PROLOGUE
Madigan
In the beginning, there was a ribbon.
Silky-smooth and scarlet, it was the kind of expensive decoration that rich people wrapped their Christmas gifts in.
The kind of gifts my sixteen-year-old self would never receive again.
It appeared on the empty sidewalk in front of me like the sweetest temptation, but when I bent down to grab it, a violent breeze whisked it away from my eager fingertips.
I chased it for a couple of steps, fascinated by the ribbon’s powerlessness as it dipped and danced, raced and shivered. I wondered what it would feel like to be that out of control. To be that manipulated. The breeze was as devious as my sister, Amy, when she wanted a new toy from our parents.
“Want me to catch it for you?”
I turned in surprise. A boy had appeared behind me, a strange-looking boy a few years older, with eyes as black as the night’s sky over my family’s vacation cabin in Vermont. His messy dark hair and white T-shirt sang tunes of hardship, but he was blowing into my life with the same force as that breeze. I couldn’t help feeling that I was the helpless ribbon this time.
“D-do I know you?”
It was a stupid thing to say. We fell on opposite sides of the tracks, that much was clear. My clothes spoke of designer labels, not poverty. My skin was clean and smooth, and his was stained with the kinds of stories that made me feel pathetically grateful for my life, even though I’d just been grounded for a D on my end-of-semester math exam. Freedom was a walk to and from school these days.
“Not yet.” He strolled a couple of steps to join me and held out his hand. “I’m Luca.”
“Madeline.” My fingers took on a life of their own, curling around his and basking in their warmth. “My friends call me Madi.”
“Madi it is.” His smile dimmed suddenly and his grip tightened. “Do you believe in God, Madi?”
I wrenched my hand away, the spell broken. “What kind of question is that?”
“Well, do you?”
Uneasiness swirled in my stomach, but it was quickly dissipated by his closeness. There was barely a foot between us. I expected him to smell of hunger and resentment. Instead, he smelled like an invitation to the most exclusive high school party of the year: Crisp. Cool. Dangerous.
“I-I think I do. I mean, I attend church each Sunday with my family.”
“Do you read the scriptures?” he demanded, sounding like a demented preacher. “Do you say your prayers every night?”
An invisible breeze had picked up around us again. I felt myself being pulled further and further away from everything that felt safe.
“The wages of sin is death,” he continued solemnly. “Did you know that, Madi? If I catch that ribbon for you, will you let me show you?”
Sin? Death? In that instant, the breeze became a cyclone.
I backed away, fighting the invisible pull between us. “I need to get going now, Luca. It was good to meet you.”
His smile turned sad. It was the saddest thing I ever saw. Regret burned like a forest fire in his dark eyes.
For the first time, I became aware of how empty the street was. Of how lonely he made me feel. Somewhere behind us, I heard a car door open. Heavy footsteps followed.
“If you let me catch that ribbon for you, I’ll heal your sins, Madi. I’ll bind your wrists with it when you turn eighteen, and then the Disciples will cleanse your soul.”
Uneasiness bloomed into panic. I turned to run. I made it five steps before a hand clamped across my mouth, and I was pulled back into his beautiful madness.
I fought for my freedom until my limbs grew heavy. I kicked and bucked, twisted and jerked, far more violently than that ribbon ever did. In my mind, I was fighting for a college I’d never attend, a first kiss I’d never experience, my father’s pride on my wedding day...
I screamed my fear and anger into his palm, but he never responded or loosened his grip. Eventually, a black cloth was dragged over my head, and the aroma of stale leather became the bars of my new prison cell. He held me close to him as I cried in defeat. When I didn’t have the strength to push him away anymore.
In the end, there was a boy who stole me from a sidewalk.
One who bound me tighter to him than any ribbon.
CHAPTER ONE
Madigan
It’s a misconception that midnight is when the witching hour starts. Three a.m. is when all my demons come out to play. That’s the time I wake up screaming, my bedsheets soaked in sweat as my past is wrung clean out of me.
My subconscious is an unruly child, filling my head with violent tales of death and violence. I can’t control her in the same way that I control every other aspect of my life, and that’s why I fear her the most.
White knife. Heart sore. Black eyes that scorch and scar like a funeral pyre...
Get back upstairs, you little bitch, or I’ll break your dolls.
Kicking away the damp sheet, I swing my legs out of bed. As soon as my feet hit the carpet, I’m being dragged back to hell... To a cracked stone tablet. To bloodstains tainting light gray—a crimson martyr of all those who went before me.
So many girls.
Agony.
God help me.
No, not God... He forsook us a long time ago.
Us.
Not us.
Anything but us.
My bedroom turns into a vortex of pain, and then an overhead light snaps on, sucking the worst of it away.
“Mads?”
My roommate, Grady, appears silhouetted in the doorway, his brown hair wild and his loose-fitting white Tee on the unfashionable side of lightly crumpled.
“What is it?” I croak.
“Your cell’s going fucking ballistic in the kitchen. You left it there to charge...” His accusation hangs lightly. Grady doesn’t do heavy. “I know I have an early start today, sunshine, but this three a.m. shit is killing my vibe.”
Sunshine.
It’s a nickname that’s way more appropriate for him. His smiles are never forced. His optimism is never trapped beneath a terrible weight.
“Mads?” he sing-songs. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Instead of running to the kitchen to see who’s blowing up my cell at three a.m., the backs of my shoulders are hitting the mattress again.
“I’m dealing with it.”
“Yeah, it looks like it.”
“I’m hoping my indifference will telepathically dissuade whoever from calling again,” I mumble, staring up at the white ceiling, but seeing only gray.
He snorts, and a beat later I’m hearing the familiar chime for myself.
“I swear to God, Mads...”
“It must be work.” Reluctantly, I sit up.
“It must be.” He shoots me a grin, but there’s a sympathetic downturn at the corners. He knows I’m estranged from my family, and the only friends I have are him and his boyfriend. Oh, and that I’m a bona fide public defender work whore who never turns away a client, no matter how long I take to answer their call.
He rolls his eyes as my cell rings again, and then he’s padding back down the hallway to his bedroom, his parting words wrapped up with a bow of disapproval. “Anytime this century would be nice...”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Grady.”
“And black circles under my eyes do?”