The basement was brightly lit, and it smelled exactly like a kitchen should, garlic, herbs, and something sweet like roasting fruit. They'd pushed two long tables together and covered them in white cloths that were so clean Alex felt guilty just sitting near them with his grimy sleeves.
The adults in robes sat interspersed among the children, chatting quietly about the weather, a local garden, how the weather was turning. It felt like a neighborhood gathering where everyone had just happened to wear the same weird clothes.
"Sit, Alex," Ms. Harper said, pulling out a chair at the center of the table. She sat directly across from him. She had tucked a silk napkin into her collar, the black fabric of her robe draped elegantly over the chair.
In the center of the table sat the platters. The meat was dark, glazed in a thick, honey-like reduction, surrounded by roasted pears and rosemary.
"Is everyone's glass full?" Ms. Harper asked, looking around with a soft, maternal glow. A man in robes reached over and poured a dark, thick juice into Casey's cup. He did it gently, making sure not to spill a drop.
The "Other Kids" were already eating. they looked like they were at Thanksgiving. They were laughing, their faces flushed and healthy. One boy, no older than Victor, was leaning back, a content smile on his face as a robed woman patted his belly and laughed at something he'd said.
Alex looked at the stew then he looked at Casey, who was already chewing a piece of pear, her eyes wide with delight.
"It's good, Alex," Casey whispered.
"I know it is," Ms. Harper said, her eyes never leaving Alex's. She hadn't touched her own plate. None of the adults had. They were all just... watching the children eat with a look of intense, quiet pride.
"Why aren't you eating, Ms. Harper?" Alex asked.
"Oh, we've already had our fill of the world," she said vaguely. She leaned forward, the silver rings on her fingers clicking softly against the table.
"Tonight is for you. We laid it all out, didn't we? We showed you who we are the moment you stepped onto the porch. You saw the robes. You saw the basement. And yet, you chose to stay. That's a very powerful thing, Alex. Choice."
Alex had no idea what any of what Ms. Harper just said so he just picked up his fork. But for some reason The weight of it between his fingers felt immense.
"You're a good kid," the man next to Victor said quietly. "Most people would have run off. But you stayed for your friends. You're one of us now."
Alex and Victor exchanged a glance. They didn't really understand what he meant, but the words sounded… kind. Warm, even. Alex nodded, murmured a quiet "thank you," and lifted his fork. Victor gave a small, awkward smile and did the same.
The taste was incredible. It was sweet and salty and heavy, the kind of food that makes you want to curl up and never move again. As he chewed, a strange, thick warmth started spreading through his arms and legs, making him feel fuzzy.
"There," Ms. Harper said, her voice dropping to a satisfied hum. "The first step is always the hardest. But once you've tasted the gift, the debt doesn't feel so heavy, does it?"
"What debt?" Alex asked. His tongue felt thick, like it was too big for his mouth. "We don't... have any money."
Ms. Harper reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Her skin was ice cold.
"The best meals are never free, Alex. You should know that by now. But don't worry." She smiled, and for the first time, the kindness didn't reach her eyes. "You've already agreed to the terms. You walked down the hole. You sat at the table. And you took the stew now go to sleep."
She squeezed his hand, her cold fingers pinning him to the table.
"Now, just go to sleep. We'll wake you up when the ink is ready."
Thump… thump. Thump… thump.
It was a cold, electric explosion in his chest. His vision narrowed until the basement was just a blur of grey and black, and all that existed was the chair.
It was the only sound in the world. A wet, heavy pounding in Alex's ears that drowned out everything else.
His eyes snapped open, but his vision was a blurred smear of yellow light and grey concrete. His brain hadn't caught up, but his body already knew. Before he could even remember what happened, he was fighting.
He lunged.
he threw his entire body weight forward with a force that should have snapped his spine. The chair legs shrieked against the concrete, hopping and slamming back down. He did it again. And again. He was a frantic, blurring mess of limbs. He twisted his wrists with a violence that made the tendons in his forearms stand out like steel cables.
He yanked his wrists so hard he felt the skin peel away, the wet heat of blood slicking the ropes, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. His heart was a frantic drum, beating 160, 170 times a minute, screaming at him to run, run, run.
"Stop! Please, stop!"
There was someone behind him. Another body, tied spine-to-spine against his own, was being tossed around by Alex's frenzy.
"You're gonna tip us! Stop!" the boy behind him shrieked.
He kicked his feet until his shoes flew off, his heels slamming into the concrete. He arched his back, a guttural, wordless sound vibrating in his chest. He fought until the room spun, until his vision went black at the edges, until the adrenaline finally burned itself out, leaving his muscles trembling and useless.
Alex's eyes cleared.
Around Alex's chair, the plates from dinner were arranged in a perfect, wide circle. Casey's plate. Lily's plate. The bones of the roast were piled in the center of each one like tiny, white altars.
"What are you doing?" Alex shrieked. He wasn't trying to be brave anymore. He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving under his grimy shirt. "What have you done to them? MS. HARPER!"
Ms. Harper didn't answer. She was kneeling by Casey. She picked up the girl's limp, small hand and tucked it around the silver plate of pear cores, moving her like a doll. She smoothed Casey's hair, her movements motherly and calm, which was the most sickening part of all.
"Ms. Harper, please!" Alex sobbed, his chest heaving so hard he could barely get the words out. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Just... tell them to stop. Tell them to put her back. Please, she's just a little kid! She didn't do anything!"
"Alex," she said softly, standing now, her voice low and even, almost soothing. "Shh. Listen to me. The trust you took from them… it makes the best ink. The only way to write a name that lasts."
Alex swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. "I… I didn't… I'm not their leader. I didn't tell them to stay," he said, voice shaking. "They could have left if they wanted. I didn't make them"
Ms. Harper tilted her head slightly, studying him with the same calm patience she used in class. "Could have left? Oh, Alex… you walked them down the hole. You showed them the way. You placed them at the table. You gave them to us. That choice, that trust… it isn't small. It's inked into you now. Don't pretend it's not."
Her hand hovered over his shoulder, gentle, not touching. "Protection is a heavy thing, isn't it? You led your flock, and now the weight is yours. They followed. They trusted. You chose for them without realizing… and that choice is all that matters here."
"I… I didn't lead them. They followed me because they wanted to," he said again, quieter, trying to convince himself as much as her. "I didn't make anyone do anything. They could have walked away. I didn't… I can't"
Ms. Harper smiled, small and almost tender. "Ah… the mind is clever, Alex. Always trying to untangle what it cannot. But even clever minds cannot undo what has already been inked. You are the pen, Alex. You drew the lines. And lines… once drawn… cannot be erased."
"Please…" he whimpered, his voice cracking and trembling, each word barely more than a sob. His chest heaved, and his hands shook in his lap. "Please… I just want to go home. I want to go back to the alley. I don't want the food. I don't… I don't want any of this. Just… just let us go back…"
"You have such a pure soul, Alex," Ms. Harper whispered, her voice soft, almost tender. "Our lord will be pleased with this offering… and reward us beyond measure."
Boots and bare feet stepped closer.
Hands took hold of the chair.
One by one, the adults knelt.
Alex's chest thudded in panic. He could feel the air tighten around him, the press of bodies, the brush of fabric. Breath mingled with the scent of cold stone and the faint, metallic gleam of knives being drawn.
Hands pressed his shoulders flat. Another pair steadied his legs. The weight of bodies closed in, surrounding him until there was nowhere left to look but black cloth.
Then the circle leaned in.