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NINE

DORIAN

TWO YEARS BEFORE

If someone had told me I’d end up in a black suit, I would’ve laughed in their face. Yet here I was, staring at my reflection in the dusty attic mirror. The glass was cloudy, the air colder than it should be. Nagi hissed from her perch up in the rafters.

I turned to her. “You like it?” I asked.

As if a snake would answer.

“No words?” I smirked. “Fine. I like leaving women speechless.”

On top of the box lay the black mask Mother had given me. It was clear they wanted every face hidden. Just as clear, they didn’t want me there. But I was too damn useful to leave out.

I scooped up Nagi in my hand, she tightened around my hand, and I grabbed the mask, and headed down the creaking stairs, straight to Lenore’s room. I didn’t bother knocking.

She stood in front of her mirror in a red dress— that red dress.

It clung to her like it had been sewn onto her skin.

My mother’s dress. Her bare shoulders caught the light, and the dress cinched her waist so tight she looked thinner than she was.

On her feet were red heels. Bare arms. No necklace. No shame.

I’d never seen her breasts look full before.

Her hair was curled, her lips red like blood, and a black lace mask wrapped around her eyes. Through the cutouts, those blue eyes stared at her in the mirror.

“You look like a whore,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.

“And you look like an idiot,” she snapped, not even turning.

“They’re not gonna let you go down like that,” I said, stepping in. I laid Nagi on Lenore’s bed and yanked the blanket off it, draping it over her shoulders.

“Better,” I muttered.

She peeled it off and dropped it to the floor. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dorian.”

“I’d rather die than let you walk around like that,” I said, picking it up again and wrapping it around her. “You have boobs,” I whispered, dead serious.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she snapped. “I’m a woman .“ She shoved me, then cupped her chest with both hands. “Fucking deal with it.”

I rolled my eyes, head tilting back. “Why are you so fucking difficult?” I muttered, then looked at her again. “Sometimes, I swear, I wish I could twist your pretty neck.” I mimed it in the air, hands tightening. “Just like that.” I bared my teeth in a grin.

“You’d be doing me a favor,” she said, turning away. “I hate people anyway.”

I was just about to move closer when Mother stepped into the room.“You two ready?” she asked.

I could hear music already starting to play from downstairs.

“Yeah,” Lenore answered, brushing past me like I wasn’t there.

They both disappeared into the hallway. I didn’t follow. My fingers curled into my scalp, nails biting my skin. Rage burned under my ribs. She really left the room like that .

I growled under my breath, shoved the mask onto my face, and left Nagi curled on the bed. She’d be more comfortable there, anyway.

Downstairs, it was a sea of the same masks.

Every man dressed in black suits and black masks, sipping champagne like they belonged to the same shadow.

The women wore red, gold, or black. And in the center of the living room hung a massive portrait of Ezekiel.

His cold eyes smiling, a soft smirk on his lips showing.

Below the portrait at the table were two golden chalices and vases with red roses.

It looked like a funeral pretending to be a party. And it felt wrong. So fucking wrong.

Then I saw her.

Lenore stood in a corner, glass in hand, isolated in the crowd. People passed by, nodding, smiling, saying things she didn’t hear. She didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t move.

I walked toward her, each step heavier. When I reached her side, her eyes didn’t meet mine. She stared at the green wallpaper, where a patch had peeled back, revealing words carved into the wood underneath.

Only half of one was visible— Faith .

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t answer me. Just said, “Did you know all these people are from my father’s church?” Her voice was detached, floating somewhere else. “I never met half of them, but that woman over there—“ she nodded toward the right, ”—that’s my mom’s sister. She didn’t even recognize me.”

“Her loss,” I said. My hand twitched at my side, then slowly drifted closer, brushing her fingers. Barely a touch. Just enough to feel she was still warm. Still here. I wanted to hold her. I couldn’t. Not here.

“I used to think my dad killed my mom,” she said. “Like… sacrificed her for this house. And now look.” She exhaled sharply. “They worship him. Like he’s a fucking God. Maybe they all did it. Helped him.”

I turned, following her eyes.

There he was. The only one without a mask. The only one in white. People kissed his hand and leaned in to speak with him, eyes lit like they were looking at salvation.

Lenore was wrong.

This wasn’t a church.

It was a cult.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Everything slammed into place. My mother. My stepfather.

How we ended up here. How I couldn’t leave. How I had to obey, no questions asked.

Just as I was about to pull Lenore away and leave, Ezekiel clapped his hands. The sound snapped through the air, making everyone move towards him.

They gathered around, forming a circle. Eyes fixed. Silent. Ezekiel stood in the center.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, his voice soft but steady, “we’ve walked together for sixteen years.” A low chuckle slipped from his lips. “You know me, and I know you. But let me tell you how it all began.”

He started to pace within the circle, his bare feet brushing softly against the wooden floor.

“I used to be a businessman,” he said. “Wandering. Hollow. No faith. No anchor. When I moved here with my late wife—God rest her soul—everything changed.”

A hush fell over the room. Even the air felt still. Lenore’s fingers found mine and clutched tight, trembling.

Ezekiel’s eyes gleamed. “I found a journal. Left behind by the former owner of Gloomsbury Manor. A worn, leather-bound Bible, full of strange symbols and text. It spoke to me. It told me truths I didn’t know I needed.”

He paused, letting the silence breathe.

“That man had a vision. A prophecy,” Ezekiel said, his voice growing fervent. “He saw me . He saw me coming to this house. And in a dream, Mary the Holy appeared to him. She spoke of redemption. Of the chance to return what was taken.”

He raised one hand to the ceiling, his voice lifting with a fervor that bordered on madness.

“She gave him six commands. She promised eternal life to those who followed.”

“The Six Commands,” he said, “were spoken to the Prophet in his dreams, burned into his skin by divine fire. And now, they are ours.”

Everyone dropped to their knees.

Lenore’s grip tightened around my hand. I could feel her nails pressing into my palm, desperate.

He began reciting the commands, his voice echoing, words carving deep in my mind.

1. The House Must Never Sleep Empty.

2. The Red Shall Be Worn When the Moon Weeps.

3. The Faithless Must Be Named Before They Are Judged.

4. Blood Must Be Shared, Never Spilled.

5. The Flesh Remembers What the Spirit Forgets.

6. The Chosen Will Return, Wearing the Mask of Death.

A cold sweat crawled down my back.

I leaned toward Lenore. “We need to get out of here.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “We can’t—not yet. Not until we know who else is in this.”

Ezekiel pulled something from under his white coat: a small black book. The room hushed again.

He opened it slowly like he was revealing his own Bible.

“Tonight,” he said, “we complete the Circle of Command. Tonight, She returns.”

I didn’t want to hear more. I didn’t want to see more. But I was frozen in place, caught between Lenore’s shaking hand and the feverish eyes of everyone around us.

And then—he said my name.

“Dorian.”

The heads turned like puppets on strings. Every mask stared in my direction.

“Come forward.”

Lenore let go. “Don’t,” she whispered.

But I had to.

I stepped into the center of the circle. The wooden floor creaked under me. My breath fogged the inside of my mask. Ezekiel handed me the book.

“You’re ready now,” he said.

“For what?” I asked, my voice dry.

“To wear the mask not as a stranger… but as the Chosen.”

My hands shook as I opened the black book.

Inside were names.

Some I recognized.

Some were crossed out.

And at the bottom of the list:

Lenore. Mother. Me.

I was chosen? For what? I didn’t need faith or religion, all I wanted Lenore. And even if I had to play to be chosen one, I was ready to do anything to protect her.