Excerpt from Simon’s Journal – July 5, 4-1893

  The Mirnen presence in Firen is increasing by the day, and Dahlia attracts them like bees to honey. This Reaper is drawing more attention to the Red than I’ve ever seen before. The Red was a peaceful world—the perfect place for Dahlia to hide in plain sight. Now, it’s all anyone can talk about in Mirnen circles. As soon as word of his killing spread, the people demanded action, and the King listened. Now he’s even sent Hawthorne—his best—to deal with the vigilante himself.

  Elaine is already suspicious of Dahlia—she even mentioned Dahlia’s resemblance to one of Ash’s daughters. She’s not wrong. Dahlia bears an incredible resemblance to Camellia Reed—one I hadn’t noticed before. But Elaine won’t be a problem—not after I talk to her.

  I don’t think Hawthorne will get close enough to Dahlia to notice the small details about her that make her less-than-human. I know he keeps track of her—if only to ensure she’s safe—but he won’t get any closer than that. Hawthorne may be drawn to the woman, but he can always find other women to satisfy his urges—whatever those may be.

  Right now, my greatest concern is Bennett. I believe he already suspects there is more to Dahlia than meets the eye. If he gets even a hint that Dahlia isn’t entirely human, he will look to Hawthorne for guidance before acting.

  And if Hawthorne learns that Dahlia isn’t as she seems, I don’t doubt he will end her.

  Dahlia

  “—Flower girl, your path is not so bright.”

  The faint words drifted up to me as I watched the Redmond compound from a rooftop just across the street. From my position, I could see about a dozen brick buildings lining the compound courtyard, most of which were school buildings, but I also had a good view of the large clocktower library at the far end of the compound.

  Just outside one of those school buildings, a group of teenage students sang Redmond's song absently as they waited for the rest of their companions to join them from inside. There was no other sound in the compound, highlighting the young voices despite how quietly they sang.

  “Golden boy, golden boy, betray her, and you’ll see. Golden boy, golden boy, your rule will never be.”

  In the weeks after discovering the altar in the woods, I had a single priority—to keep an eye on the Predictors in the Redmond compound. So, while I spent my days resting and nights looking for the Reaper to keep Portia happy, most nights and whenever I had time to spare, I stuck close to the Redmond Compound. Hidden in the shadows of nearby homes or within the dense foliage of trees along the compound’s fence line, I watched the Predictors to learn about the ins and outs of the place, determine what day-to-day life looked like for the Predictors living there, and look for any signs of additional killings.

  While I found no evidence that anyone else had died at their hands, I did learn a great deal about the compound itself. I discovered the exact schedule the Crimson Council maintained each day, how the student schedule worked, and even how to determine a Predictor's status by the color of their garb. I memorized guard patterns, determined which hours were quietest on the academy grounds, and even started to notice small groups among the council—perhaps factions within the council itself.

  I couldn’t help but notice Hastings—in part because the woman loved the attention she received as the head of the Council. Nearly every day, she had some sort of public engagement either on the grounds of the compound or just outside the main gate. That was how I learned just how much she loathed the Reaper. She gave the same abhorrent speech each day.

  “We are determined to assist the Mirnen in their mission to bring down the Reaper. It benefits everyone in Firen to cooperate with our partners, and the sooner we catch this vigilante, the sooner the Mirnen will leave us in peace.”

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Hastings was out of touch with the rest of Firen, which was concerning, given she and the Council had so much power over us. The people of Firen didn’t want the Imms to capture the Reaper. They may have wanted the money the Imms promised as a reward, but they agreed with what he was doing. Despite the Reaper's popularity, Hastings continued to speak out against him with a smile when she made appearances in her perfect Predictor robes and spoke in an airy voice I’d grown to associate with the Predictors.

  Each time I saw the woman, I grew more determined to wipe that pretentious smirk off her face. It was hard to believe this was someone who governed our people, who led the Council and served as their voice to the public.

  As for my purpose for watching the compound, I never saw any sign of death despite my persistence. The side gate to the school never once opened. The cart never once appeared in the streets. There was no sign of blood on the cobblestone road leading into the park. And grass and vines started to grow on and around the gate to the burial site within the park.

  Instead of learning anything nefarious, I learned about the monotony of life there. I’d started to recognize the students, too—singing or talking absently amongst themselves without really socializing in any way. I pitied them. Their lives were controlled entirely by the Predictors. They couldn’t leave—could hardly ever see their families. Some had come from far away to learn from the Predictors here—those students never saw family at all.

  “Rebel boy, rebel boy, the girl is not a doll. Rebel boy, Rebel boy, force her and you’ll fall.”

  My attention shifted to movement at the doors of one of the academic buildings—a deviation from the norm. I sat up straighter at the sight of four older Predictors carrying a large wooden crate from one of the academic buildings. Even with four people to help carry the crate, the weight was difficult to manage—awkward, even. With cautious steps, they made their way down the front steps of the building, but before the first person could reach the ground below, he stumbled—missing the last step.

  It was a critical mistake.

  As he fell back, his grip on the crate slipped, and it went tumbling to the ground at his feet—hitting the hard stone ground with a crack that split open one side of the box enough to reveal the flesh of a body within. In that split second, I didn’t even need to Sight to see the gruesome scene.

  The teenagers kept singing—oblivious to what was happening just a few buildings down from them, “Orphan boy, orphan boy, and the girl will run away.”

  I leaned forward to get a better look at the box through the compound’s fence. With my Sight, I saw a woman’s slender shoulder and the smooth skin of her jaw under tousled, black hair. Blood coated her skin in various places, soaked through her blue robes, and matted her hair. She was obviously dead. As far as I knew, no one could survive losing that much blood.

  The four Predictors argued among themselves as they turned the crate to avoid breaking it further and lifted it back into the air. I watched, heart racing, as they carried the crate around the side of the Crimson Council’s building—where they met in session nearly every day. They disappeared from my line of sight, but I knew what was behind that building—nothing but a cellar of some sort built into the base of the building. I hadn’t seen anyone use this cellar in all the time I watched this place, but now I suspected its purpose.

  That must have been where they kept their victims.

  “Soldier boy, soldier boy—”

  I ignored the singers as I readied myself to step in, but before I could make my way down to the road to position myself on the other side of the Council’s building, I heard the loud bell that indicated that classes were over for the day. I sank back into the shadows to avoid detection as the students started to flow out of the academic buildings in the same eerie silence they always travelled in—a stark contrast to my own schooldays, when we left school excited and chattering amongst ourselves.

  This school was a somber place, and now I understood why. The Predictors were killing people in broad daylight here. The students had to know—perhaps that’s exactly what the Council intended.

  Like ants, the students formed lines leading directly to their residential buildings—following the person in front of them almost mindlessly.

  I watched until I saw Carmen, in maroon robes, scramble after the rest of her companions. Like always, she had pulled back her dark hair into a tight braid, and her eyes stayed fixed on the person in front of her. But this time, something was off about her gait. She was tense—jaw tight and fists clenched by her side.

  Had she seen the woman die? Did she know why the Predictors killed her?

  I wanted answers, but now wasn’t the time.

  With so many witnesses around at this time of afternoon, I couldn’t pry and risk discovery.

  I reluctantly retreated home, anticipating my return that evening to see what else was in the cellar behind the council building.