I lay alone in the room-that-is-not-my-room for hours. My mother's brought everything from my old room here for me, including piles of books and magazines. I can't bring myself to read them though, as much as my mind is screaming for distraction. All I can do is lay and stare at the ceiling, fighting an internal war against all feeling. Losing ground with every second that passes.

Eventually a slot at the bottom of the door slides open, and someone shoves a tray of food through. Sweet potato curry and flatbread. I consider leaving it untouched on the ground. It hurts to do it. I'm starving. But even though I'm still almost certain my mother wouldn't poison me, I can't be sure she won't drug me.

I don't know how much time has passed when the door finally opens again. Almost a full day, at least. I've been served two more meals since the curry, and with the last one I'd given in and eaten some, spending the next few hours wallowing in shame and fear.

That's how they find me, the pair of burly, gray-clad acolytes at my door. They practically twitch with excited energy.

"Out of bed, Ms. Fleetwood," the shorter one, Alec, orders. "And into this," they hold up a robe identical to their own.

I groan. "This is a cult, isn't it? My mother's a cult leader."

You'd think it would have occurred to me sooner. It'd just always seemed so normal—my mother's religion, her followers. Had always felt so benign and supportive.

Maybe I'm just an idiot.

Alec tosses the robe in my face. Then they both cross their arms and wait. Scowling, I drag it on over what I'm already wearing.

"There, happy?"

"Very," Alec assures me as they lead me out. "And you should be, too. You're about to receive a blessing the rest of us have actually worked and strived for."

"It's not as though she hasn't contributed," Darrin, the taller one, intercedes.

"Ah, but she had to be tricked into it, didn't she? What a daughter."

"What are you talking about?" I snap. "Where's E.J?"

"You'll see her soon enough," Darrin says—somehow not at all comfortingly.

They take me back to the room we first arrived in. It's completely packed. The walls are lined with head-sized Umbra batteries, their pulsing glow illuminating the space. There are two almost-complete portal sigils painted on the dirt, but I can barely see them for all the acolytes crowded onto them. At the center of the right hand one stands my mother and Mr. Pollux, and just beside him is E.J.—bound and gagged. Kneeling at the inner edge of each group is an acolyte with a brush dripping in black paint, poised to finish their sigils.

I try to meet E.J.'s eyes as my escorts shuffles me onto the portal to my left, but they're downcast, sockets bruised purple.

"Now," My mother commands.

The acolytes press their brushes to the dirt, painting the circles closed. The Umbrabatteries flicker, going dim as the sigils begin to glow. A few dizzying seconds later, we're outside. It's dark. Wind whips palm fronds high over our heads, jutting into the moonless sky. I recognize where we are even before my eyes adjust—the platform on the central island of the archipelago.

I hadn't noticed before, but there's a trail leading off and up into the trees on the far end. The four premier acolytes lead the way, followed immediately by my mother, her crony, and E.J. The rest stumble after her—forcing me along with them. The trail winds steeply upward, becoming a stretch of stair carved directly into the island rock.

My mind races as we make our way upward, looking for a solution. A way to get E.J. and I out of this without causing any harm to Beatrice. Somehow, though, blind panic isn't conducive to my brainstorming process. The labored breathing and burning muscles don't exactly help either.

Reaching a bare outcropping of stone jutting out from the jungle about three quarters of the way to the peak, we stop at last. There, towards the prow-like tip of the ledge, a massive, tapered stone like the clawed finger of some petrified god juts up into the sky. As we draw closer, I can just make out intricate carvings near the base, outlining an untouched expanse of stone in the vague shape of a door.

An Umbra Gate.

There are supposed to be only three in the whole world, accessible only to those who pass the rigorous entry requirements and who can afford to pay.

The four acolytes part, making my way for my mother. She strides straight up to the stone, placing a reverent hand to the door-shape at its base. Then she spins around, fixing a level gaze on E.J.

"Open it."

E.J. just stares. My mother nods to Pollux, who yanks off her gag as he drags her forward.

Pulling a familiar pendant from beneath her robe, my mother poises her finger over the opal cabochon at its center. At the sight of it, E.J.'s eyes go wide.

"Are you starting to put it all together yet, 'Lizbeth?"

"Richelle," E.J. growls.

My mother's smile brightens. "Open the door. You know what happens if you don't." Another nod, and Pollux is untying E.J.'s hands.

For a heartbeat E.J. glares death at Gwendolyn. Then she looks to me, and her expression softens. She brings her right arm up to her mouth and rips through the skin a few inches below her elbow, drawing blood. Then, dabbing her left finger in it, she begins to draw a sigil on the blank expanse of stone. As she completes the circle around it, it radiates darkness—emitting rays of shadow that play across her grim-set face like coiling snakes.

Then the darkness expands until it fills the undecorated space, creating a door of rippling shadow.

"Thank you very much, Elizabeth." my mother says, signaling to Mr. Pollux.

He pulls a milky white blade the length of my forearm from a sheath hidden inside his robes, driving it through EJ's neck.

She doesn't have time to scream. There's just a horrible crunching, ripping, wet sound. Her eyes roll back as he pulls the blade from what's left of her neck, and she falls heavily sideways. Blood gushes from the wound, painting an irregular red halo about her dead-eyed face. A ragged scream rips out of me from the darkest depths of my soul. Despair and fury bolt through my veins—bright enough to burn away the shroud of cold, foggy indifference I'd worn since we left our prison. Faint veins of purple energy fizzle and crack in the air around me. Tears stream hot rivers down my cheeks.

A hand shoots out, clenching hard around my upper arm. I look up to meet my mother's cold eyes. "Control yourself, Ashwyn. Think of your friend." Again she lifts the pendant, and I understand. A press of that opal, and she can send the signal that will end Beatrice's life. I grit my teeth, fighting to contain myself.

"Get that out of the way please, Mr. Pollux," she commands, gesturing vaguely at E.J.'s corpse. Immediately he goes to haul her to the side. When he's done, he moves to stand beside me—sending a jolt of rage through my blood. The air crackles again. My mother shoots me a look of warning, then hands me off to Pollux—who takes firm hold of both my arms.

"My Sisters and Brothers, rejoice! Our birthright is reclaimed!" I clamp my hands over my ears as the others, some fifty or so in total, roar their approval. "No longer does the path to the Truest Self belong only to the rich. No longer does the power of the Storm lie only in the hands of those with power already." More cheering. She smiles benevolently, waiting until it subsides on its own before continuing. "Aleshi, as my Premier Acolyte, has been blessed with the privilege of First Passage. Come forward, my kin." On cue, the Premier Acolyte steps forward from the others, bowing her head in reverence as she approaches my mother.

"Sibling Aleshi. You have served the Shadow and Stars well, now receive their blessing. Step through the Umbra Gate and become your truest self."

Then, stepping aside, she puts her hand to the acolyte's back, gently pushing her towards the gate of pulsing blackness. Features glowing with incandescent bliss, she steps through and is gone.

For a moment it's as though everyone's holding their breath. Seconds pass, and nothing happens.

"Sister Aleshi has been claimed by the Umbra. The Storm has blessed her path. Praise Sister Aleshi! Praise the Storm!"

"Praise Sister Aleshi! Praise the Storm!" The others echo back.

"Brother Culber," my mother calls out when the follower's voices die down. "Come forward."

This time there's a hint of trepidation on the acolyte's expression as he takes his place before the inky door. Gwendolyn repeats the blessing she'd given Aleshi, but she has to press his back a little harder before he steps into the blackness.

There's an odd sort of whooshing sound which at first I mistake for wind. But then I realize that's its more like a thousand ghostly, unintelligible whispers flowing around each other, amplified and echoing.

Culber emerges through the other side of the stone, immediately falling to his knees.

The other acolytes burst into a storm of whispers, craning their necks for a better view. Pollux cuts his hand through the air and they taper into silence. My mother glides around the stone, kneeling to take Culber's hands and help him to his feet. She continues to hold them for a moment, looking into his eyes.

"Brother Culber has returned to us, Reborn a Viridian! Praise Brother Culber! Praise the Storm!"

"Praise Brother Culber! Praise the Storm!" Cheer the followers, the spark of cultish fervor renewed. Another of them hurries forward to help their peer to a position of favor standing off to the side, where he sort of wobbles on his feet, flexing his fingers and staring at his hands. When he looks up again, tendrils of vine begin to sprout from his back and shoulders.

The next two acolytes to pass through the gate don't come out the other side. The one after them does—returning as a Crimson. She's taken to stand beside Culber.

Three more are lost to the darkness after that, and then two acolytes pass through to return as a Shifter and a Petran. It goes on and on, until only a third of the acolytes remain, every one of them transformed.

Then my mother turns to me.

"Come forward, my daughter."

I shake my head, try to back away from her. "No!"

But Pollux has hold of me again in an instant.

"Don't forget Beatrice," my mother chides me. My eyes dart sideways away from her—catching on E.J.'s bloodless, lifeless face.

All the fight goes out of me.

"This way, Miss," rumbles Pollux, steering me and twisting me around to stand facing the Umbra Gate.

"My daughter," joy radiates from Gwendolyn like honey turned to light as she looks upon me, shaking and crying as I stand before the darkness. "Receive the Blessing of the Storm." She steps over to me, places her hand on my back, and shoves me into me the liquid black.