The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(6)

Grace shuts the door, and Riley slides off one of her leather ballet flats and wedges it beneath the frame. She tests the door, but it doesn’t budge.

“There. Now no one can surprise us.”

I open my mouth to ask who’s going to surprise us, then think of Brooklyn and the dead cat and close it again. Grace leans against the avocado-green counter. Today she’s tucked her black braids behind a leopard-print headband, and she’s wearing gold platform sandals that add an extra five inches to her height.

Riley puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sof, do you know how pretty you are?” she asks. “Guys, isn’t Sofia pretty?”

“You’re so pretty,” Alexis purrs, capping her lipstick.

“Thanks,” I say, studying their reflections in the mirror. Are they messing with me? My hair is shiny, and my skin can sometimes look golden in the sun, but these girls are perfect. Their skin looks dewy and fresh and completely poreless, even under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, which are scientifically designed to make everyone look like a zombie.

I smile, shaking my head. Clearly they’re just being nice.

Riley slides the hair tie off my ponytail and finger-combs my curls.

“Look how much better it is down,” she says. She’s right—it is better down, but I’ve been pulling it back so the Mississippi heat doesn’t make it frizz. Already, a thin line of sweat forms on the back of my neck.

Alexis puts her lipstick back into her purse and removes a flask. I’ve never described a flask as cute before, but hers is tiny and silver, with flowers and vines engraved around the sides. She takes a swig and hands the flask to Grace.

“You guys drink?” I ask.

“We’re taking Communion,” Grace says. She closes her eyes and lifts the flask to her lips.

“Don’t you go to church, Sof?” Riley frowns at my reflection, her fingers still tangled in my hair.

“My mom doesn’t like church,” I say. “But my grandmother’s Catholic, so I know about Communion.”

Alexis giggles and holds out her flask to me, but Grace snatches it from her hand before I can reach for it.

“Wait,” she says. “Sofia can’t have any. Remember? You two wouldn’t even let me touch that flask until I was ‘baptized in the blood of the lamb.’”

She says the last part with a thick Mississippi drawl. Alexis throws a wadded-up ball of toilet paper at her. “I don’t sound like that,” she says.

“Grace is right. You can’t have Communion until you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.” Riley’s voice is light, but there’s a chill in her eyes. She wrinkles her nose at me.

“Right, my grandmother told me that,” I say. Mom never let me get baptized, but I used to go to church with Grandmother all the time. When it was time to get Communion, the priest put his hand on my head and prayed for me instead of feeding me the host and wine.

When I look up again, Riley’s staring at my reflection in the mirror. “You know, we could do it now, if you want. Baptize you.”

I release a short laugh, positive she’s joking. But Riley’s face stays serious.

“You want to baptize me here?” I blurt out. “In the bathroom?”

“We have a sink,” Riley says, shrugging. “And, Alexis, you know what to say, right?” Before Alexis can answer, Riley turns on the faucet and plugs up one of the sinks. Water pours into the stained white porcelain.

“But don’t we need a priest for it to be real?” I ask.

Riley runs a finger along one of my curls. “It’ll be real to us,” she says. “Like becoming blood sisters. It’s how we’ll all know you’re in the group.”

I scratch at the skin along my cuticles and pretend to think this over. I had exactly one friend at my last school, and the coolest thing we ever did together was stay up late to watch reruns of Saved by the Bell.

“Let’s do it,” I say. Behind Riley, the sink fills. Water dribbles over the side and onto the tile floor. Grace leans past her and turns the faucet off.

“Careful,” she says, but Riley doesn’t seem to hear her. She grins at me, looking so giddy that I find myself smiling, too.

“Okay, cross your arms like this.” Riley raises her arms in an X over her chest, Alexis’s flask still gripped in one hand. I do the same. “Good,” she says. “Now crouch down so you’re over the sink. Alexis, you have to anoint her head with holy water.”

“That’s not holy water,” Grace says. Riley tips Alexis’s flask of wine over the water. A stream of red spills onto the surface, spreading like blood.

“The wine’s been blessed,” Riley says. “Same thing.”

I let out a nervous giggle as Alexis dips a finger into the water. A blond eyelash clings to her cheek, making a tiny golden half-moon against her skin.

“Sofia, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” She touches her finger to my forehead, chest, and both shoulders.

“Amen,” Riley says. She places one hand at the base of my neck and the other over my crossed arms. I close my eyes and consider praying.

Before I can decide, Riley pushes my head into the sink.

The water hits my face like a slap. My eyes fly open, and on instinct I inhale, immediately flooding my lungs. I choke, releasing deep, hacking coughs that fill the water with bubbles and cloud my vision. I blink furiously, staring at the plugged-up drain at the bottom of the sink.