by Celia Aaron
I rasp out her name.
She moves the blindfold away, and I blink against what seems like unbelievably bright light. “I need you quiet. Understand? We have customers on the premises. If one of them hears you, all this is over, and you’ll be right back up there on that cross with me beside you.”
Her green eyes finally come into focus. Leaves arch above me, exotic plants that don’t belong on the compound. I realize I’m in the baptistry of the Chapel, hidden behind the wild garden that the Prophet allows Jez to keep in her quarters.
“Emily?” My throat is fire, though I’m not sure why. The cold air? The screaming? Maybe all of it has stolen my voice.
She rolls her eyes. “You mean Delilah? Always with that bright white fairy.”
I glare at her.
“Fine. I heard she’s going back to the Cloister. Word is that she’s gone wild, threatened to kill that senator if he even thinks about touching her.”
I smile, my dry lips cracking.
Jez recoils slightly. “Jesus, man. You look … Anyway. She’ll be here for a while longer. The Prophet wants her broken. All the way. So she can be the perfect wifey to Evan and the perfect slave to the Prophet.”
“She won’t break.” My words come out like shattered glass.
“We all break.” She blinks hard, her past written in the scars on her body and her mind. “Every one of us. Eventually.”
“Not her. Not my Emily.”
She smiles sadly and lies to me. “Sure. Not her.” She scoots the blindfold back into place. “Just relax. We’ve got some work to do. But first we’re going to knock your ass out.”
Someone touches my foot. My toes.
Shit! “Wait, Jez, don’t—” But I feel the sting in my arm, and then the world turns on its side, the darkness swirled with rainbow and a girl in a white dress. She runs away from me, and I chase her.
I’ll always chase her.
Chapter 9
Delilah
I lie on my stomach, my head turned on the pillow. No matter how far I think I can get, I always wind up back here. My room at the Cloister.
“They aren’t as bad as some I’ve seen.” Chastity smooths aloe across the belt marks on my ass and thighs.
I wince at the light, caring touch of her fingers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She finishes her work and pulls my dress back down.
“I should have used the knife.”
“What?” She leans closer, her voice a whisper.
“I had a butter knife.” I can still feel the warm metal in my hand, see the vein pumping in the Prophet’s throat as he sat and ate his lunch. “I should have used it.”
“Don’t talk like that. Not when they can hear you.”
My gaze meets hers. “I didn’t do it. You know why?”
She shakes her head. “Stop.”
“Because I didn’t want to do it in front of all his children. Because that would scar them.” A dry laugh crackles out of me. “Because I didn’t want to be the monster that haunts their dreams every night—the crazed women with the bloody butter knife.”
“Shhh.” She smooths her hand over my hair. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I should have used the knife.” I turn back to my pillow, feeling the tears burn behind my eyes but not letting them fall.
“I have to go.”
“I know.” My voice is muffled.
“If I can come back, I will.” The bed shifts as she stands.
“Adam.” I turn toward her again, catching the swish of her skirt as she walks away. “Do you know anything about what happened to him? Did they take him down?”
Her back stiffens. “I … He’s still up there, as far as I know.”
She knows more. I can feel it in the way she refuses to turn around and meet my eye. “Chastity, please—”
“I told you. He’s there, as far as I know. I’m sorry.” She hurries out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
My mind races with possibilities. Maybe he escaped? What if—I don’t know—maybe Noah grew a pair and rescued him? I clench my eyes shut at the topsy turvy thought of being grateful to the man who killed my sister. Breathe. I’ll deal with that when I come to it. Not before.
When I shift onto my side, slices of pain echo from the lash marks across my backside. But I’ve been hurt before. The marks will heal—even the few spots where he broke the skin.
My thoughts stray into darker territory. Will Adam be able to recover? And—the one place I don’t want to go beckons—what if he’s dead? What if Chastity knows it, but didn’t want to tell me.
“Stop.” I bite my lip. Thinking like that could break me. And I promised Adam that I wouldn’t break for anyone but him.
The Prophet wants me here for more training, that’s what Grace has convinced him I need. I’m a pawn in whatever game that bitch is playing. She wanted me out of here so badly that she practically threw me at Evan. But now she wants me to stay. Why?
Too many questions whip around inside me like a whirlwind. No answers join the maelstrom. It’s all sound and violence and blood. I shift again, ignoring the ache, and hug my pillow. There is a way out of all this. I know in my bones that I can bring this place to its knees. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether I can do it without Adam. If I’ve lost him, too, I don’t know if I can find the will to go on.
A memory fires—the little girl at the bonfire, the one who looked up at me with hopeful eyes.
“Can I be a Maiden one day?” she’d asked.
Her mother replied, “If you are faithful and obedient, you may be chosen by the Prophet.”
And there’s my answer. Even without Adam, even if the pain of losing him rips my soul into a million pieces, I will fight to destroy Heavenly until my last breath. No more lambs to the slaughter, not if I can help it.
My door opens, the room deep in gloom this late at night.
“Who’s there?” I peer through the darkness, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Me.”
I don’t know the voice. “Touch me, and I’ll scream. I’ll claw your fucking eyes out.” I try to sit up, but the pain in my backside has me balancing oddly on one hip as I ready for the attack.
“I’m not going to—” He steps closer. “I won’t hurt you.”
Noah, his voice a little smoother than Adam’s, his stance a bit less aggressive. He eyes me warily and circles around the bed to stand at the foot.
Blood roars in my ears. Am I looking at my sister’s killer?
“You shouldn’t have come here.” I stand, the lash lines stinging across my skin.
“Dad assigned me to be your new Protector.”
I raise my fists, though I realize I probably look especially pathetic. I don’t care. I’ll do as much damage as I can before he overcomes me.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need protection.” I follow his steps.
He holds up both hands. “I’m not here to hurt you. I swear!”
“So you won’t hurt me? What about Georgia?” Just saying her name out loud frees some part of me—the one I’ve held back even from Adam.
“Georgia?” He blanches.
Guilt! My heart sings the word, triumph in the note. He looks guilty.
How long have I waited for this chance? Too long. Vengeance sings in my veins. I don’t care about the camera or the microphone or the Spinner in the hall. All I care about is exacting my pound of flesh from the man who killed my sister. An exuberance fills me, lightens my steps. Judgment is here, and I am her sword.
“You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” I follow him until his back is against the wall.
He nods and keeps his hands out in front of him. “Mary. She was my Maiden.”
“A confession?” I ease closer, staring up into his eyes that I once thought were guileless. I know better now. “I already know what you did to her. I read the police report. I know every cut, every gouge, every fucking bruis
e, even that the slice to her throat was just over four inches wide. Thorough. You made sure she didn’t have a chance.” Despite my rage, my voice is calm. So calm, like a placid lake with a razor-mouthed beast lurking just beneath the surface.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” I’m directly in front of him now, our eyes locked, the faint hint of whiskey on his breath.
“I never would have hurt her. Never.”
“Liar.” I rear back and slap him. Hard.
“I’m not.” He suffers the blow, then returns his gaze to mine. “I swear on my life that I never hurt her.”
“I don’t believe you.” I slap him again. My palm rings with the reflection of his pain. It feels good.
“Delilah.” He grabs my shoulders.
I fight, struggling out of his grip.
“Don’t!” he yells as I swing, my fist hitting his cheek with a fleshy thunk. The impact radiates through my knuckles, a deep, jarring pain. But I swing again, on fire, ready to hurt him, to show him at least a tiny slice of the agony I live with each day since he took her away from me.
“Stop this!” He wraps his arms around me, pinning my hands in tight to his chest.
I kick and struggle, but he walks me to the bed and lays me down, my ass on fire, my hands desperate to rip him to pieces. He straddles me and pins my wrists next to my ears. I’m trapped, too weak to escape.
I spit in his face. “Do your fucking worst.”
He lets out a low, frustrated noise, like a growl deep in his throat. “I need you to calm the fuck down.”
I turn my head away, my chest heaving with each breath. At least I gave it all I could.
“Listen.” He squeezes my wrists. “Or wait, no.” He shakes his head. “Talk. How do you know Mar—Georgia?”
“Her name was Georgia, you piece of shit. Not Mary.”
“Okay. Georgia.” He seems to try and adopt a soothing tone. “How do you know her?”
I turn back to him, giving him my honesty like a knife through his worthless heart. “She was my sister.”
He closes his eyes and hangs his head. “Fuck. She talked about you.” His voice gentles, and I could swear that sadness rolls his shoulders forward a bit, tinges his words with grief. “You’re her Firefly, aren’t you?”
I swallow hard. That’s the name she used to call me. Only Georgia.
“I’ll find you!” Georgia’s voice rockets across her father’s wide garden, the stalks of corn tall in the dusky sunset.
I slink behind the wide oak with the trunk that looks almost like a face. Her swing—just a piece of throwaway wood situated between two lengths of rope, sways light in the evening breeze. The spring scent of honeysuckle tickles my nose and threatens to make me sneeze and give up my location. Not happening. Pressing myself against the warm bark, I rub my sleeve across my nose with a ruthless motion, killing any sneezy inclination with brute force.
The whisper of corn leaves pulls my attention to the right. I peek out, but don’t see her past the stout wire rows of climbing cucumber vines. Eyeing the wooden fence that separates her backyard from her neighbors, I wonder if I can slip through the spot where the boards are loose without her seeing me. Then again, going into another yard is cheating. Crap. I should have run to the other side of the house.
“I know you’re over here.” Her sing-song voice is a threat laced with laughter, and I can’t help my smile as I try to stay as still as possible.
Playing hide-and-seek is still one of her favorite games, even though we’re almost teenagers. We play it every time I come to visit, times that are coming farther and farther apart ever since my mother … No, I won’t think about that now. I focus on where I think she is, maybe towards the back edge of the garden now, her Keds silent on the red dirt as she stalks me.
When I think she’s about to break free of the rows of corn, I make a calculated decision to dart toward the opposite side of the garden.
I shriek when I collide with her, standing just around the tree, and we fall in a heap. A few crows lift from the branches above us, squawking away into the muggy twilight.
“Gotcha!” Her triumphant shout is all-too familiar, and I lay back on the grass and admit defeat.
“You’re too good at this.” Crossing my arms over my thin chest, I stare up through the new leaves on the dark branches. “There aren’t enough hiding spots.”
“Oh, don’t be a sore loser. Pro tip—you need to stop picking the first good place you see to hide. Be a little more sneaky.” She flops next to me and tucks her hands behind her head. “Besides, I’d be able to find you in the dark. You shine no matter where you are, Firefly.”
“Delilah?” Noah wrinkles his forehead and peers into my eyes.
“Get off me.” My temples are wet, though I didn’t realize I’d been crying.
“No. Not until you stop swinging at me. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Or you.” I spit back.
“That, too.” He nods, and I notice he’s been careful not to squeeze my wrists too hard or settle too much of his weight on my hips. He’s holding back.
“You killed her.” I lock eyes with him, daring him to look away with a lie.
“I did not.” He holds my gaze, his voice steady and low. “I swear on my life that I never harmed your sister.”
I can feel it niggling in the back of my mind, the tendril tickling—the thread of truth in his words. The tears flow more freely now, vengeance doused with the familiar bucket of disappointment and loss. I let go, my body going limp beneath him. The fight is gone. He didn’t do it. I can see it in his eyes, and I hate the fact that I still haven’t achieved the one thing I came here to do. I’m sorry, Georgia. I think it over and over again, sending my apology out into whatever world where Georgia still exists. I’m so sorry I failed you again.
“Fuck.” He relents and scoots off me, sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
I roll to my side, the ache in my backside forcing me to face away from Noah. Tears still flow, and I hate the weakness in me, the utter failure.
“She was my Maiden, but I never hurt her. Not like … Not like the others. She was different.” His voice is so low I have to lean toward him to hear it. “Something about her. I don’t know. She would tell me things about her childhood. About you. I loved her stories about high school, her normal life. She sort of …” He shakes his head. “She showed me all the things I missed out on. She made me doubt.” He sighs. “She made me doubt everything. Adam had been trying to pull the curtain back for years. Hell, I already knew what was behind the curtain, but I believed anyway. But with her, she made everything seem so much brighter.”
“She shined.” I remember every moment of her sparkle.
“She did.” He nods. “And I was so afraid I’d do something to dull it. I did what I had to do as her Protector, but I treated her differently than the others. Grace knew it.” His tone turns hard. “She tried to use it against me. Threatened me with hurting M-Georgia. Sorry, Georgia.”
“What did Grace want?” I can guess, but I want to hear it from Noah.
“Adam. She’s always wanted him.”
I flex the finger she broke. “Makes sense.” Turning over, I groan and face Noah, though I have to crane my head up at an awkward angle to meet his eyes. “Tell me more about her.” I’m starved for this information, for this glimpse at what my sister’s life was like when she was beyond my reach.
“Not much to tell. The Cloister hasn’t changed since then. Georgia kept her spirits up, helped the other girls and assured them that this life wasn’t forever.” He smiles, but it’s wistful and sad. “I got in trouble for that, for giving her too much leash, Dad would say. The Maidens aren’t supposed to be like her—” He blinks. “Like you. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You remind me of her.”
“What happened to her?”
He turns away, his face shaded in darkness. “I thought she ran away. That’s what we all thought.”
&nbs
p; “She didn’t.”
“She didn’t.” He sighs.
“Do you know who did it?” I hold my breath.
“No.” He doesn’t look at me.
“Noah.” I force myself to sit and face him. “Tell me.”
He stays silent for a long time, his eyes hidden from me. “Adam is off the cross.”
“What?” I cover my hand to hold in a sob of relief, his words a blindside. “He is? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know.” He finally meets my gaze. “Someone knocked out the guard and took him down. The Prophet is turning the compound upside-down trying to find him.”
I can barely believe what he’s said. “Someone saved him?”
“Looks like it.”
“Was it you?”
He shakes his head. “I was too late. Just like always.”
“Everyone, out of your rooms. This is a search!” A masculine yell comes from the hallway.
I grab Noah’s hand, urgency eating away at any time I may have had to think through what he’d just revealed about Adam. “Please, my sister. Please tell me who killed her. You know. I can tell you know who it was.”
He rises. “I have to go.”
“No.” I stand and block his way around the bed. “Tell me now!”
With a sad shake of his head, he pushes past me. “You can’t ask that of me.”
I grab his arm and yank. “I’m not asking. Tell me!”
He pulls away, gently removing my hand from his arm. “I won’t, and I never will.”
My hands shake, and I want to hurt him, to make him feel the emptiness inside that I do whenever I think about what happened to Georgia.
“Coward!” I beat on his back as he walks to my door.
He opens the door as the rest of the Maidens pile into the hallway, men rushing this way and that, the sound of crashing furniture mixed with shouts of “not here!”
A Spinner stands just a few feet away, her eyes wide at the destruction.
“You’re a goddamn coward,” I hiss at Noah.
He turns to me, his head down. “I know.” When he meets my eyes, I feel like a steely piece of Adam is looking out at me. “But that’s about to change.”