Book 1: Sancta Labyrinthus

Chapter 2

Victoria shivered in the cold, wrapping her arms around herself. The chilly rain was falling lightly around the subdued group who had gathered in the cemetery. She recognised some of the sombre faces. Father’s relatives.

Victoria felt so distant from them now. She had never been close to them to begin with, seeing as all of them lived busy lives, but now, with her only link to them severed, she felt more isolated than ever.

All of them were dressed in black, herself in a black pantsuit, and Alistair in a black suit and tie. The both of them had worn coats over their attire to shield themselves from the cold of the impending winter. She'd attempted to tame her wild auburn mane by binding it into a French braid with the help of Alistair this morning. It had been quite unlike her usual self, and she felt rather self-conscious about it.

Alistair, however, seemed to blend perfectly with the crowd, apart from the surgical mask that he had worn over his face. His hair had been neatly parted, and each article of clothing fit him perfectly. He stood a little to her right, holding an umbrella above both their heads with a gloved hand as they stared at the empty casket.

Their father’s corpse had not been found. Despite having been caught in the explosion at the airport, the police could not find any human remains at the site of the bombing. Not even the remains of the seven other businessmen, their two escorts, or the airport manager that had been present at the time of the bombing had been uncovered.

The entire thing was a puzzle. At least to the police, Victoria thought.

She knew better, though.

Father was alive.

He had to be. It was the only explanation. She couldn't allow herself to believe that Father would've let himself die that easily. He was not that sort of man.

Victoria herself had gone to Eclipse Airport a day after the news broke. It had been a school day. Victoria had locked herself inside her room, playing a video of a crying girl on her phone at the maximum volume. She thought that if Alistair came to the door to yell at her to get ready for school, she’d be ready with the waterworks.

But he never showed up. Victoria heard the front door close with a soft click, and the sound of keys jangling as he locked the door.

She had then sneaked out of the house, hailed a cab, and hightailed it all the way to Granite. It had been an agonisingly long five-hour ride, punctuated with her occasional tears. Once she had reached Eclipse Airport, she noted that it was oddly devoid of people. There were policemen patrolling the area vigilantly, and numerous posters with “MISSING” printed in large black words, as well as the faces of the victims caught in the bomb blast, plastered all across the brick walls in the vicinity.

Victoria remembered leaning against one of the posters, her hand placed atop her father’s genial, smiling photo, and feeling the tears leak down her face until a policeman ushered her away. Before she left, however, Victoria had seen it: an emergency exit with a neon green sign, with police tape stretched out across the entirety of it. Father had gone out from there. She just knew it.

The policemen had searched for a week, but none of the missing people were located. Her relatives had insisted on holding a funeral, out of “tradition” and “respect”, and she had gone along with it to prevent conflict.

After all, a funeral for the dead didn’t count if there was no dead person to begin with.

Victoria’s mind drifted back to the policeman’s words.

Devil’s Angels.

It was a satanic religion. There was even a town named after it – just two cities away from her – where the religion had originated years and years ago, where a church had been built for Devil’s Angels worshippers.