Chapter 51 The Cult
The sea swallowed the maddening sounds of the manor.
At first, Gertrude could still hear it—the distant howl of wind through the stones, the echo of Ingrid’s voice curling through the underground tunnels... the growls that hungers to satisfy its mouth with human blood.
But as the boat drifted apart and farther, those sounds thinned, stretched, and finally dissolved into thin air. Suddenly, her heart us at peace while hearing the subtle whispering lf the waves. The oars dipped in the water, longing to reach the red lighthouse from a distance.
Each stroke felt too slow, too weak. The sea was colder than she imagined, yet, undeniably calming, even after the fear and frights.
Do not look back.
Constantine’s voice lingered in her head, not as a command now, but as a plea. She fixed her eyes forward, even when she felt the weight of his absence settle heavily in her pounding chest. He is away now. Away and unprotected. Surely, he is one hell of a great creature but there was two of them. Guillaume and Ingrid. She is more terrified to think of what are the other things Helga and Guillaume are capable to do. Like poisoning, chanting, vanishing, shapeshifting... Constantine needs her still. Even as an ordinary girl, she knew she could do better. But he deliberately wanted her to be just present in the lighthouse, where she could stay safe.
The red lighthouse emerged slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain whether it wished to be seen. At first, it was nothing more than a faint ember on the horizon. Like a beam of red sun.
Gertrude felt something loosen inside her. She let out a shaky breath.
She counted her strokes. One. Two. Three.
Her hands blistered, the wood of the oars scraped beneath her grip. Still, she did not stop. She does not want his sacrifice to go on a waste.
Behind her, the manor trembled with a loud screeching sound. Ingrid screamed when she realized the truth. Gertrude is replaced by Amalie's body. Constantine is not asleep in his lair. And they are probably both gone by far. She marches out of the chamber and back to her room. Unknowingly, Obsidian, the black raven, watches from afar, waiting for a substantial news to deliver to his master.
Guillaume answered her summons not with words, but with a gentle scrape of his claws against the satin fabric of Helga's bed. In her tall, darkened bedroom lies Guillaume. His stiff, pale body is served on the bed, wrapped with his antique robe, waiting for his guests to arrive.
The white-eyed servants of the mansion are like walking dead, dragging the unconscious bodies of the girls in the chilly room. "Do not leave now, Helga. We are about to begin the ceremony..." he shushed her upon seeing her panic.
"The body is gone! They tricked us!" she revealed.
"Hush now, Helga..." he sniffed around, eyes closed. His hands motioning every living to stop a second.
"I sense he is nearby... but the girl, she is out of reach." He started floating and standing on both his skinny feet.
Guillaume’s bare feet touched the stone floor without a sound.
The servants froze mid-step, their white eyes dull and obedient. "Look at them, Helga... they are ready for me. Their skins are calling me."
"Enough of that! We cannot begin unless that Gertrude is here!" she scowled.
The room fell into a breathless stillness, broken only by the distant groan of the manor. as if the walls were listening. There were weeping and dying voices.
Helga’s fingers trembled at her sides. She shut her eyes, the balls are started moving as if she is trying to find someone elsewhere. "I found her,"
"She is stepping inside the lighthouse..." she enunciated, tone filled with vengeance.
It was Guillaume's turn to close his eyes. "Constantine never left the manor. He is lurking somewhere. Somewhere he does not want us to see." he told her.
When he opened his eyes, they shared a look. Like they both already know where to start finding him.
The girls were laid upon the floor in a careful circle, their breaths shallow, faces pale beneath the cold torchlight. They did not move. With the sleeping song, they remained suspended in a fragile half-sleep, unaware of their fate right before their sleeping eyes.
Helga recoiled. “Guillaume, this was not the plan.”
He did not look at her.
“The plan,” he said gently, “has changed.”
"Perhaps we underestimated the lovers." he added before his eyes turned furious.
With a slow gesture, he beckoned the servants forward. They were still under a spell.
"Search for your master. Do not come back, do not stop unless you found him. And when you do, you will deliver me the good news." he demanded. The servants nodded their heads. As if it was the only thing that they can do.
"And as for you, sweet old Helga... burn the lighthouse."
Somewhere far above the manor, Obsidian spread his wings and vanished into the wideness of the mansion, carrying the truth with him, looking for his master.
And far out at the sea, Gertrude pants, still reaching for the top.of the lighthouse. As higher she goes, the more she felt safe, yet, incomplete.