Page 117 of She Haunts Me Still

For a moment, she contemplates running.

For a moment, she questions the strength of this plan.

But then, a shadow widens at the periphery of her vision, and Mallory turns just in time to see Ezra appear at the altar. All in black. Gaze locked on hers. Just like always. But also nothing like ever before.

“Jules,” he says. “You’re right on cue.”

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Gone is Ezra’s usual long coat, replaced by a hooded velvet cloak like the others. Beneath it, he wears a crisp black suit, bloodred tie cinched at the top. But instead of a mask, his face is on display, all the hard, angular lines of him swathed in shadows. An angry violet bruise decorates his left cheekbone, his mouth kissed with dried blood. His eyes are rimmed with purple-black veins, and when he smiles at her, she swears she catches the sliver of a fang. As if he’s more monster than man, as if there’s almost nothing human left in him at all.

“Please rise,” Ezra says to the small crowd.

Mallory turns to see the masked men stand obediently. Facing their next leader.

Ezra glances toward her. “Tonight, we are joined by the rightful seventh gift to Our Lord. We almost lost her to careless witchcraft, but now she’s come home to us. To where she belongs.”

She thinks of Victor saying the same. Perhaps she does belong here. Perhaps it was always going to end this way.

“I know you’re all eager,” Ezra says, “to begin the ritual.”

Mallory freezes as Ezra opens his cloak to reveal a long dagger, strapped to his waist.

The hilt and cross guard are crusted in glittering rubies, the same symbols from his rings woven between. Ezra wraps a steady hand around the weapon, tugging the gleaming blade loose, and her breath catches. Suddenly, the knife in her pocket feels pathetic. A flimsy defense against unmistakable power.

She won’t be able to protect herself at all.

Ezra lays the dagger carefully against the altar, green eyes locked on hers.

“But my father taught me only the best manners. A live offering in our presence deserves a last meal.” His smile is cold as he extends a hand. “Will you join me?”

Mallory fleetingly imagines Ezra looming above her, kissing her mouth as he plunges that jeweled dagger into her chest. She looks toward the exit, her only way out.

But if she runs, Saskia dies. And she’d still be hunted anyway.

Mallory steps forward and wordlessly gives Ezra her hand. He laces their fingers together, sealing her fate.

“We’ll just be a little while,” he says to the others. “Please. Have a seat. Thank you for your patience.”

“Where are we going?” she asks as he leads her into the sacristy. Her palm sweats against his. “Where—”

Her whispers evaporate as he squeezes her hand twice in quick succession. Their code? What—?

“Ezra—”

The second they’re in the sacristy, Ezra tugs her, fast, toward the armoire at the far end of the room. Before she can ask any questions, he wrenches both doors open, parting the hanging garments to either end. And Mallory can only stare at what’s been inside this entire time:

A rusted gate, bracketing a tiny space with a brass lever and mirrored walls.

An old-fashioned elevator.

Understanding takes hold as she thinks of the footsteps below the chapel’s first floor. Victor suddenly appearing in the sacristy out of nowhere. How both those things seemed impossible because there isn’t a staircase to a basement.

But there is an elevator. And it’s been kept secret.

“Come on,” Ezra says, rushed. “We don’t have time.”

“Inthere?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand—”