Page 35 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

“No shit, Sherlock,” she snapped. “I’m awoman.“ She shoved me, then cupped her chest with both hands. “Fucking deal with it.”

I rolled my eyes, head tilting back. “Why are you so fucking difficult?” I muttered, then looked at her again. “Sometimes, I swear, I wish I could twist your pretty neck.” I mimed it in the air, hands tightening. “Just like that.” I bared my teeth in a grin.

“You’d be doing me a favor,” she said, turning away. “I hate people anyway.”

I was just about to move closer when Mother stepped into the room.“You two ready?” she asked.

I could hear music already starting to play from downstairs.

“Yeah,” Lenore answered, brushing past me like I wasn’t there.

They both disappeared into the hallway. I didn’t follow. My fingers curled into my scalp, nails biting my skin. Rage burned under my ribs. She really left the room likethat.

I growled under my breath, shoved the mask onto my face, and left Nagi curled on the bed. She’d be more comfortable there, anyway.

Downstairs, it was a sea of the same masks. Every man dressed in black suits and black masks, sipping champagne like they belonged to the same shadow. The women wore red, gold, or black. And in the center of the living room hung a massive portrait of Ezekiel. His cold eyes smiling, a soft smirk on his lips showing. Below the portrait at the table were two golden chalices and vases with red roses.

It looked like a funeral pretending to be a party. And it felt wrong. So fucking wrong.

Then I saw her.

Lenore stood in a corner, glass in hand, isolated in the crowd. People passed by, nodding, smiling, saying things she didn’t hear. She didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t move.

I walked toward her, each step heavier. When I reached her side, her eyes didn’t meet mine. She stared at the green wallpaper, where a patch had peeled back, revealing words carved into the wood underneath.

Only half of one was visible—Faith.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t answer me. Just said, “Did you know all these people are from my father’s church?” Her voice was detached, floating somewhere else. “I never met half of them, but thatwoman over there—“ she nodded toward the right, ”—that’s my mom’s sister. She didn’t even recognize me.”

“Her loss,” I said. My hand twitched at my side, then slowly drifted closer, brushing her fingers. Barely a touch. Just enough to feel she was still warm. Still here. I wanted to hold her. I couldn’t. Not here.

“I used to think my dad killed my mom,” she said. “Like… sacrificed her for this house. And now look.” She exhaled sharply. “They worship him. Like he’s a fucking God. Maybe they all did it. Helped him.”

I turned, following her eyes.

There he was. The only one without a mask. The only one in white. People kissed his hand and leaned in to speak with him, eyes lit like they were looking at salvation.

Lenore was wrong.

This wasn’t a church.

It was a cult.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Everything slammed into place. My mother. My stepfather.

How we ended up here. How I couldn’t leave. How I had to obey, no questions asked.

Just as I was about to pull Lenore away and leave, Ezekiel clapped his hands. The sound snapped through the air, making everyone move towards him.

They gathered around, forming a circle. Eyes fixed. Silent. Ezekiel stood in the center.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, his voice soft but steady, “we’ve walked together for sixteen years.” A low chuckle slipped from his lips. “You know me, and I know you. But let me tell you how it all began.”

He started to pace within the circle, his bare feet brushing softly against the wooden floor.

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