Rory moved through the silent halls. There wasn’t another daughter in sight. She imagined some continued to watch the portals in the Grotto. Others would be busy with the refugees and explosions while the rest would maintain order. She wondered what side, Dale, the guard they’d kidnapped, would be on if she encountered him.

She wandered through the silent meeting room and gazed at the row of seats where she’d sat next to Byron as he spoke. Despite the aches and pains from his recovery, he’d forced himself to walk the distance from Nadine’s house because it was the right thing to do. She struggled away another wave of longing.

What would she do if she settled down with someone and he appeared at her doorstep? She didn’t have any answers, but plenty of questions. With a head ready to burst, she sat down and rested it on the back of a pew while she fought the coming tears.

A whisper of fabric and slippers on marble floors roused her from her misery. Slowly, she kneeled and hid between the rows.

“Please, I know who you are and what you’re capable of. Before you speak, understand that I’m an ally.” The woman had a slight accent that conjured images of brightly colored sari and freshly baked naan.

Rory recognized the voice and fought to remember which side she might be on, Grace’s or the Catherine’s. “Who are you?” she asked, careful to keep her own tone as low as the woman’s.

“My name is Indra. I’m a friend of the true Catherine.”

The word true before Catherine spoke volumes to Rory. Tentatively she peeked out from her hiding place, ready to speak a command if needed. But no one attacked her. She only found a short woman, a tad heavier than most of the other Daughters, with kind dark eyes and shining bronze skin.

“There you are.” Indra smiled at her and patted the spot next to where she sat. “We don’t have long before the Daughters’ return.”

Rory slipped beside her and waited, worried she’d made a horrible mistake.

“We still have holdouts amongst the Daughters. Grace interred most of those who tried fighting against her in the penal camps. She spared me the same fate because of my status. My elder years are closing in and I’ll be able to retire to a life outside the confines of the faith. If it were up to Grace, it would have happened already.”

Rory nodded, not understanding the meaning behind her words, but understood they were important at least.

“There are few pure Daughters left thanks to one of your friends.” She feigned a righteous cluck and giggled like a schoolgirl in rapid succession. Her hands flew to cover her face. “That was uncalled for. I apologize. The scandal has been all any of us can talk about. Many of the Daughters used dancing as an excuse to defile themselves. I’m afraid your kind are blamed for those sins too.”

“I’m sorry it happened.”

Indra held her head high. “Don’t be. None of the truly devout gave themselves to men.”

“Wait. Weren’t you were the previous Catherine’s second in command after she stripped the honor from Grace? Shouldn’t you be the new Catherine?”

“Not necessarily. Because of my oath, I can’t tell you more than that. Unlike the current regime, there are Daughters left who still respect the sanctity of tradition, including the vow of nonviolence.” Indra frowned. “It would seem Grace has decided to pick-and-choose which of our rules she’d like to follow. It’s not safe here. If we’re going to continue a discussion, we should keep moving.”

The woman rose before Rory could ask any further questions and strode away, stopping at the doorway until they were side-by-side. Their progress through the halls went unnoticed until a Daughter grasped Rory’s arm from behind and spun her.

Indra’s scared inhalation moved Rory into action. “Sleep,” she said, fusing the magic into her words. The assailant crumpled and caught before her head hit the floor.

Indra helped carry her to a small bedroom.

“What’s with all the hospital socks around here? You guys keep sneaking up on me,” Rory said.

Indra gave her a confused look and pointed at her white slippers with a thin leather sole. “Do you mean these? They’re to prevent the marble halls from echoing with footsteps when so many of the Daughters walk through. There’s something beautiful about a crowd moving with only the sounds of their vestments waving around them.” She opened the sleeping Daughter’s laundry hamper and held her nose. “Here. I’m afraid her robes smell as though my sister fell into the poison lake. But you’ll be hidden. Put it on.”

Rory winced. It was more like the Daughter had worn it during a marathon in a swamp. She gagged and searched for a different robe to wear, before accepting her odorous fate. The fabric was scratchy and tight at the bust, but at least she wasn’t walking through a holy place in cut-offs and a tank top anymore. She raised the hood to cover her hair and hide her face.

They increased their speed. Indra glanced around and whispered, “Is it true, the witches have the dowsing rod?”

Rory nodded and winked at her.

“And you purified the lake today?”

“We did. Or, well, Rosemary did. I was just a bystander. My friend Asher and I snuck in and grabbed the rod, though.”

The look of amazement Indra gave her lifted Rory’s spirits. For once, she felt respected instead of feared.

“I’m glad it’s safe. It wouldn’t work for Grace at all, and we suspected she’d destroy it out of spite.” Indra reached for a door, but it swung open on her, breaking her nose. Blood covered her face, and she shrieked.

Rory came to help, but a hand gripped her. She spun on her heels and recognition entered Grace’s eyes.

“You,” they both said in unison.

The false Catherine put a palm over Rory’s mouth and said, “I know your tricks, you tainted whore. Not a word.”

There was a hot pinch in Rory’s arm, and the warmth spread through her body. Her eyelids grew heavy and closed.

Rory woke to a bucket of freezing cold water being dumped on her. She gasped and coughed. Tried to speak but found herself gagged and her limbs bound to a tall length of thick wood.

The hood still covered her face and concealed all but the floor in front of her with its dirtied white fabric. She struggled to flip it out of the way, but only bumped her head on the stake behind her.

Her breaths came in small, sharp gasps, close to hyperventilating. Relax, she told herself. I can figure this out. I just need to calm the fuck down.

“Thank you for leaving all those delicious supplies at the medical center. I didn’t realize how useful they’d be. I must thank your friend from the clinic, Sharla, for teaching me all about them.”

Based on the amount of arrogant rage in the unseen woman’s tone, it had to be Grace.

Rory pulled on her bindings, feeling for any give to slip a hand through, but it held fast. Instead of giving into panic, she closed her eyes and forced herself to meditate. At least that gave her something else to focus on.

A hard slap to the face brought her reeling back to reality. “I don’t like it when you’re still. You witch’s try to be sneaky with your magic, but you’re all predictable.” Slippered feet paced in Rory’s vision. “Was it you who tainted the pure with their unholy plague?”

Rory shook her head.

“I doubt you’d tell me, but I think I know the only creature foul enough to do such a thing. Well, used to know. Sven’s been taken care of. Along with all the other ones you call friends.”

Rory’s eyes widened and hot tears slid down her cheeks. She let out a muffled, “No,” through the gag.

Chains clanged against bars to her left, and she wondered if there was another prisoner beside her.

Grace continued, “The Green Bitch uprooted a tree to block us in. Can you believe she thought it would work? She’s the only witch I’ve yet to take care of, but that’ll happen the second the spell around her wears off. The one who created it, the vile degenerate, is gone. I only wish I could have captured him. It would have brought me so much joy to serve Sven his due punishment. Alas, he stood directly over the tunnels when I had them destroyed.”

Rory gasped again. The strength in her knees vanished, and her bonds were all that held her upright.

The prisoner to her left let out a low snarl. Their fingertips brushed the fabric covering her arm, reaching for purchase.

Unable to move, Rory shrugged off the fingers and pulled herself as far to the right as possible. Away from the mystery guest’s prodding and managed a loud scream.

An unexpected blow to her abdomen cut her cries short, and the air rushed out of her. She fought for breath and tasted her own salty tears on the fabric in her mouth.

“Another noise out of you and I’ll have your tongue. And you,”—the slippers turned, facing whatever was to her left—“will behave unless you’d rather starve.”

The prisoner clanged again and growled. “What’s that you got there?”

Trevor! Rory moved towards him and squirmed, knowing she’d get hit. The stench of the robes must have blocked her scent from him. Otherwise he’d have known it was her the second Grace brought her in. Hood or no. Trevor had a better nose than any bloodhound. If Grace made her bleed though, there’d be no covering up her identity. It might even make him snap and solve the problem of the false Catherine—assuming he could lay his hands on her.

The more Rory struggled; the more Grace assaulted her. Her cheeks were slapped, her stomach punched, whips brought down on her face, arms and legs. But despite the beating she endured, her skin refused to break. With one last effort, she moved the gag with her tongue and bit her lip until a single drop of blood fell.

That was all he needed. Shrill sounds of metal echoed through the chamber as it ground, bent and broke. A woman’s screams of terror—Grace’s screams—gave way to the rapid smack of feet running out of the room.

Trevor’s rough hands tore at the bindings on Rory’s wrists, ankles, and after removing the hood, her gag.

He looked horrible. Starved to the brink of death and beaten, his wounds remained. Multiple cuts, long and short, ran across his face. Grace had stripped him to his underwear, revealing a body that resembled a skeleton. Sores lingered in patches on his scalp where his brown hair should be. In spite of his condition, he found the effort to smile at her. “They said you were dead. After I smelled you, they told me they killed you for attempting to steal some artifact.”

“Nah,” Rory said, maintaining an air of calm to hide her trembling knees. “We got it.” Her eyes scanned the tattered mess of his body. “Are you okay? I thought you were being treated better than this. Also, if you could have gotten out of your cage that easily, why didn’t you?”

“Goddamn, always so many questions with you. I had a nice little thing going here for a while. The Daughters treated me real good. I mean, they treated me REAL good.”

“Already heard all about that, keep it moving.”

“Jealous?” Trevor winked and hiked up his underpants. “Anyways, Grace threw me in solitary over here and we had some fun figuring out how much damage a vampire can take. Turns out, it’s a lot more than she could dish out. Figured she’d grow bored with it after a while and I’d go back to the cushy little all-you-can-eat buffet. Do you have any idea how good they taste?”

“Ick.” Rory groaned. “That’s enough talk. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

His face formed a hideous grin, and he glanced at the doorway. “I’ll make us a safe route out.”

Rory opened her mouth to protest but knew it was pointless. He needed to eat if they’d make it outside the temple. The Daughters were returning in rapid succession. “There're some Daughters on our side. If they don’t fight or if they try to run away, just let them. Please?”

“Running food is sweeter,” he said, eyes half closed and dreamy. “But I’ll attempt to control myself.”

That’ll have to be good enough. She nodded and watched as he limped out the door.

Alone in the room that belonged in a horror movie, Rory waited for Trevor. Bloodstains streaked the walls and floor. A table held jars of teeth and other horrible mysteries she refused to inspect. There were screwdrivers and pliers, browned with age and dried blood. An old magnetic knife holder adorned the wall. All the instruments rusted and pockmarked. An odd sense of nostalgia grew in her as she realized her mother had the same type in her own kitchen. She could remember her hanging the freshly clean knives while their dinner bubbled in the oven. Long forgotten smells of dish soap and casserole filled her nose.

Her mind was escaping reality, and that was fine with her. This wasn’t where she wanted to be. She wanted a book, some coffee and a blanket. Not even necessarily in that order. Her body hurt. Bruises were already forming on her face. She limped from the riding crop lashes on her shin after Grace turned the whip in her hand and used the solid handle as a bludgeon near the end of her frenzied attack.

Doc, her mind cried out, but she slammed the thought behind iron doors before she could become a weeping mess. She needed to pull herself together and find Rosemary.

The present rushed back to her and with it came the screams of dying women. She hoped Indra and the Daughters who weren’t so bad were safe. Though Indra could already be in the refugee camp by now. Or, Rory closed her eyes and forced the thought in her mind, her body might be out on display. To show what happened when a Daughter turned traitor.

We must stop Grace. It was a simple idea she’d had a million times before, but one that solidified after her torture. The horrible side of herself called out for revenge. To force her through the same ordeal of drugging and beatings. Why not let Trevor feast on Grace? Watch as the light left her eyes, knowing her ghost would become bound to the vampire who killed her.

Give the bitch eternity with him, the evil inside purred. A wicked smile formed on her face, ignoring the pain in her cheeks.

Trevor returned, revitalized and fed. Blood dripped from his chin and matted in the fine dark curls on his chest. “We need to go. Crazy bitch called for reinforcements. This time they’re armed with silver.” He stepped forward and held out his arms for her.

“How well do you know this place?”

“Better than I like. The Daughters have been more than accommodating in answering my questions. Hardest part is making out what they’re saying with a full mouth. Why?”

She glanced down at his dirty tighty-whities and rolled her eyes. “Did you ever hear of the Door of Trials? Find it. We have friends on the other side.” She jumped into his waiting embrace and barely had a hold before he shot through the temple at blinding speed.