The Maiden (The Cloister Book 1)

by Celia Aaron

  We stare at the floor like good little Maidens as the other Spinners gather our garments. The hum increases, low voices reverberating through my chest as they chant in unison. I can’t tell what they’re saying. I don’t want to know.

  The doors open, and we file into a huge, circular room. The ceiling swirls away above us, veins of gold converging on a center golden emblem, an upside down cross gilded and glinting in the light of the candelabras. A dozen men kneel at the edge of the circle, their backs to the golden walls. Shirtless, they chant. I search for Adam. He sits at the back of the room, his eyes on me while the rest of the men bow their heads. White gauze wraps around his chiseled torso, though I can’t see any injury. I have to drop my gaze before the Head Spinner sees.

  “Welcome.” The Prophet sits on a huge, crimson dais—made for a giant, not a man—at the center of the room. He wears a robe of white and a crown of golden laurel on his head. The circular floor has lines running through it, forming a pentagram. The Prophet sits at the center on his blood red throne.

  “‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for such is the kingdom of God.’” He smiles, his angular face still handsome despite the corruption that dwells within.

  The Spinners lead us forward until we form two lines in front of the Prophet. He motions for us to kneel on the pillows strewn about at his feet.

  I sink onto a plush emerald pillow, the velvet soft on my knees but doing nothing to stop the chills that rake my skin. Another Maiden kneels directly before me, the one with the tattoo on her hip. Hannah, I think her name is.

  The men’s chanting flows to a slow halt, a stream blowing away from a windy waterfall.

  Silence.

  Everything in the room focuses on the self-appointed God on the throne, his Christian and heathen regalia reeking of a special cocktail of blasphemy.

  “Sit, my doves. Sit and relax.” He snaps his fingers.

  The Head Spinner walks swiftly out the door and returns with a brigade of Spinners, each one carrying trays laden with fruit, cheese, wine, chocolates, and everything that has been forbidden to us over the past few days in the Cloister.

  Is it a trick? I shoot a look toward the Maidens to my right. Like me, they peek at the bounty as it’s set around them. A fat purple grape taunts me from the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare reach for it. Not with the Head Spinner within baton range.

  “Very well.” The Prophet plucks a strawberry from the plate to his right. “My darling Spinners, for this special evening, I’d like all of you to take your leave and spend the time in quiet reflection.”

  The Head Spinner takes a step forward. “But the Spinners always—”

  “Grace!” The Prophet’s roar makes every one of us jump. Then his voice quiets, “Do you see these precious children gathered at my feet, Grace?”

  “Yes, Prophet.” Her voice trembles, and I take what satisfaction I can from that little fact.

  “Do you see how obedient they are?”

  She hangs her head. “Yes, Prophet.”

  “Go and spend the rest of the evening praying to the Lord that you will be more like them. More humble. More gracious.” Venom drips from the word. “And certainly more willing to be in harmony with your Prophet.”

  “Yes, Prophet.” She shuffles backwards, then turns and walks out, the rest of the Spinners following her.

  When the doors close, the Prophet’s low snarl dissipates until he is once again smiling. “Eat and drink, my fair Maidens.”

  I glance at the Maiden next to me. She reaches for a cube of cheese, takes it with shaking fingers, and pops it into her mouth. As she chews, I wait for the axe to fall. When she swallows and takes another piece, I chance the grape. When I pop it into my mouth, it bursts on my tongue with a sweetness that promises a verdant spring.

  When nothing horrible befalls us, we begin to eat more freely. The Prophet smiles from his throne as the men remain on their knees along the periphery. I take a sip of wine and glance at Adam. His gaze pierces me, and I doubt he’s looked anywhere else since this strange ritual began.

  It’s unnerving, but also… somehow gratifying? I don’t sense menace in him right this second, but I know it’s there.

  “Why can’t we eat like this at the Cloister?” Sarah hisses and snags a thick chunk of cantaloupe from my tray.

  A few of the other Maidens are whispering, but no one reprimands them. The Prophet motions to the Maiden nearest him to come sit with him.

  We quiet at that and watch.

  He pulls her to his side and pops a green grape in her mouth, then whispers in her ear. Her cheeks flame and she smiles. His hand stays at her side, never wavering from the smooth flesh of her waist as they talk in low tones for a few minutes.

  I have no clue what’s going on, but I’m not going to waste the chance at eating well for once since I’ve been here. I devour the rest of the red grapes on the silver tray to my right as the Prophet sends the first Maiden back into the crowd and takes the next to his lap. More whispering and smiling as he feeds her a sugary blackberry.

  Sarah leans over. “I-I think it’s real. Like it’s actually okay.” She’s mid-chew on a brie-covered cracker.

  “We’ll see.” I can’t seem to stop looking at Adam. Every time our gazes lock, a warning sounds deep inside me. But is it telling me to worry about him, or the Prophet, or the Spinners? There are too many dangers for me to sort out. Instead, I drink my wine and lounge on the pillows. The other Maidens have already lain themselves out, feasting and whispering. If someone painted us right now, we’d look like sinners at the feast of Dionysus, or some similar pagan rite replete with nudity and excess.

  I finish my glass and set it aside as Eve twirls a lock of my hair between her fingers. The bruising on her eye has turned a deep purple, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

  In a dreamy voice, she says, “Your hair is the color of light. Pure white light.”

  I giggle. Then I stop and realize what I’ve done. I stare at the wine glass. I’ve been drunk before, but that’s not what this is. This is something deeper that verges on euphoria, a dangerous abandon that threatens to pull me down.

  “The wine.” I tap Sarah on the shoulder. She looks up at me with big brown eyes that swirl and sparkle.

  When she smiles, her effervescent soul shimmers between her lips. “I want more.”

  “I think it’s been laced with—”

  “Delilah, my child. Come.” The Prophet crooks his finger at me, the wide smile back in place and dazzling like a toothpaste commercial.

  I stand on wobbly feet and walk to him, then plop down at his side. He pulls me close.

  “You are chosen. Better than every other female in the world. Truly special and blessed. When the world ends, and I ascend to the heavenly throne, you will be at my side, for you are the most precious of all my Maidens, holy in the light of your Prophet.”

  I close my eyes as his words sink into me like his fingertips into the flesh of my waist. Or does he have claws? Tilting my head back, I open my eyes and stare at the golden cross above me, upside down and pointing toward me. Damnation hangs over my head. Isn’t that what this is?

  “Your whole life, people have scorned you for this.” He strokes down my cheek, then runs my long hair between his fingers. “Isn’t that true, Delilah?”

  I refocus on him, his dark eyes swallowing me like a bottomless void. “Yes. They used to call me Casper, or Powder, or ask me if I was late for the Queen of Heart’s party.”

  He strokes my cheek gently with a warmth that coats my senses. “They were jealous of you. They could see the heavenly spark that lives here.” He strokes my left breast only once then returns his fingertips to my face, his voice hypnotic. “And they wanted it for themselves. But you saved yourself for the Prophet. Isn’t that right?”

  “For the Prophet.” I nod, my brain sloshing through my skull.

  “Here, you are cherished, loved, and protected. The filthy men out there who want t
o hurt you, to take your spark, to abuse your purity, they can’t touch you here. I will keep all your enemies at bay and force them to grovel at your feet. For you are my beloved.” He kisses my forehead. “Now go forth in the knowledge that you have been chosen by your Prophet, and you are holy in his sight.”

  I rise and manage to return to my cushion as Sarah takes my spot on the crimson throne. But the crimson dais is no longer static. It pulses. Like a beating heart. And tendrils of light flow from it to each Maiden, touching her chest. One tickles against my left breast, reaching into my body and wrapping around my heart in a gentle embrace.

  I am chosen. I am loved. I am made whole through the will of the Prophet.

  Georgia flits in and out of my vision, her golden hair flowing out behind her like a river of heaven. She’s dancing, floating, spinning. I want to follow her, to tell her how much I miss her. She moves farther away, her light fading but her connection to me still shining brightly. We will always be connected, always be there for each other. My eyelids grow heavy, but something pulls my gaze to the gloom that rings the circle of light created by the Prophet.

  A man watches me. I know him. Adam. He waits in the outer darkness, his teeth bared, his soul corrupted, and his heart crying out for my blood.

  Chapter 11

  Adam

  The look on her face chills me to the fucking bone, which is saying something.

  She’s in the grips of the LSD, her pupils huge as she watches me. I wonder what she sees, what picture my father painted for her as she sat by his side, his lecherous hands caressing her fair skin.

  I know the litany, the lies, the promises of being the chosen one. But why does she look at me as if I’m a threat when it’s obviously the snake who was only moments ago whispering in her ear?

  Noah snickers. “Do you see mine?”

  His Maiden seems to be chasing invisible butterflies, her body swaying as she swirls and dives for whatever she sees. But I can’t take my eyes off Delilah for long. She’s beyond stunning, like a princess from some fairytale that normal children heard at bedtime. Every movement, every glance from her, sets me on alert. My palms sweat from the need to touch her, to drag her away from the drugged indulgence. But this is just the first of many visits to the Temple, and I’m rooted to the spot, frozen like always.

  She relaxes on her pillows, her wide eyes taking everything in, but whenever she looks in my direction, her delicate brows draw together.

  My father finishes with the last Maiden, sending her off to collapse onto her sister Maidens in a peal of giggles.

  “Blessed are my Maidens, the chosen of God.” He raises his glass. Though his back is to me, I’m certain a smug grin rests on his lips. Asshole.

  He nods toward the door, and Gray rises and opens it, allowing the Spinners back inside. Grace keeps her gaze on the floor, her earlier chastisement likely still ringing in her ears.

  “Refill the plates of my chosen ones.” My father stands, surveying the feast of flesh on the floor before him. Some Maidens sleep, others laugh, still others trail their fingers through their hair and along the skin of their sisters. The drugs make everything new, sending a coursing current of electricity through their collective consciousness.

  My gaze returns to Delilah. One of the girls is braiding her long white hair. Now she’s a wood nymph, completely at ease. Open, even.

  The Spinners bustle back out and return with fresh platters of food. But by this time, the Maidens are too deep in the high to notice.

  “Are we done?” Noah stage whispers. “I’ve got a couple of girls from the Chapel coming over.”

  I sigh. “Not until he says we’re done. You know that.” Besides, I won’t leave until I know Delilah is safely away from my father.

  “We don’t even get to do anything.” He points to his Maiden, still chasing butterflies, her nude body on full display. “I can’t touch that, so why am I here?”

  “To serve God.” My father’s voice cuts through the hum of giggles, and his gaze settles on Noah. “And to please me. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Noah straightens and clasps his hands behind his back. “No, sir.”

  “Good.” My father shoots me a scornful look, as if I were the one who’d questioned him, then rises. “My good and faithful Maidens, our evening is at an end. You may return to the Cloister. Go with love and the knowledge that you are the very jewels upon the Lord’s heavenly crown.”

  More giggles, and then the Spinners march in with the girls’ dresses.

  I stand, my knees groaning from all the time spent on the wood floor. The Protectors stand at attention as the Maidens are dressed and herded from the room. The Spinners treat them gently under my father’s watchful eye, though I suspect the gloves will come off as soon as they arrive back at the Cloister.

  Once the doors close, my father whirls on Noah. “If you have a problem with our rituals—”

  “I don’t.” Noah flinches. Interrupting is one of the worst sins you can commit against the Prophet.

  My father strides over, his jaw tight—and not just from his last procedure. “Return to your home. Pray to the Lord to grant you forgiveness for your errant ways.”

  Noah nods, relief pushing from him like a wave over dry sand. “Yes, sir.”

  My father smirks, cruelty in every line of his face. “Do you still have that lizard Adam gave you what, ten years ago on your birthday—the birthday I told you we no longer celebrate but Adam disobeyed me?”

  My hands clench into fists behind me. I remember the lashing for that. In fact, I remember every one I’ve ever gotten. It was nine years ago, on Noah’s sixteenth birthday. Dad had outlawed birthdays for his faithful, demanding that we spend that day in contemplation of the Prophet’s ultimate divinity.

  But Noah was only going to turn sixteen once. I took a chance, and I paid for it. Noah was allowed to keep the lizard, Gregory, but only after my back had been lashed so badly I had to be sent to the hospital.

  “Yes, I still have him.” Noah’s words drip with apprehension.

  “And didn’t you have a kitten or a puppy or something, too?”

  “No.” Noah is smart enough to lie about his cat Felix.

  “The lizard will have to do. Sacrifice it to the Father of Fire. Show him your repentance.”

  Noah wilts at my side, though he keeps his face stoic. “Yes, sir.”

  “You know the rules, Noah. Make sure you burn him alive. Then bring the ash and bone to the house. I’ll inspect them before bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He cuts his gaze to me. “Eyes on the floor, Adam. Or do you need to relearn the lesson of deference?”

  “No, sir.” I train my gaze on the curve of the pentagram beneath my feet while lava bubbles in my veins. Noah may be twisted and ruined, but somehow, a part of him survived. From the moment I gifted him that bearded dragon, he took care of it. Fed it, nurtured it, even took it out and carried it around on his shoulder. When he found Felix wandering around the compound, he took him in and did the same.

  Noah falls in line with my father, and he’s done plenty of things that would make normal people shiver, but he still has a stripe of humanity emblazoned across his heart. My father is determined to stamp it out. Maybe it’s best if he does.

  “Protectors.” He motions everyone to form a circle around him. “We are set upon our work with full hearts. Continue to do my will in all things, and you will be rewarded. Disobey me—” he shoots me a glare “—and face the consequences.”

  “Yes, sir.” All in unison.

  “We have the issue of Protector Newell to discuss.” He clasps his hands in front of him and adopts a thoughtful look, even though I know he’s already decided who he wants to fill the position. “God and the Father of Fire have both informed me that Trey Reynolds—one of our longtime associate pastors and a devoted servant to the ministry—is the correct choice. He will take over Newell’s Maiden. Parker?”

  “Yes, sir.” Zion Parker steps f
orward, his bald pate shiny under the candlelight. Many of the Protectors are almost twice my age—their shirtless bodies pudgy and pale. Juxtaposed with the young, nubile Maidens, it makes my stomach turn.

  “Have him and his family settled on the campus, and make sure his daughters are enrolled in the school. We don’t need any more worldly influences dirtying their minds.”

  My father—though a charlatan through and through—is also a clever visionary of sorts. Instead of pulling Maidens from society, he’s decided to engineer the future of Heavenly Ministries through his separate schools for boys and girls. The schools, though new, are growing rapidly and solidifying the Prophet’s stranglehold on the community. Not to mention all the new additions that show up from the Cathedral.

  “I’ll get to work on it first thing.”

  “Good man.” My father pats him on the arm, then turns to me. “As you know, Newell was in charge of the celebrations for the winter solstice in a month. The Father of Fire will be displeased if we fail to honor him through our rite. Since you are the reason Newell is no longer with us, the preparations now fall to you.”

  God-fucking-dammit.

  “I expect this year’s celebration to be the best we’ve ever seen. You are required to work closely with Grace to get this done. I take it that won’t be a problem?”

  “No, sir.” Not a problem, no. Likely a huge fucking calamity. But a problem? Not at all.

  He regards me with a knowing smirk. “Good. And with that, our business is concluded. I expect you all to continue educating the Maidens as is your duty. Report any problems to me. We already have plenty of interest in this year’s crop, and the trials will be here before we know it. Otherwise, enjoy your spoils.” He grins, the wolf finally showing through.