Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy 1)

At least Santiago’s isn’t horrendous like some I see tonight. Like the one I remember Holton wearing during my exam. I scan the room, remembering my brother’s request. Remembering if I get him information, he’ll bring Evangeline to see me. But when I do finally find him, recognizing him through his half mask, I realize I couldn’t tell my brother what he wants to know anyway because I can’t see the other man’s face, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, I walk closer, keeping my head down as if I were just making my way across the room. When I get near the two men, I look at Holton’s companion’s hand and take in his ring. He moves his hand quickly, though, so all I can make out is what looks like two hammers, which can’t be right. I’ll need to figure out a way to ask Santiago tonight.

Slipping behind cover in a corner, I watch my husband. He’s still talking to the same man. They’re thick as thieves, and I wonder what they could be discussing. The masks they wear are among those that hide the most. Santiago, I understand. He doesn’t like people looking at him. I wonder what the other man has to hide.

When Santiago raises his head to look in my direction, I quickly turn to walk away. I don’t think he can see me here through all these people, but maybe I’m wrong. I can see him clearly enough, after all.

I hurry out of the elaborately decorated room and out into the courtyard. I pass the place where we had the marking ceremony. It’s so different now. Not so ominous. The canopy of roses and vines is gone. The ornate chair and table nowhere in sight. No brands smoking in any fires. I look down at the ground and see the only thing that suggests anything like that ever took place here at all. The small ring between the stones he attached my leash to.

My leash.

Jerk.

But at least he didn’t make me wear that rosary tonight.

The voices around me fade as I stretch my foot out to touch it with the toe of my flat sandals. I didn’t wear the heels Mercedes provided knowing I’d have Santiago’s support if it came to it. But I should remember it’s not out of concern for me. If I trip and break my neck, his toy will be gone.

Mercedes’s words sting me again, and I swallow the rest of the bubbly champagne to numb their impact. When I look up, I notice more eyes on me and hear whispers around me.

God. I’m as paranoid as Abel. They’re not talking about me. They don’t even know who I am under this mask. That’s one thing Mercedes did well. She’s hidden my face. I’m sure this privacy she’s afforded me in the midst of all this wasn’t intentional, even if the mask is irritating and hinders my peripheral vision.

I set my glass on the pedestal of the statue behind which the girl had hidden on our wedding night, only realizing then where I’m headed as the voices fade behind me and the corridor grows darker. I reach out my hands to touch the walls on either side of me as it narrows, and from here, I can already smell incense.

It’s not a comfort. My association with the church is linked to the nuns who were rarely kind, but when I reach the doors, I don’t hesitate. I push one open and slip inside and away from all those people. There is a comfort in that, at least, and in the red glow of the tabernacle lamp. A constant.

I reach back to untie the mask and slip it off as I step deeper into the chapel.

My heart skips when I look at the altar and up at the crucified Christ. As I remember what we did here. What would Sister Mary Anthony think of her Sovereign Son if she only knew?

The thought of it makes me giggle. Or maybe that’s the champagne.

Someone clears their throat then, and I startle. That and movement at the back of the chapel draw my attention, and I feel instinctively guilty. But I need to remind myself that I’m not doing anything wrong. Even if Santiago were to find me here, he certainly couldn’t accuse me of anything.

“I just…” a soft voice starts. She steps out of the shadows. “I was lighting a candle.” She’s holding a long thin white candle in her hand. She’s not wearing a mask, and I recognize her instantly. She’s looking at me with the same wide, almost frightened eyes.

It’s the girl who’d hidden behind the statue the night of the marking ceremony.

I smile. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” I realize when she turns that she’s pregnant. I hadn’t noticed it before. I’d only seen her face, and even that partially, and I hadn’t noticed it now, either, not when I first saw her a moment ago. She has one hand under her belly, the tight moss green dress she’s wearing accentuating its roundness against her otherwise petite frame. I see how her wavy strawberry-blond hair falls to her waist down her back.