The Infernal Sacrament (Guardians of Elysium Book 1)

by Nissa Leder

  The Infernal Sacrament

  Nissa Leder

  Bekah Harris

  Copyright © 2018 by Nissa Leder and R.J. Harris

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Also by R.J. Harris

  Also by Nissa Leder

  About R.J. Harris

  About Nissa

  1

  I promised myself I wasn’t going to come to the game tonight.

  Staying inside, wrapped under my blankets in bed while I watched some cheesy romantic comedy and ate a pint of whatever flavor ice cream I wanted was a much better plan than sitting on cold bleachers while the chronic Seattle drizzle frizzes my hair.

  Yet, here I am.

  Normally, I bring my blue and gold quilt to wrap myself in, but it was a gift from Darien, so on an emotional whim, I left it at home. As a shiver runs through me, I regret the decision.

  “Excuse me.” Claire, dressed in all black like some assassin, shuffles past the people blocking her way to me from the aisle. She reaches out one of the cups she’s holding. “It isn’t Ben n’ Jerry’s, but it’s chocolate.”

  I take the hot cocoa as I inhale the scent of her fruity perfume and wrap my hands around the warmth. “Thanks.”

  “You know I’m right, Ava.” Claire plops down next to me. “Staying home and spending a clichéd breakup evening isn’t what you needed.”

  “How is sitting out here getting rained on and watching him like nothing’s changed any better?”

  Before Claire can answer, the band starts to play as the team rushes onto the field. The crowd stands and shouts as the cheerleaders wave their pom-poms around. Last week, I’d have hopped up, stood on the bleachers, and screamed until my throat hurt.

  Now, I fight tears.

  Claire glances at me and frowns. She begged me to come tonight, promising I’d regret becoming a recluse. Truthfully, I know she’s right. It’s senior year and I’ve always loved coming to games. But as my focus falls on number fifteen leading the team from the locker room, my chest clenches.

  Get it together. I always promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those girls. The ones who lose it when her high school relationship ends as most do. Apparently, I judged too harshly. Maybe it’s because I never thought Darien and I would break up, or maybe I never realized how much it could hurt, but now I understand the temptation to fall apart.

  I swallow my heartache and straighten my back. I loved coming to football games before Darien and I started dating, and I’m going to enjoy this one, too.

  Finally, the warm-up buzzer sounds and the band stops.

  Claire looks at me with her dark eyes. “It will get easier.” She wraps her arm around me and pulls me into a half-hug. I’m thankful to have her in my life. No matter how awful a day I’m having, being around her always cheers me up.

  I lean into her and hold back the tears threatening to surface.

  Something catches Claire’s attention and she tenses. A girl with long black hair and magenta highlights slips by people in the row below and sits in front of us. I don’t recognize her, but she’s sitting in our student section, so she must be from Cascade High.

  “Do you know her?” I ask Claire.

  She shakes her head and her grimace slips into a curious expression. “No. Maybe she’s new.”

  The girl stretches out her arms and I notice her black, fingerless gloves. I’ve never understood that trend. What’s the point in wearing gloves if your fingers get cold?

  Claire extends her arm and taps the girl’s shoulder. Claire isn’t shy, but I’ve never known her to go out of her way to talk to someone new.

  The girl remains seated but turns her shoulders around.

  “Hi!” Claire says in a bubbly voice I’ve never heard her use. “I’m Claire and this is Ava. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

  “Probably because I’m new.” Her tone is unimpressed.

  “Big football fan?” Claire asks, her voice less amused than before. Much more like the usual Claire I know.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you picked a good game to watch,” I cut in before Claire can. “This team is the best in the league, so if we can beat them, our chances of getting into the playoffs are high.”

  Her eyebrows lift in sarcasm as she nods. “Awesome.”

  Okay, so this girl doesn’t care about football. Strange, since she’s sitting on cold bleachers with fingerless gloves staring at a field full of high schoolers in uniforms. But who I am to judge?

  The announcer asks everyone to rise for the national anthem followed by the fight song, so the girl turns back toward the field.

  Darien has been talking about this game for weeks. Not only is it the number one team, but rumor has it that a few major college recruiters will be attending. I’d planned for today to be a special day, and even made a shirt with a picture of us on it with his number on the back to wear tonight. When he told me he needed space two days ago, I took my frustration out by cutting the shirt into a hundred pieces. Not my proudest—or sanest—moment, but I didn’t see it coming. At all.

  After the band finishes, the game begins. The team huddles in a huge circle and jumps up and down as Darien gets them pumped up. When they give a final cheer and break apart, the crowd erupts.

  I search the rows below us and see Tuck staring at me. When we make eye contact, he grins. He’s sitting next to Darien’s Gran, as usual, decked out in blue and gold from head to toe. He lifts his arm and gestures for me to come sit by him, like I’ve done every game up until tonight. My shoulders slump and I shake my head. He frowns until the ref blows a whistle and the game begins, pulling his attention back to the field in front of him.

  Next to me, Claire stares at the back of the new girl’s head.

  “Everything okay?” I ask her, still surprised by her friendly gesture.

  She inhales then smiles. “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to introduce ourselves in case she doesn’t know anyone. But, apparently, she has other things on her mind.” She casts another annoyed glare at the new girl.

  It was a nice gesture, just not something I’d expect from Claire. Maybe the girl is just shy, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to talk or cared much about the game, which makes me wonder, why is she even here?

  The stadium lights illuminate the misty evening, casting a fuzzy glow over the football field at Cascade High, my new school for the foreseeable future, thanks to my family’s bloodline.

  The band finishes the school’s fight song, and the roar of the crowd fades to a buzz in my ears as the players break through the giant paper sign etched with vows to defeat the opposing team. I ca
n’t help the huff that escapes my lips.

  Football games. I shake my head. As if any of these people know the first thing about choosing sides. About how the real game is played. Call me a cynic, but I have bigger things to worry about than school spirit. So does everyone else here. Only they have no idea.

  “I just don’t understand,” Blondie is saying. “I just don’t get why he totally shut me out. We used to tell each other everything, and now, it’s just like, access denied. Out of nowhere.”

  “He’s going through some heavy stuff right now,” the other girl says. “My best advice? Give him his space, give him his time, and if he comes around? Great. If not? Move on.”

  I try to ignore the commentary of the two girls behind me, despite their “new friend” potential. Kelsey and Ava? Or was it Chloe and Eva? I can’t remember. Don’t get me wrong, they seemed nice enough and all when they introduced themselves, but their incessant lamentation about some football jock is distracting me from my entire reason for being here. The only thing that could possibly lead me to voluntarily attend a Friday night football game.

  My counterpart.

  I can sense his presence, but I haven’t found him yet. At some point, all people like me have to follow the pull of their hearts, the revelations of their dreams, and the call of the bond until they seek out their other half.

  Our family calls it “The Summoning”.

  We have to follow it wherever it leads. My brother’s led us to a remote town in the mountains of East Tennessee when I was in the seventh grade. Four years later, mine has led me here, to Seattle, to Cascade High, and to this very football field.

  I scan the rows of teen boys in the bleachers, some laughing, others shouting about the game below, and a few of them stuffing their faces with hotdogs and slurping sodas from gallon-sized cups. Is it one of them?

  God, I hope not.

  I wipe the rain from my face.

  I miss Tennessee, the solitude of the mountains, the bright blue skies, the quiet sounds of nature, and the sunlight on my skin. I pull the sleeves of my parka over my fingers. Where East Tennessee had been hot and humid, the air like heavy breath, the weather in Seattle is temperamental and indecisive. I’ve only been here a few days, and already, I’ve learned from the rest of the population not to bother carrying an umbrella. The rain is a part of the air here, not always coming down in drops or showers, but misting in tiny pops of moisture that frizz my hair out and slicken my skin.

  I’m not a fan.

  Life is gray enough without an ever-matching sky.

  I take a deep breath and pull the hood over my head, squinting against the lights to examine the players on the field, their blue and gold jerseys swirling together and then scattering to their predetermined positions on the grass. My heart sprints forward. I’m searching in the right direction. I’m close, I know it.

  Of course, my counterpart would be a football player. I haven’t even met him yet, and it’s already a disaster. Somehow, I doubt we’d be caught dead at the same lunch table.

  Which one is he, anyway? I close my eyes and concentrate, trying to drown out the screaming fans and listen to the rhythm of my heart until it falls into line with his.

  Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Thump-thud … Breathe in. Breathe out.

  I hear another heart thrumming in my ears. I listen, breathing, focusing until we are in rhythm. A number materializes behind my closed lids.

  Fifteen.

  I smile, even though I don’t want to. Even though I want no part of this antiquated, predetermined summoning that will change the course of my life forever. My blood and my body betray me as my pulse quickens. My heart flutters, and warmth spreads to my chest. My entire body relaxes, as if I’m exactly where I need to be. As if I am fully aligned with the secrets of the universe.

  I open my eyes and lock onto Fifteen.

  He dances to the side and takes a few steps back, his long, lean body moving automatically, just as it has been trained to do. Can he sense me yet? He pulls his arm back and launches the ball into the night. I don’t see if it hits his target. The crowd erupts behind me, but I don’t see why. There’s only him.

  Aura bursts from him in a clear red that fades to orange and pink. Strength, power, and love. Close to his body, he exudes faint hints of gold. Like he’s on the brink of awakening.

  But the gold should be bursting from him. I don’t understand …

  Oh. My. God.

  I study the colors again.

  He doesn’t know.

  Number fifteen, whose heart and blood and destiny called to me from a thousand miles away, doesn’t have a clue who he is. Or what.

  I exhale and try to stop the shaking of my hands. I look down, examining the black lace of my fingerless gloves, the chipped black nail polish, and smile. This is going to be harder than I thought.

  My counterpart is the freaking quarterback. And he doesn’t know the first thing about our world. I shake my head. Guess Dad is right.

  God does have a sense of humor.

  As soon as the sardonic laughter bursts from my lips, the darkness creeps in.

  I feel it all around me, seeping through me and into my bones, moving, always moving from victim to victim. All of them blissfully unaware of their sudden changes in mood. The sudden urges and impulses.

  My stomach turns sour.

  I can’t see what I’m feeling, but I know it’s there. The auras all around me, brightened by the fortune of the game, have dulled, the crowd becoming restless. I glance at the two girls behind me, one blonde and beautiful, the other dark and exotic. Their complaints grow louder, their movements more restless.

  Claire or Cleo, the dark-haired one, stares past me at the field. She’s listening to her friend but not hearing her.

  Does she know?

  Can she see?

  She meets my eyes for a brief flicker of a moment before turning back to Blondie. I try to read her aura, but there’s nothing. No darkness, no light. As if she’s somehow shielded herself against my reading.

  A damp chill washes over me and my blood runs cold in my veins. A chill that is more than the godforsaken weather in this damp cesspool of a city.

  I turn back to the field.

  Darkness rolls off the players from the other team, replacing the dim reds and blues from before. It cloaks them momentarily before drifting like smoke in a single direction.

  Toward the quarterback.

  My number fifteen.

  First down.

  Hell, yeah.

  I clap my hands and unleash another yell into the night sky, thanking whatever powers that be that, finally, things are looking up. Coach McCabe paces along the sideline, chewing his wad of gum and rolling up his playbook like a newspaper. My teammates slap me on the back as I make my way back across the field.

  “Cascade’s own Number Fifteen Darien Crain with the first down pass.”

  I pound my fist against my chest, psyching myself up for the next play as my name drifts over the loudspeaker.

  The brassy staccato of the Cascade fight song erupts over the roaring crowd, as my adrenaline calms. I kick the back of my heel, trying to knock the wet grass from my cleats. The rain is letting up, but the field is still slick, the damp night air cool against the skin of my arms. Out here, I’m electric and alive. Out here, nothing can touch me.

  I search the stands as I trot back to position, but I can’t see much against the lights. Not that it matters. I know Gran and Tuck are in the front row, just like they have been every Friday night for the last two years. I try to stay focused, to fight the deep ache in my chest, but it’s etched into me like a permanent nothing.

  Just like the empty seat next to Gran.

  Where Pops used to sit, calm, collected, and proud no matter how wild the crowd got. No matter how killer the play. No matter how seriously I screwed up.

  My stomach flips. I wonder if he can still see me.

  And what about Ava? Is she here somewhere watching, even after I broke he
r heart? I push the thought away. I can’t think about that right now.

  “Focus, Crain. One play at a time.”

  Shaking my head, I glance at the scoreboard. 23-10. The game is in the bag. As long as I don’t do anything stupid.

  When you’re on fire, nothing can touch you.

  I repeat those words in my mind, a mantra Pops had reinforced since I could talk. Sometimes, it’s like I can really feel the fire, burning inside me somewhere deep that can’t be touched. Warmth spreads through me, my heart pounding. I scan the field, envisioning the play in my mind, and lean down, the tips of my fingers skimming the damp grass. The ref blows the whistle and the clock starts.

  I call the play. Padded bodies disperse in all directions.

  The snap is perfect. I chamber my arm, the ball a perfect bullet waiting for the trigger pull that will shoot it toward the end zone. I squint downfield, searching for Logan, waiting for him to race into my line of vision with his sick speed. I back up three paces and shuffle a few feet to my right until I see him, perfectly positioned for the touchdown. I got this.

  A searing pain surges through my brain.

  I stumble back.

  I fight to stay on my feet, but white-hot fire sears through me. I force my eyes open. Splotches of black sludge materialize in the corners of my eyes. Like shadows. My breathing sprints forward, but my heart begins to creep slower and slower, until I think it might stop altogether. Heat explodes from my chest and shoots toward my limbs. I’m burning. Oh, God, I’m burning, make it stop.

  “Crain!”

  Voices shout my name. I blink. The pain fades. I shake my head as Eli blocks the joker heading straight toward me. It’s now or never. I’m disoriented and dizzy, as if I’ve played too hard without enough water, but I force my eyes to Logan. He’s running past the 30 and into the 20 and—