Chapter Eleven: The Eucharist

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Eucharist

There was blood in the Thames.

I stared out at the river’s crimson waves as Salem and I rode to Buckingham Palace several hours after our visit to Le Boudoir des Ténèbres.

“Sloppy work if you ask me,” said Salem. “I’m not even sure it was intentional. All the newlydeads want to become ritualists, but they certainly don’t all have the predisposition.”

“It’s only been a week,” I said quietly. “Only a week, and already the Thames is red . . . ”

“This is part of why we didn’t attempt the Nightfall sooner,” said Salem. “We didn’t want countless impatient youths trying rituals at once. I spent years learning to control my thoughts and emotions before attempting a single spell. Most new apprentices don’t even meditate, much less consider magic’s nobler uses.”

“And what uses would these be?”

He chuckled, as if embarrassed to say it out loud. “I believe rituals have the potential to make the world a utopia.”

“A utopia?” I repeated. “You call