Page 76 of House of Crimson Kisses
“Be careful,” he says and rubs his finger along the inside of my elbow before disconnecting and standing back.
A shiver runs down my back. I’m not sure if it’s Wendell’s touch or the fact that Lennox pulls open the door and Red sucks in a sharp gasp.
Standing in the doorway is not one, but two blood monks.
Monks, that to my knowledge, once ordained, don’t leave the church grounds. They dedicate their life in service to the church, worshipping and preparing for the return of the witch-god.
Red glances at me, her eyes as wide as I imagine mine are. What the hell are they doing here?
“What—” I start, but the monk’s sudden movement stops me.
His eyes jerk up. They’re a muted blue. Faded and washed out like an ancient watercolour. But there’s a fervour buried deep within. I don’t think he’s happy to be here. Perhaps he feels it’s a mockery of his service. The other monk is female, and she too seems furious. Deep wrinkles crinkle her lips where they’re pursed together.
They’re both wearing the long claret-coloured cloaks typical of the church. Their arms remain hidden beneath their sleeves, which they hold joined in front of their bodies.
I want to ask why they’re here, how we’ve angered them, but I don’t get the chance because in eerie synchronisation they each draw out a hand from their cloaks and present their palms out towards us.
Lennox jerks forward as if he’s going to step in to protect us. But I touch his arm to stop him.
The female monk’s eyes drift to meet Red’s.
“I guess that’s for me, then?” Red says and takes a step forward.
“Wait,” I say, knowing full well if this is a trap, I stand a better chance of surviving. “Let me.”
The male monk edges forward, lifting his palm up to me. It’s only now that I examine what it is floating in his palm.
“A bead of blood?” I mumble, more to myself than everyone else.
“It’s the spirit challenge,” Red says.
“Of course. Mother said we would receive invitations, but how is a drop of blood an invitation?”
The monk lifts his hand up as if he wants me to consume it.
“I see,” I say and glance at Red, who’s quietly shaking her head, knowing that I don’t want her to drink another vampire’s blood, and she doesn’t want to drink a human’s.
“Is it blood?” I ask the monk.
His head sways side to side in an agonisingly slow movement. He lifts his hand right up to my mouth.
“Here goes nothing,” I say and suck in the not-blood hovering above his palm.
The moment it hits my tongue, my mouth bursts with flavour. It’s like every drop of claret from everyone I’ve drunk from over the last millennia all at once. My head kicks back, white fills my vision. My mind heats, chains lock onto my consciousness, dragging me wherever this entity wants me to go.
Through the white cloud, a mirage emerges. The Church of Blood. I’m standing in a room beneath the main structure of the building. Nine beds made of stone surround a glass structure filled with blood. The room is circular in structure and dim enough the hunters will struggle to see far.
I squint at the glass vial-like structure at the centre of the stone beds.
Mother of Blood, it’s the sacred vial of witch-god blood. My ears roar, my chest tightens as I deduce what we are going to have to do. Surely Cordelia can’t expect us to undergo this ritual? The attrition rate and number of catatonic monks or outright deaths as a result of this process is insane. She could kill half of us off in this one trial.
Perhaps that was her plan all along.
I’m dragged forward. I try to fight the tugging. But I’m unable to resist. The chains in my mind tighten.
Slowly, the bodies of my siblings appear: Sadie first, then Dahlia, Gabriel and last Xavier, who is half dressed—caught shagging then, I expect.
One by one, the hunters appear at the foot of the remaining beds. Lincoln next to Dahlia. Talulla next to Xavier, Keir next to Gabriel.
