Pastor Cotton buried himself in his scripture and books, trying to find the beast, but we found nothing. The Devil himself was getting creative with his demons, becoming more unknown and made of nightmares.
There was a knock at the door, and it made me jump as I scanned Henry Jon’s cursive ink on the pages. Luna wouldn’t ever forget her keys, so whoever it was wasn’t my roommate.
I made my way to the door and stood a few inches away asking, “Who is it?”
I waited for their response, but none ever came. I mustered up an eye roll before looking through the peephole.
When I leaned in, hands on either side of the small hole, I tried to focus on the shadow. The lock rolled over, unlocking itself. I backed up quickly, not sure who it was or what they wanted, but clearly they had some tricks, unexplainable ones.
The door opened to Caellum leaning against the door frame, looking bored to be in front of me, yet here he was.
I didn't believe Bolton for a second that my hands were anything but static zapping against him, but in this moment, in the fear of their enemy, I was willing myself to give into all this.
I held out my hands like a deranged person, hoping they'd protect me. He mocked my idiocy: “They give you a wand with those too?”
I dropped my hands, feeling more stupid than I ever had in my life. I clamped my eyes shut, only for a second, wishing I never actually did that.
“Can I help you? Aren't you supposed to be going back to your school?”
He completely ignored my questions when he invited himself in and took inventory of our room, starting with Luna’s side. “How much did they tell you?”
I played dumbed, hoping it was more useful than static-less hands. “Tell me what? How much of a douche bag you are? Kind of learned that on my own.”
He saw Henry Jon’s diary on my bed, making me a liar and psycho now. He picked it up, scanning the words, before a smile plastered to his face. “Oh, Henry Jon. Such a good Christian. Guess faith can't save everyone.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant, what he knew, what he wanted with me this late, but he left no time between his thoughts. “Be careful who you trust. Not everyone is on your side.”
“But you are? I don't even know you.”
He leaned down over me, merely inches from my face, with his hands behind his back, leaning down. “No. I'm on whoever’s side wins in the end. Normally, sacrifices don't win.”
Sacrifice? Me? Bolton said you can't hurt the circle, but maybe I'm not one of them.
I folded my arms against my chest and regained composure, even with his close proximity. “Normally traitors don't either.”
I didn't know what actually happened between everyone that made Caellum land on the side of Bolton that was permanently pissed off, but he didn't know that.
He stood up, with his eyebrows dipping and assessing how much my face gave away that I knew.
Don't give anything away. Don't give anything away when you know nothing.
Chanting in my head must have helped because he leaned against another wall, giving me room to finally breathe. “You have no idea, do you?” He laughed to himself, pleased as punch, while I kept looking like an idiot.
He sat down on Luna’s desk chair, swinging one leg over and his arms pressing into the back of it. “Don't you think you should know my side before you condemn me?”
His sharp jaw, dark eyes, and almost perfect body was distracting me, as the muscles in his arms protruded against his thin shirt. I crossed my arms, sitting on my bed across from him, waiting for him to explain.
“Bolton's always had a hard on for being leader. I don't really care. I appreciate facts and people who don't know what betrayal is. We clashed on everything. He wanted pizza; I wanted ice cream. He wanted to save the sacrifices; I wanted to go home. He didn't have powers; I had too much to handle.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, like he hadn't thought about any of this until now.
“So you’re opposites, cool. That doesn't explain the pure uncut hate.”
“It doesn't matter how much we clash. He needs all of us for the ritual to go right. The hate…? Well, that was born out of you.”
“Me? I'm nobody. I didn't even meet any of you until I moved here.” I was over deciphering every confusing word, and it was showing. My voice was limp and tired.
“You have the biggest clue sitting on your bed, and yet you’re still clueless.”
I stood up, annoyed with everything and still a kind of exhausted that stopped begging for sleep; it was now demanding. “Why don't you just tell me instead of the damn riddles?”
He sighed heavily. “You. We always argued about you. He never wanted you to be the sacrifice in the ritual. He wasn't ever sure enough you were one of us... he didn't know if you'd come back. You’re always running away, and we are your private army.”
Nothing was falling into place, even after the answers I begged for. Caellum was willing to spill every ounce of truth, but it didn't matter, because my entire body refused to believe him.
I was just me. I wasn't anything but a teenager on the verge of college with a bad attitude and two parents in other places.
Me.
Shooting up off my bed, I started pacing, like often Bolton did. “We don't live in Twilight, True Blood, or The Vampire Diaries. This isn't happening.”
Caellum’s gritting laugh sounded genuine, unlike his eyes. “Damn straight. We aren't vampires or werewolves. We’re gods, crowned in by Zeus himself. Different movie completely.”
Everything about him was calm and dormant, like he knew one day he'd have to tell someone, and this wasn't as hard as he thought it'd be.
Good for him.
“None of this is real. You sound crazy. I already have enough problems.” My voice was confused, pleading for a sliver of truth in all this. Bolton was a god—a real life mythological god stuck on earth for whatever reason?
“I really thought it would have clicked by now.” He should leave the sarcasm to a professional. It was going over like a lead balloon.
“So why can't you go home? Why do you need me?”
He thumbed the pages of Henry Jon’s journal, looking for something specific, when he handed me back the book, pointing a few paragraphs down. My eyes found his finger and started to glance over the cursive that was almost unintelligible to read without some history degree.
Henry Jon
We peered through the tall trees watching the Devil’s children form a circle around Rosalia, closing her in and suppressing whatever faith she had left.
The Devil’s children were always forming circles in the dark, doing their father’s bidding.
Rosalia hugged their leader, careful to not use his true name, tightly against her corset, before she laid down on a rock with a smooth top. She trusted him blindly, more than our Christian God.
Pastor Cotton, to my right, clung onto the large cross around his neck, hoping it would save him. I wasn’t sure anything would save us, when monsters like these walked around.
I watched the girl moving around Rosalia closely, watching her grind herbs and chant to one of the witches we cast back to hell.
The sky was a heavy shade of black, making the stars seem even brighter than on the clearest night. The others closed in on my prized possession, and it wasn’t until their leader spoke that I realized Rosalia wasn’t meant to be a vessel or survive, but she was to be their sacrifice.