. I had tried to nap for a few hours, but never quite achieved sleep—to be honest, I was just too terrified for that—but lying down helped me replenish my waning strength. In my rest, my brain had remained active, searching through the very few possibilities for viewing whatever was to go down in the Vault tonight and deciding on the only viable option: descending to that dark passageway that led behind the cascading wall of fire. I would, hopefully, be able to watch there without being detected.
So, I climbed down, bracing myself at each bend to possibly run into one of the Outfit or worse, Aurelia, Lucian, or the Prince. The Prince made the other two seem almost harmless. Almost. I took soft, slow steps down that pitch-black hallway that led to the Vault, and had to stop myself for a moment. It didn’t feel right. What was different this time? And then I realized: the silence. That terrible, deafening silence had inflated to fill this whole space, making even my hushed footsteps echo. I could make out a couple of voices I didn’t recognize mumbling to each other, but that was it. The club closed at two o’clock in the morning, so the music had stopped and the people had spilled out. Without the veil of pulsing music, it felt even more like I was just dangling out in the open, begging to be caught. But what could I do?
I tried to creep by as quietly as possible, not daring to turn on my flashlight, instead holding my hand against the rocky, bumpy wall beside me to lead me in until I neared the warm coral glow of the flaming cascade. The voices grew closer, louder too—but perfectly flat and lifeless. I could almost make out the words—it sounded like they were setting something up. “To your right,” one would say. Then the other would respond: “It must be perfect.” And then the first one: “It will be; there is no other option.”
I too would soon be running out of options. That fire wall was now close enough that I could see the figures—two of the bulky, beefed-up Outfit men—arranging some sort of pedestal onto the center of the ring of fire. It was the circumference of the wheel of a tractor and rose up about three or four feet up. One of the men stood on it, testing it out. The other nodded with his arms folded. My steps had slowed—how much farther could I go before I would be visible here in the shadows?
My hand grazed something colder, smoother, raised up from the surface of the wall. I stopped and felt it with both hands now: it was a horizontal metal bar, long and the width of the handlebars of a bike. I patted at the wall above and found another, and then another below. They were rungs bolted into the wall making a ladder. There wasn’t enough light for me to see where this led to. I could either take a chance and go up and risk finding something or someone unsettling waiting for me there or stay where I was and risk being discovered if anyone else decided to use this hallway. Up into the unknown I went.
I climbed slowly, reaching blindly to locate each bar. It helped to not be able to see anything when I looked down, just that dark abyss rather than a cold, hard floor. Even so, my palms began to sweat. Finally, my hands hit a brick ledge and the light from the fire wall lit up what was in the distance: a narrow walkway, the width of a diving board, with a waist-high wall overlooking the entire club. It was a metal catwalk, jutting out from one point of the ledge, and from it hung the colored lights that illuminated this side of the club. I pulled myself up onto the walkway and ducked down on my knees to keep hidden behind the half-wall. I was over the top of that flickering flame now and had a clear sightline.
Down below, Outfit members milled around, gracefully weaving themselves into a circle around the ring of fire, giving the impression that each person had a specific mark. It seemed just dim enough that if I continued to kneel, peeking over this ledge, then I could watch without being spotted. I settled in and prepared for what could be a long night.
At exactly half past three, the lights dimmed to that familiar red glow of a typical Vault club night. The Outfit members stood in their circle all wearing their uniforms—they had been firmly and quietly in place for nearly half an hour, not speaking a word. Soft footsteps shuffled just below me. It was a herd of strangers wearing black dresses and suits and somber expressions. Even from this height far above them, I could tell I didn’t know them. An even number of men and women, all slender and stunning. A rough count showed there were twenty in total.
They formed a ring inside the circle made by the Outfit members, filing into place and all staring inward toward the ring of fire. Like me, they all watched motionlessly, waiting for somet
hing important to happen. Finally, a spotlight shone on the mouth of the graffiti-emblazoned walkway at the front of the club and Lucian marched in, with Etan right behind him. All bodies pivoted in one motion to watch them cut a path to the ring of fire. Up the spiral staircase they went, taking a place beside the newly installed pedestal, hands clasped behind their backs. They had their backs to me. I wondered what they were looking at. Then the spotlight went out in a flash and lit back up in another instant, illuminating the pedestal. Aside from the cascade of fire, it was the only light. Even the ring of fire itself wasn’t burning.
Slowly, the surface of the pedestal opened in two, like a jaw, and that familiar, perfect visage appeared, then her whole body, sheathed in a floor-length gown with a plunging neckline. Aurelia glowed, seizing every scrap of spotlight and reflecting it off her alabaster skin and cornsilk hair. Her rasp amplified through the speakers: “Welcome, my lambs.”
A hushed “Hello” murmured back at her from the collective.
“It gives me great pleasure to welcome you tonight as you cross together into the realm of the Metamorfosi. As you know, this is a rare privilege bestowed upon only the most deserving. Congratulations to you for being selected into this esteemed, elite caste. Just as your responsibilities will grow clearer in the days ahead, so too will your rewards. Each of you will have a grand wish granted in exchange for your servitude. Your most lofty desire will be yours for the taking. Prepare for greatness, my pets.”
She bowed to them, then rose up again, holding out her hand. A spark ignited along the ring of fire. Hand still outstretched, she slowly pivoted as the flame lit, following the path of her fingers until the ring was fully ablaze. I felt a chill run through me and realized I had broken out into a cold sweat. With slow steps, Aurelia descended from the pedestal and strolled the perimeter of the ring, her subjects all gazing up at her. The snapping of the flame was the only sound.
Then she continued: “What exactly is the Metamorfosi, you may ask? I tell every new class the same thing: it is where power is born. This is a layer of existence that few get to experience. You may have an idea of inferno—hell, the devil’s playground as we like to call it—and then the limbo of purgatorio, where many do their time before advancing to hell or the other way—” She flitted her hand, waving it off. “And then there’s dull paradiso—few would aspire to it if they knew how boring it was there.” A wave of knowing chuckles swept the Outfit. “Yes, these are well-covered territories. But Metamorfosi is something far greater, a spiritual bridge between reality and the afterlife. This is a realm that has remained secret for ages. This is where the lucky few are granted entrée into a great and powerful army and enlisted to carry out a mission sent to us by our leader, the Prince of Darkness, Satan himself. We are now amassing the best and brightest in an ambitious project, a revolution, if you will—” She drew out those words, giving them extra heft. “That will see our numbers grow greatly in coming months. It may take time to come to fruition, but in the end we will be all-powerful, you’ll see.”
She walked along the ring, looking out at the wide, vacant eyes of her followers. Lucian, meanwhile, stepped back to take a seat on one of the banquettes that ran along the circle. He appeared to be flanked by a handful of velvet-covered cigar boxes and a neat stack of what looked, from here, to be index cards.
“But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” She smiled lightly. “Tonight we are here to induct our newest class of Outfit members. And to that new class, I offer these words: remember that you are ascending to a new level of power tonight. There are enclaves like this one across the world but, as I like to say, none so exclusive as ours. When the revolution begins, it is you who will be on the frontlines. And that will be a glorious place to be.” With that, she stepped back toward the pedestal, where a silver column rose from below, stopping at a height just between her waist and shoulder, a perfect podium.
“We will begin with our highest honor of the evening. Beckett, please come forward.”
From below, the muscular man broke free from his position in the circle and flew up the steps easily. Lucian stepped forward now with one of the velvet boxes. He opened it to display a leather cuff studded with a silver design. I couldn’t see from here, but I knew it had to be a skull and crossbones, like the one I’d seen on a few of the Outfit men. Aurelia removed it from the box, placing it around his wrist. Each end had a long, solid silver band where a clasp might have been. But rather than fastening any hooks or fooling with any closure, Aurelia just held her hands around the cuff: it glowed red under her fingers and then the two strips of silver fused together, welded onto his arm.
“Tonight we honor you for your outstanding service, awarding you our highest ranking,” she said to Beckett, letting go of his arm. He examined his new accessory and then returned his eyes to Aurelia. “Your meteoric rise has been stunning to watch, and your action in light of recent . . .”—she paused to find the right word—“tragedies has demonstrated both leadership and unwavering devotion to our cause. I thank you and look forward to your continued success in our program.” They bowed to each other. “And more immediately, we look forward to your role in the induction of our newest members—a privilege granted to only our most promising disciples.” He thanked her and she nodded in response, then he found a place in the background standing beside Lucian. Next, two Outfit girls I recognized were awarded those amethyst necklaces I had often seen—those too were welded on by Aurelia, her fingers joining together two small strips of silver to form a permanent closure. When the girls filed off the stage and back to their positions on the floor, Aurelia stood atop the pedestal to address the group again.
“Well, now it appears we’ve reached the main event. The moment we have all been waiting for: the induction of our new recruits. There are two distinct milestones to be accomplished in conjunction with this rare honor. First, the signing of the contract. I will award you your contract and tonight Raphaella will administer the incision.”
A shudder swept over me. Incision? Raphaella made her way up the steps now and took a place at the base of the pedestal. Aurelia continued, instructing the group. I listened closely, mentally taking notes.
“After you have received yours, please proceed to the podium where you will sign it with your index finger. Then hand your contract to Lucian, who will administer your oath while Beckett performs the second phase of the process: the marking ritual. As you know, the ritual will heal your wound and purify all the toxins within. And then, the sale will be complete.” She paused to take in the hungry, anxious faces, then stepped down, a stack of sheets of ecru parchment in her hands. “Very well. Let us begin.” She called the first name. “Alistair . . .”
An olive-skinned Adonis, positioned nearest to the staircase, made his way up. He reached Aurelia and shook her hand as she gave him a crisp piece of paper. I noticed Raphaella was now wielding a small, ornate golden instrument the size of a pencil. He held out his right hand to her, palm up, and she made a quick slice on his index finger. Even from here I could see a red dot bubble up instantly. They nodded at each other and he climbed the few steps up the pedestal, placed his contract on the podium, and with his bleeding index finger, wrote his name onto the paper, then stepped back down the other side toward Lucian and Beckett as names continued to be called.
I had never been squeamish around blood because I had seen plenty of it at the hospital, but this sent a wave of nausea over me. I found it so terrifyingly unsanitary. How can they do this? But obviously, sterilization was the least of their worries. These people are selling their souls to the devil. Aurelia, Lucian, they are in league with this prince and he is their leader. He is the devil himself. Haven, you are living among absolute evil. It all crystallized, but I had to swat it down, stifle this understanding because my breathing was getting too loud. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to summon the courage to ever leave this perch. I felt the combined force of all of these people, all of this evil, engulfing me. All o
f this would be focused against me. What had I done to deserve this? Why me? How was I possibly supposed to overcome all of this?
I refocused my attention on Alistair, who was now sitting on the banquette near Beckett. Alistair had taken off his suit jacket, rolled his shirtsleeve up high, nearly to his shoulder. He looked nervous—his face was firm, but his eyes became shifty. Beckett stood over him and pressed one of the black index-card-size papers against the young recruit’s bicep, smoothing it out and holding it against his skin. Alistair gritted his teeth as curls of smoke rose off his golden flesh. Slowly, the black paper dissolved and a design began to take shape. Alistair squeezed his eyes shut against the pain as Beckett lifted his hands and this form traced itself, burning into Alistair’s skin, glowing in that shape I had seen before: it was the eye with that pentagram-shaped pupil. He clenched and unclenched his fists and finally his whole body eased and he took a deep breath. Beckett put a comforting hand on the young man’s back and Alistair looked up at him, nodded, and rose from his seat, jacket in hand, returning back down the staircase to his place in the circle. Those whose names remained to be called stared at him in quiet awe.
It went on this way until all twenty recruits had suffered through this same process. All that changed was how well or poorly each dealt with the pain (a few wept, others cried out in agony) and the location of the marking—some opted for a shoulder blade, a forearm, an ankle. When it was all finished, Aurelia took to the podium again.
“Congratulations to you all. Greatness awaits you.”
The outer circle, the original Outfit members, applauded and the new members looked both proud and pained, many still noticeably trying to stifle their wincing from their new markings. Aurelia held up a hand to silence the clapping. Her face grew more stoic than usual.
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 27
