Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“I apologize for the stench,” the Councilor says.
Willow is breathing through her mouth. I smell it, but don’t care.
The Councilor lights each of the torches as Willow and I wait. I take note of the marble baptismal font standing in the center of the space outside of the cell. It must have been a hell of a job to get it down here.
This is the arrangement I asked for. The one thing I need. I walk toward the font and unwrap the parcel I am carrying. In my periphery, I see him. Caleb Church. He stands from where he was seated in the corner and walks toward the bars to watch as I take out the dagger I found beside Alfred Noyes’s body and set it along the edge. I’m fairly certain it’s the one they used to etch their mark into their victims before murdering them.
Caleb Church will die the way he lived.
Councilor Hildebrand only glances at Caleb before making his way back toward us after having lit all the torches. He hands me an ancient looking key on a heavy iron ring.
“I’ll say good night then. Should you need anything, my man will be waiting within earshot. Rest assured he is discreet.”
“Thank you, Councilor,” I say, turning my full attention to Caleb.
Councilor Hildebrand’s footsteps recede and disappear. I hear the vague echo of him climbing the stairs we just took down.
I walk toward the cell, which truly is how I imagine a medieval cell would have been. There’s straw in one corner, which I assume is meant to be used as a bed, a bucket—the cause of the stench—and a plate of stale bread and a cup of water.
Caleb is dressed in a pair of ancient and filthy looking pants made out of what appears to be burlap. They’re too short on him and come up to his shins. His feet are bare, and I imagine the yellowed, fraying oversized shirt he’s wearing was once white. He has a few visible bruises but nothing close to what he deserves.
“You,” Caleb says to Willow. “You’re dead!”
When he was brought here, he was still unconscious. I imagine his last sight of Willow was when she was swinging before the strike of lighting that smashed Shemhazai’s statue to pieces.
Willow walks right up to the bars. “Sadly for you, no, I’m not. I’m alive and well and will walk out of here tonight to see another day tomorrow. You won’t be so lucky.”
Caleb stupidly shoots his arms through the bars to grab her, but I step in front of her.
“You won’t touch her,” I tell him. “You’ll deal with me tonight.”
He looks up at me, and I momentarily see fear in his eyes. I’m a lot bigger than him, and he’s on his own. He doesn’t have his Disciples to mindlessly do his bidding.
“She’s a witch and a whore, and you… You are the devil’s spawn!”
I snort and turn to Willow, gesturing for her to back away. She does, walking toward the baptismal font and picking up the dagger. I unlock the cell door and gesture for Caleb to step out.
He looks at me, at Willow, then at the mouth of the corridor.
“Feel free to try and run, but if you touch my wife, I’ll make your final night a very, very long one for you.”
He swallows, eyes up the exit again. He knows he’s not getting out of here, though.
“Come out, Caleb Church. Fight like a man with a man rather than hiding behind others to beat and murder women.”
He steps outside of his cell and I gesture to the font.
“I had this brought here just for you. You like to baptize the women before you kill them, isn’t that right?”
“I am God’s Prophet. I do his work.”
“Is rape his work?” Willow asks. “Is mutilation? Murder?”
He stalks toward her, his rage no less diminished in the time he’s spent here. I intercept him, take him by the hair on the back of his head, and march him toward the baptismal font. Without ceremony, I dunk his head in and hold it under while he thrashes. I pull him up after a few moments.
“It’s not holy water. I didn’t want you to spontaneously combust.” I push his head under again and his scream, swallowed by the water, turns to bubbles. His hands come to the edge of the font to pull himself up. He doesn’t get up, though, until I allow it. “By the way, Brother Amos succumbed to his wounds. That’s another life on your hands.”
I dunk again, then straighten him, water splashing my shirt.
“You’ll burn in hell for what you’re doing!” he spits as he tries to suck in air.
“Willow,” I say, holding my hand out to her. “The dagger.”
Willow comes to my side, but she doesn’t hand me the dagger. I take his arms and hold them at his back when she steps up close to Caleb, and I watch as she stares him down. He struggles against me, but he’s not going to get free.