Secrets in the Moon (Crescent City Werewolves #1)

Chapter Eleven

"Freddy, is this really necessary?" Cora tugged at the manacles pinning her hands above her head. She had been chained to one of the stone pillars scattered throughout the room, and could hardly see anything from the many candles placed around her. Their frenzied glow and greasy smoke made her eyes burn, and she squinted while adding, "It all seems a bit... theatrical. Don't you think?"

Somewhere in the darkness, he laughed. "It's essential, Cora dear. Some things require great care."

"Oh." She hoped she sounded satisfied instead of doubtful.

In truth, she was beginning to think none of this would be worth it. She couldn't even make him out among the others. There must have been at least twenty people there, all wearing red robes with hoods that covered their faces. She wasn't sure how any of them could see, which was perhaps why they merely waited among the life-sized statues circling the room, as motionless as the carved marble itself. A few could be heard panting, though, as if very excited.

"And... why am I the only one without a robe? Or for that matter, the only one without a stitch on at all?"

At that, Freddy stepped within reach of the candlelight. He had shed his suit for a ridiculous white garment that looked like a puffy bathrobe more than anything. "Because you are extremely special. A guiding light in the unformed darkness."

"You're too kind." She took a close look at his eyes, which were glinting strangely. "Freddy, are you sure you're all right? You don't seem like your usual self, even for these kinds of parties."

"I'm more myself than you've ever seen," he said, moving over to one of the robed figures, who balanced a shallow, gilded bowl on one hand and held a fine-pointed brush in the other.

She turned her head to follow him, using the movement to hide her fingers as they plucked a hairpin free and began working on the nearest manacle. She spoke again to hide the sound of its lock clicking open. "I never understand a riddle for an answer. All I know is that this isn't your usual idea of a fun night."

"Sweet, simple Cora," he said, with real affection. Then he took the bowl and brush from the figure and approached her.

She decided it was safer to keep up the charade while she was still chained in place, and kept both hands in the manacles while he dipped the brush into the bowl and painted something on her throat. It smelled like blood, and worse, it was still warm. The figures around them shifted, hunching strangely inside their robes.

Before she could do more than make a disgusted noise, he said, "I'm still your good old Freddy, who loves his cars and boats and always adds three sugar cubes to his coffee. But some time ago, I came to realize none of it made me happy. Haven't you felt it, the boredom of having done everything? It's an emptiness I've seen in all our eyes while we drink and smoke away our time. Then one man showed me how there's so much more than this world and its undercooked pleasures."

The brush had been moving along her body the entire time, painting strange symbols with that strange liquid, and Freddy finished with a final glyph in the center of her forehead as he added, "Your uncle was a very wise man, Cora."

"Uncle Alfie? I'd call him a lot of things, but not that. Especially after he went a little batty and started a..." Then her voice faded. "A cult. Freddy, don't tell me this is..."

He had already walked away, and now paused before each of the marble statues to stare into their faces. "A continuation of what he started, yes. I kept it going after he passed on. I had to. The gods must be tended to in their fretful slumber. And I paid tribute to those who came before me whenever I could, including commissioning these. They cost a mint, but I wouldn't have it any other way."