Usurped

Chapter 4

We descended the hill, our steps echoing over the cobbled street below. A thrill sparked within me, only to fade as we entered the village.

People moved past in attire straight from the Victorian era, their figures blending into a scene I’d never seen in Richmond or even in Central London, where I’d begun my new life.

As I stepped into the crowd, their wary eyes fixed on me, suspicion etched into their faces. I glanced down, noticing the fine fabric of my and my mother’s clothes against their worn, threadbare attire.

“Mom?” I called, quickening my pace to match hers. “Where are we? Why are we here?”

She paused, turning to me with a small, cryptic smile on her red lips. “You’ll see.”

The scene felt dreamlike, yet with a clarity that told me I was fully aware, as if I were in a lucid dream. I knew that questioning it might pull me back to reality, and I’d lose any chance to understand the message my mother was trying to convey.

A young woman rushed forward, her light brown hair half-tied, and her simple green Victorian dress brought out the same shade in her eyes. She stopped before my mother, who halted again.

“My lady,” she said, slightly breathless. “The ceremony will be starting soon.”

Mother nodded. “Pass the word to the others.”

The woman caught my gaze for a moment, offering a gentle smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

“Come now, my dear,” Mother urged, and we continued onward.

We walked until we reached a place that struck a chord of familiarity—an old tavern, worn and weathered, standing where our house now sits in my hometown. I remembered reading about it in my mother’s files when I was younger.

“So this must have been a spot Mum loved or perhaps a gathering place for their friends before she and Dad built our home,” I mused.

As we stepped inside, conversations fell silent. “Good afternoon, my lady,” greeted the patrons, pausing in respect.

“Good afternoon,” she responded, and immediately, the tavern filled with life again—glasses clinked, men burst into song, others argued, while entertainers captivated the crowd.

We made our way to the bar, where a woman with dark skin, curls framing her face, and warm brown eyes looked up. “They’re downstairs, my lady,” she informed.

Mother turned to her. “Aren’t you coming along?”

The woman grinned. “I don’t see why not, my lady. Let me just have a quick word with the boss,” she said with a mischievous wink, hinting at something else on her mind before joining us.

The basement door creaked open, releasing a metallic tang into the air as we descended the worn steps. Shadows danced along the walls from candles scattered around the room, and as we reached the last step, a faint floral scent washed over me—the same I’d noticed on the day my mother died. My feet halted, dread settling in as I took in my surroundings.

Figures in crimson cloaks, faces obscured by matching red masks, stood arranged in silent anticipation. At the front, three red candles burned on a table, casting a flickering glow over the eerie scene.

“A… secret society?” I wondered, swallowing hard. “My mother belongs to… a secret society?”

My pulse raced, and as if sensing my fear, she leaned close, her whisper soft but chilling: “Not just a part of it.”

My eyes widened, every muscle locking in place. The women from before appeared, filing in with silent purpose, each reaching for the pile of crimson cloaks beside the stairs and draping them over their shoulders.

“We are complete,” my mother announced, her voice cool and measured. “Bring the girls forward.”

A sickening suspicion crept into my thoughts, confirming itself as I counted the figures around me—one, two… seven… nine… eleven… twelve… thirteen. A full coven.

The heavy red curtain swept aside, revealing three young girls, their hands bound and heads drooping as if drugged. Around each girl’s neck hung a strand of black beads, and beneath them, a large glass vessel brimmed with a thick, dark liquid, its coppery scent unmistakable… blood.

I swallowed hard, recognizing each girl from recent news reports—the missing students. The first, with her strawberry-blonde hair and freckled cheeks, wore a rumpled school uniform. The second, dressed in modern, royal blue, had warm brown skin and thick, wavy hair tied back with a ribbon. The third, sporting rose-gold glasses, had deep brown skin and tightly coiled hair, her clothes torn and stained.

“What… What are you doing, Mom?” My voice barely rose above a whisper, but she turned, a chilling smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.