DAHLIA AND MARISOL DROP OFF the face of the earth the day after I meet Marisol's parents.
Ezra and I go over to Dahlia's place, and when no one answers our knocks, we let ourselves in. Their front door is one of those with a numerical locking system, and Dahlia taught us the code. Inside, the house is empty other than Malfoy in his cage. Even the dogs are gone.
As I search the house for clues—everything is neat and orderly, as if they took their time in leaving; no signs of a struggle; all that's missing from Dahlia's room is some clothes and bags, and her moms' room I don't know well enough to tell—Ezra digs out Dahlia's computer to send them both a wya message.
"Dahlia said they're in Minnesota," Ezra tells me. "And I asked her why the fuck they're in Minnesota, and she just sent me a winky face and said you'll find out soon, which, honestly. The power."
"Ask her if they're safe. Also, where's Minnesota?"
"Up north. It's practically Canada."
I lean over his shoulder. A second later, a selfie loads of a smiling Dahlia and Marisol sitting together on a dark stage, their hair in neat buns, their faces caked in makeup, in matching purple-and-white jackets with their names embroidered on them. They have gold medals around their necks, and in their hands they hold several black ribbons with the English word platinum written on them. In the background is a sea of similarly-dressed girls and a handful of boys, some with medals, some with trophies, most with multiple colored ribbons.
Dahlia's message, in all lower-case, reads: we not just safe we thrivin
In the same fashion, Ezra types: some dance thing?
yah, nationals
when are y'all coming home
sunday i think
He slams the computer shut. "Antigone, dearest, I think we should take advantage of this wondrous opportunity."
"What are you talking about? I'm not your dearest."
"Wouldn't you love to live in an actual house for a week?" he asks. "With proper lighting, readily-available food, and enough beds for both of us to have one?"
YOU ARE READING
A Shrine to an Unknown God
FantasyAntigone Katsaros was born and raised in a cult. Now, at eighteen, she doesn't know what wifi is, but she's well-versed in the old gods. [A Wattpad featured story.]
