by Kim Liggett
A match was struck—the smell of phosphorous and kerosene did little to mask Spencer’s eucalyptus scent.
As he stepped into the circular room, I heard him slipping off his shoes, followed by a soft pooling of fabric hitting the ground.
Beth clung to my arm as I tried to edge down the hallway. I peeked around the wall to see the back of Spencer’s perfectly sculpted naked body kneeling before the altar, his only flaw the thick scars crisscrossing his back.
He clutched the handle of the whip in front of him. He appeared to be praying.
“Forgive me, for I have sinned.”
He dipped the end of the leather strings into the dark red substance and swung it fiercely over his shoulder. The sickening sound of the leather strip splitting his skin made me cringe. The scent of fresh blood filled the small space. “Let this blood cleanse me and keep me strong.” I was stunned to see his wounds heal right before my eyes. The dark red substance must’ve been the blood of an immortal—Katia’s blood.
“Tonight, I will fulfill my duty.” He brought the whip across his back with even greater force, slicing it wide open, only for it to heal right back up again. “I have sacrificed everything for you. Betrayed everything I love.”
Beth cowered in the far corner of the passageway, pressing her hands to her ears, flinching each time the whip struck his skin.
“And so it shall be,” he whispered. “At the harvest of the end of the world. The reaper will come forth and sever the wicked from among the just.” His words became more fervent with every blow. “Sever the wicked from among the just,” he groaned. “I am wicked, but I am just!”
Beth took in a sobbing gasp.
Spencer stopped and turned to look over his shoulder. I ducked back into the hallway. I wasn’t sure if he saw me or not.
Beth clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror, as he stepped toward our hiding spot.
He came closer.
Closer.
He’d almost reached the entryway when a loud, insistent rap came from the other door.
Spencer halted. He turned and crossed the room, shrugging back into his robe.
Beth fumbled with the wall, desperately pressing on wood panels. As soon as Spencer opened the door behind the altar, Beth found the right one.
Before I had a chance to see who was calling on him, Beth had pulled me out of the hallway and up the stairs.
“Holy shit, did you see that?” I hissed.
“No.” She squeezed my arm. “And you didn’t see anything either. Understand?”
We nearly collided with Lauren Mendoza at the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing down here?” Her eyes darted behind us.
“We were looking for Brennon’s room.” Beth smiled sweetly, the lie rolling effortlessly off her tongue.
I could see Lauren bristle as her eyes dragged up and down my body like a razor blade.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m watching you.” Her cheeks were flushed, making her olive skin even more luminous. “If you hurt anyone close to me, you and I are going to have problems.”
Did she know about Dane and me? Would he have told her? Is that why she hated me so much . . . she didn’t want to see her brother get hurt?
She leaned forward, whispering in my ear. “I’m glad you got a chance to meet Teresa. To see what you’ll become.”
I felt the black silk ribbon stir against my neck as a venomous feeling rose up inside of me. My eyes settled on Lauren’s neck—on her pulse throbbing under her beautiful skin. Something inside me wanted to stop it from beating.
“Thank you for a lovely time,” Beth said, taking my arm and pulling me outside, breaking my dark fixation.
27
BONFIRE
I’D NEVER BEEN to a cult bonfire before, but it seemed to be nothing more than a barbecue. Of course, Henry went straight for the booze. That seemed to be a favorite pastime around here. What did they care if they rotted out their livers? They expected to become immortal in a few days.
Kids crammed around small fire pits scattered around the field, jockeying for position, trying to char their mystery meat skewers. It all seemed pretty harmless, except for the mammoth sculpture at the center of the field made of carefully arranged logs and willow branches. I didn’t know what the figure was supposed to be, but it loomed menacingly against the violet sky.
I spotted Dane on the other side of the sculpture. It looked like Spencer was giving him a stern talking-to.
“We’ll set up camp in a bit,” Beth said as she dropped the bedding carelessly to the ground and hugged me. “Don’t tell anyone what you saw today,” she whispered. “There will be a path to lead us from darkness.”
Why did she keep saying that?
She looped her arm through my brother’s and led him into the thick of the Grimsby camp.
“Stay close,” Rhys called over his shoulder. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
Hopefully, tonight would bring answers, because I needed to figure something out. Fast.
When I looked back across the field, Dane was gone, but Spencer Mendoza’s eyes had settled on my skin like a rash. I knew there was something off about him the moment I met him, but I didn’t realize how deep it went.
As he began to walk around the sculpture, I took off in the opposite direction.
“Miss Larkin?” he called.
Reluctantly, I waited. As soon as he approached, that eucalyptus smell with the rotting undertone nearly gagged me.
“I haven’t had a chance to formally introduce myself. I’m Spencer Mendoza. I understand you’re already acquainted with my nephew, Brennon . . . and Dane.”
I kept my face as expressionless as possible.
“You look so much like your mother. Except for the hair.” He’d reached out to capture a strand when I took a decided step back.
“I had a nice chat with Teresa today,” I said, but it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
“Ah, poor Teresa. There’s nothing more pitiful than a conduit who’s run her course.”
He spoke of her like a nag who needed to be put down.
“Oh, forgive me.” Spencer smiled. “I forgot you’re a conduit as well.” He leaned in close, close enough for me to smell the blood from the chalice mixed with his own. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant stay in Quivira.”
What did he mean by had? I felt the ribbon straining against my neck, rage rising up inside of me.
“There you are,” Brennon said behind me.
Thankful for the rescue, I grasped his arm, but then I thought of the apple blossom—the promise. I didn’t want to lead Brennon on, but I needed him to keep up appearances. I didn’t want anyone to suspect Dane of wrongdoing.
“It’s time,” Spencer said with a dark glint in his eyes.
As he walked away, the drums began to beat, slow and steady. The community quickly took their places, waiting with bated breath. Brennon led me to the front of the sculpture.
Strange electricity filled the atmosphere.
“Friends,” Spencer announced as he paced around the giant sculpture with a lit torch. “We’ve been waiting for almost five centuries. There’s much to celebrate, but we must also remember our loved ones who were taken from us along with the brothers and sisters, sons and daughters who’ve walked the corn in order for this to come to pass. Nina will be the one to bring us light, but there can be no light without darkness.” My brother and I exchanged uneasy looks from across the gathering.
Spencer threw the torch onto the bed of kindling, igniting the sculpture, bringing to life the shape of a man. I didn’t have to ask who it was supposed to symbolize. The look of rapturous hatred on the community’s faces as they watched Coronado burn in effigy reminded me of a crazed mob straight out of a horror movie.
Suddenly, the w
ood at the base of the sculpture settled with a loud groan. Coronado’s jaw had come unhinged, sending a hiss of flames shooting from his mouth into the night air. A sick familiar feeling rose up inside of me. Not now. Not here.
My muscles quaked, my knees buckled. I felt the past clinch around my heart like heavy chains.
• • •
“You will not come to my home and threaten my people.” I glower at Coronado and his army closing in around me. “You have no power here. Not anymore.”
“That may be true.” Coronado steps aside. “But she does.”
Aiyana walks toward me through the corn. The sight of her nearly takes my breath away.
“Sister.”
“Katia, this must stop,” she says, her eyes shining like black shale in the dying light.
“Is it true? Did you bring my enemy to my door?” My breathing becomes shallow as I stare over the Arcanum positioned throughout the field. “Did you betray me . . . tell Coronado of my plans?”
Aiyana’s eyes cloud in sorrow. “Coronado has wronged you, but you cannot unleash the Dark Spirit into the world without paying the price. I fear for you and your future generations. Let me help you through this, I can break the blood bond between you and Coronado, here and now.”
My nostrils flare. “But can you bring Alonso back to me?”
She stands tall and strong, her long black hair whipping around her. “The answer is still no.”
“This I cannot live with.” Raising my hands to the sky, I call upon the Dark Spirit, “Kahnah’k’an’day hahawca’suh daka’ah.”
Coronado and his men hold their ground, but Aiyana’s warriors begin to waver. They know what’s coming for them.
As the Dark Spirit gathers strength, a screaming wail rings out over the corn.
Some of the men charge, some flee, but none will escape. The deadly force seeks them out, ripping through armor and bone, tearing them limb from limb.
Aiyana spreads her arms like wings, releasing a flood of black birds, which encase her and Coronado like a cocoon.
It’s a powerful spell, but I am more powerful now than Aiyana ever was.
I stretch out my fingers, summoning a ferocious wind.
As I force them back through the field to the outside world, I let out a primal scream.
And then there’s silence.
The only sound I hear is blood dripping from the leaves of the stalks, soaking into the fertile soil.
As Aiyana and Coronado stand on the outside, looking in, I turn my back on them.
Tears stream down my face as I step over the hundreds of bodies of the slain Quivira tribe, and Arcanum littering the fields.
I take in a deep breath, letting the Dark Spirit fill the void inside of me.
With each step, my path becomes crystalline.
I drag my fingers along the stalks, feeling raw power flow through me, the energy spreading through the corn, bending it to my will. “Let these fields be a barrier, protecting us from the outside world.” The stalks quake as I pass, a deathly recognition of our accord.
There will be darkness and I will feed the darkness.
And then there will be light . . .
• • •
“Ashlyn,” someone whispered.
“Hey there, lovely,” Brennon said as my eyes fluttered open. I lay on blankets in front of one of the smaller campfires, Dane on one side of me, Brennon on the other.
I tried to sit up, but it felt like I had an anvil embedded in my skull. “What happened?”
Dane answered, “You passed out.”
I sat up like a shot, ignoring my brain sloshing around in my head. I stared off into the corn, thinking of Katia stepping over all those bodies. How heartbroken she was. Aiyana betrayed her trust, bringing Coronado to Quivira. And when Coronado threatened to kill her people, her followers, she felt she had no choice. Katia enraptured the corn to protect them. I felt her breathing life and death into the fields, like the corn was an extension of her body.
“The smoke must have gotten to you. It happens,” Brennon said.
“Here, this might help.” Dane passed a bottle to me, but he didn’t make eye contact. I noticed a deep scratch on the left side of his neck. He adjusted his collar when he caught me staring at it.
I took a drink that burned all the way down my throat. I wanted to play it cool, but my face contorted involuntarily. “What is this stuff?”
“Rye.” Dane leaned into me, his shoulder grazing mine, which sent a flood of warmth through my entire body. “Neil Hanratty makes a batch every year for the solstice. I swear each batch gets stronger.” He coaxed the bottle away from me and took a deep swig.
I kept waiting for him to send some kind of signal, but he gave me nothing. I wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d agreed to take me into the corn; maybe I dreamt the entire thing.
I snatched it back and took another drink, not because I wanted more, but because his lips had just touched the bottle. I wanted to capture his warmth, his kiss. And then I wanted to slap myself for being such a tool.
Feeling dizzy, I fell back onto the blankets.
As Brennon reached out to take my hand, I flinched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answered with a forced smile. “I’m just still a little out of it.”
Lauren passed our campfire, staring daggers into me.
Brennon got to his feet, smiling sheepishly as he brushed grass from his trousers. “I’m going to find you some water. A girl can’t live on grain alcohol alone.”
When he left, I sat up and looked at Dane expectantly.
“Patience,” he whispered as he stared ahead into the fire.
I looked down at his hands holding the bottle and I couldn’t stop thinking about his thumb stroking my hip bone and the feel of his scarred skin beneath my fingertips. I closed my eyes, hoping the sensation of the wind rushing over my sunburned shoulders would give me some reprieve from him, but he was everywhere. His scent. His movement. His breath. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame—only in it for the burn.
The wooden sculpture creaked and groaned, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now,” Dane whispered as he got up and walked away from the camp.
As the sculpture collapsed into a heaping pile of embers, I followed Dane to the edge of darkness—and never looked back.
28
TORN
DANE WAS STANDING before the corn.
Without looking at me, he held out his hand behind him.
I laced my fingers through his; that euphoric warmth spreading across my skin.
“Don’t let go,” he whispered.
He stepped forward and the stalks parted as if he’d brought the summer breeze.
I braced myself for the electric current to hurl me back into oblivion, but he pulled me right along with him.
The hazy glow from the torches lining the inner perimeter did little to combat the darkness of the field. Our footsteps were muffled, and the corn around us seemed to lack dimension. It felt as though we’d stepped into another world.
I tightened my grip around his fingers. Even here, surrounded by unknown danger at every turn, I couldn’t stop thinking about his skin against mine.
Gradually, the row widened, so we could walk side by side. He brushed his other hand along the stalks.
“What do you feel?” I asked.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed, like my question caught him off guard.
“When you touch the corn.”
“I guess it’s an energy. If you listen closely it almost sounds like it’s breathing.”
He was right. The air moved through the stalks like rhythmic breath—in and out—out and in.
“It must be hard keeping a secret like this.”
“We all keep
secrets.” His eyes settled on me, and my blood seemed to shimmer in my veins.
A long silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Something about being here with him, in this moment, felt serene, like nothing could touch us.
“I’ve been thinking about something you said last night . . .”
I waited for him to ask what it was, but he remained focused on the path in front of us.
“You asked why I wanted to go in the corn.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “At first, I thought it was just to find a way to stop the ritual—but what if this is what my mom and dad want? Maybe there’s a way for Katia and Alonso and Nina and Thomas to all be together—to coexist.”
Dane looked at me with a soft, puzzled expression. “How much did you drink?”
“I know it sounds crazy.” I shook my head and laughed.
Dane was probably only adjusting his grip, but it felt as if he were caressing his thumb against my palm. “Would you want to live forever, Ashlyn?”
“God, no,” I blurted. “I’ve had a hard enough time dealing with the life I’ve got.”
Dane let out an unexpected laugh. Just like he had when we’d first met at the junkyard.
“But maybe with the right person?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Maybe it’s the rye . . . or this place,” I said, staring up at the stars. “Quivira really is a utopia.”
The muscles in Dane’s hand tensed. “It’s not as perfect as you think.”
I thought about what I saw at the Mendoza lodge today and my buzz quickly faded. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom’s a conduit?”
“Teresa didn’t raise me. The Mendozas did. Spencer built her a cottage on the outskirts of the eastern woods. I’m not even sure she knows I’m her son. Spencer said she used to walk the corn, like me, before she—well, before the conduit side of her took over.”
Before she went crazy, he meant.
As the lights from the outside world came into view, the odor of our surroundings did too—sweet, pungent, and on the verge of being sickening. It smelled like stale soda syrup mixed with ammonia. The ground became softer and squishier with every step.