The Sacrifice
Contents (32)
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2022 by Rin Chupeco
Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Liz Dresner
Cover illustrations © Leonardo Santamaria
Internal design by Danielle McNaughton
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
(630) 961-3900
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
For the Scooby Doo Manila squad—until our next hunt
He who offers the sacrifice controls the Godseye.
The first to feed,
the second to seed,
the third to wear,
the fourth to birth,
the fifth to serve,
the sixth to lure,
the seventh to consume,
the last to wake.
One
The Cave
Nobody tells Hollywood about the screaming.
Nobody tells Hollywood about the curse. Or the way things walk across the sands here like they are alive enough to breathe. Nobody tells them of the odd ways the night moves around these parts when it thinks no one sees.
Nobody gives them permission to visit, and it’s all the incentive Hollywood needs to permit themselves.
The people who live in the provinces nearest the island don’t talk. Not at first. But money is the universal language, and the years have been lean enough, desperate enough. Tongues loosen. The words come reluctantly.
Yes, they say. There is a curse. Yes; at least five people dead.
No, they say. We will not step foot on that island with you, not even if you gave us a million dollars.
Hollywood crashes into the island, anyway; it’s a new breed of conquistadors trading technology for cannons. First their scouts: marking territory, measuring miles of ground, surveying land. Next their specialists: setting camp, clearing brush, arguing over schematics. Then their builders arrive with containment units, solar panels, and hardwood. In the space of a few days, they construct four small bungalows with an efficiency I’m not accustomed to seeing.

