Page 12 of The Puppet Master
The route sears into my memory as a door creaks open. When I’m shoved forward, I trip blindly into a cold, drafty building. One that makes me wonder if the cult trusts electric companies as little as they do banks.
Another flight of stairs. This time fifteen steps. Left down a hallway on creaky, warped floorboards, through a doorway my shoulder bumps, then finally…
“Welcome, gentleman.”
A guy behind me rips the blindfold over my head to reveal a dark, candlelit room. Three people stand side by side in front of me—an older man and two young women flanking him. Surprisingly, no one’s wearing a robe.
I sweep my eyes over the sparse room: no furniture, nothing on the cracked, dusty walls. A board is nailed over the window, so the only light comes from the circle of candles surrounding us, wax cooling into hardened puddles on the floor.
Shadows sway along the walls, and I follow them until I catch the outline of a motionless woman in the corner, her back turned, limbs sprawled. Either dead or unconscious.
“You must be Chief Elder,” Wilcox says. His throat clears as he sticks out his hand.
Aurelius—the cult’s leader they call the Chief Elder—glances at one of the women at his side. She’s the prettier of the two, delicate hips hugged by a yellow skirt a few shades lighter than her sunflower hair, youthful eyes bright with an eagerness life hasn’t yet dulled. An interesting find in a place like this.
When her lips quirk up with a shy smile, I follow her lead.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Thomas Wilcox,” the silver-haired Aurelius says, ignoring the invitation to shake. What a power move.
Wilcox drops his hand and fidgets like he’s no longer sure what to do with it. He grabs hold of his wrist and tries to smile, which is… not the correct expression.
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Wilcox stammers. “I?—”
“And you must be Sawyer.” Aurelius’s eyes shift to me. Everything looks eerie in this light, but it’s what’s missing from his eyes that unsettles me most. Curiosity, intrigue, expectation. This man looksannoyedby our presence, not excited for our buy-in.
Not what I’d expect from a cult leader.
“Yes, sir. I’m grateful to be here.”
“So…” He cups his hands together as his shoulders rise and fall, settling into whatever this is. “Raven tells me you’re both looking to initiate into our society. Is that correct?”
As if we’d let them blindfold and drag us around for some other reason.
“Yes, sir,” Wilcox nods, though we hadn’t learned any names aside from Aurelius’s before tonight. Wilcox has been speaking to theHead Keeper—Raven, apparently, and the Shadow Sanctum’s ‘guardian.’
Makes you wonder what it is they need guarded from.
I shift my focus between the two women for half a second before I deduce that Raven is on the right. Dressed in all black with an oval face sharpened by a too-tight ponytail, she stares with the same derision as Aurelius.
“We’ve heard incredible things about your lifestyle. Thefreedomyou give to your people, it’s… We’re very eager to join you.”
I turn my head to Wilcox. He sounds almost too convincing. We’ve heard next to nothing about their lifestyle, only that they permit sexual freedom here.
“We don’t normally have our initiates come to us in pairs…”
“Yes, well, we aren’t normal initiates.” Wilcox gives a light chuckle. “I don’t know if the Head Keeper told you, but we come from our own little utopia that’s unfortunately no longer inhabitable. Neither of us belong among the general population. We’re looking for a new home.”
“Yes, I’ve heard all about yourutopia,” Aurelius says in a disapproving tone that strikes me as predictably hypocritical. “We’re happy to have you here.” His lips stretch into a tight smile that looks painful. “But first, as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s a process of initiation you must go through.”
“Of course.” Wilcox dips his chin.
“Our society is set up as a caste system that each of our initiates separates into. At the top, we have the Chief Elder, who leads our society. Beneath, we have the Keepers who protect it. The Cultivators who provide for it. The Nurturers who raise the children of the future. The Seraphs who purify our people’s souls. And the Dregs who bring us wealth.”
Bring us wealth.
The Dregs must be the miners.
“Do we get to choose our caste?” I ask, tucking my thumbs into my pockets.
