| 3 | Behind the Barrier

◈ Celia ◈

I knew it…I should’ve waxed. Damn it.

I scrunch my nose as my eyes gloss over the reflection of my fuzz peach of a mustache that I tried to hide by bleaching it. You would think that the one time a year that I get to dress up and flaunt around my pretty dress I’d take the time to make sure that my face is absolutely perfect.

Unfortunately, I was more concerned with other things…like men from my past.

That’s the crazy thing about ex-boyfriends: they tend to come back even months after you find them shacking up with your ex-best friend, despite you telling them you want nothing to do with them.

How could someone cheat on someone this hot?

That’s the thing about growing up pretty and more fortunate than most people: you forget to care about anyone but yourself.

I huff loudly as I dig into the pocket of my dress and draw my pink lip gloss. The screw top crystal handle is one of the many reasons I’ve kept it for years and simply learned to refill it with my own recipe.

The sugary-sweet taste of the gloss coats my tongue as I apply it, a temporary distraction from the sour taste of betrayal. The most inconvenient thing in the world is when the people who dedicated their lives to making lip gloss are either too worried about praying to live another day to make some more, or they’re dead.

With just enough gloss to make my lips shimmer for the next five days, I slip the small tube back into my pocket and make my merry way out of the restroom. It’s just my luck to forget to look up as I emerge into the hall and slam into the hardest body in the world.

“Hey!” I snap as I stumble back a pair of steps. One step short from slamming into the door behind me and I’m being pulled forward by a hand that wraps tightly around my arm. I furrow my eyebrows, my gaze flickering up to meet the familiar pair of dark brown eyes that almost instantly flips my attitude.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Elion’s deep voice resonates.

My eyes widen, my heart fluttering in my chest as he helps me steady on my feet. “O-Oh,” I stammer helplessly. A humorless giggle emits from the back of my throat, and as he releases me from his hold, I flash him a perky smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

More than okay now that you’re here.

Just like he always does, he offers me a simple nod of acknowledgement and goes about his way as uninterested in talking to me as ever.

Was it something I said?

It’s not. He’s just really not interested. None of the Sentinels are. Whether it’s by choice or by calling remains a mystery.

As I watch Elion walk away, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I’d follow him, but at the risk of embarrassing myself, I shake it off instead and make my way towards the balcony, where I spend a majority of my time these days.

Nightfall approaches quickly, and by the time I realize it, I’m looking down at the massive crowd of people standing outside of the mansion I call home.

For as far as I can see, there’s a pastor with a prayer group wearing crosses and holding Bibles, only a few feet short from the Sentinels forging the barrier of divinity. It’s a temporary silver-blue bubble that wraps around the estate, and standing from here, I can watch the miracle happen.

Elion, Xavier, Sebastian, Ken, and Esteban, stretched out at a fair distance from one another, surround the estate. With silver eyes and a bright cross on their chest reflecting the glow in their irises, a distant chime rings, bell-like. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, the hair in the back of my neck standing as the silver-blue bubble suddenly engulfs the land—now Holy.

Beautiful…

I stand here for a while longer, my eyes glistening, my body covered in goosebumps. It’s like I can feel God—whatever that means. In the next moment, music begins blasting from the speakers across the estate and I begin my way downstairs, excited to catch-up with my friends.

As I descend the staircase, the sound of raised voices catches my attention.

It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business.

…

Who am I kidding? I’m nosy as hell.

Curiosity piqued, I follow the noise, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The voices grow louder as I approach my father’s study, and I soon recognize them as my father and Pastor John, a balding, silver-haired man in his sixties.

I pause outside the door left ajar, my heart pounding as I strain to hear their conversation.

“George, we can’t just send innocent people to their deaths!” Pastor John argues, his voice laced with desperation.

“We don’t have a choice, John!” My father snaps back, his voice tinged with an anger I’ve never heard before. “This is what the Vampire Lord wants. If I’d known the Sentinels were going to suddenly appear two years ago, I would’ve never made the deal I made.”

My blood runs cold at his words.

Deal? Sacrifices?

…

What did you do, Dad?

“There has to be another way,” Pastor John pleads.

“There isn’t!” My father’s voice is strained, almost panicked. “We’ll be in big trouble unless we can get the sacrifices out before midnight.”

I stumble back from the door, my heart at my throat. I can’t seem to wrap my head around what I’ve just heard. This is my father, the man who’s supposed to protect and guide our people. The man who this entire city looks up to, turns to.

He made a deal with the very evil we’re fighting against.

As I stand here, spiraling, I realize that this night is far from the celebration it was meant to be.

Lost in my thoughts, I take a few steps back, trying to put some distance between myself and the awful truth I’ve just overheard. Suddenly, I collide with something solid—no, someone.

“Celia? Are you okay?”

That voice. I know that voice.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

I turn around slowly, my heart sinking as I come face to face with Amon, the ex-boyfriend I’ve been avoiding all week. He stands there, tall and handsome as ever, his chocolate brown eyes filled with concern.

Where was that look when you were inside Stephanie’s throat?

Seeing him here, now, between my father and the memory of him enjoying himself with the woman I considered my sister branded into my mind, it’s almost too much. The betrayal, the disillusionment, the utter devastation—it all comes crashing down on me at once.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can find the words, the door to my father’s study swings open. My father steps out, his eyes narrowing as he sees us standing here.

“What are you two doing here?” he asks, his voice tight.

“I-I was just heading downstairs,” I say without thinking, my voice sounding distant and foreign to my own ears.

My father nods, unsuspicious, and seemingly satisfied with my answer. He leans in and plants a kiss on my temple, a gesture that once would’ve brought me comfort but now feels hollow and insincere.

“I’ll be down soon,” he promises.

I nod mutely, turning to walk away. As I do, I overhear my father address Amon, his voice echoing through the hall.

“Amon, do you have a few minutes? I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course,” Amon replies, ever the loyal lapdog.

“I need 10 people for the job. Come with me, I’ll give you the details.”

Ten people…?

My stomach churns as realization sinks in. 10 sacrifices. My father is going to use Amon to carry out his dirty work.