The Church

by Celia Aaron

  “Sorry, man.” He eases up and goes slowly. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I know it’s a lot.” We have to stop them. That part goes unsaid between us. No matter what the Heavenly church members’ sins may be, they don’t deserve to die.

  After a while, he says, “So we have to deal with whatever Mom’s cooking up, the dynamite bandits, and what else? I feel like I’m missing something.” He scrunches his nose. “Oh yeah, that’s it—our insane father. Got all the bases covered. Wait, one more thing. Deli—I mean Emily’s mother is in the Rectory.”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. “What?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, Emily wasn’t playing along like Dad wanted, so he whipped her at the Cathedral and kidnapped her mom for insurance.”

  I swallow everything he’s said, but it’ll take a while to digest. I’ll have to circle back around. But for now, I need to ask about the one topic that he’s avoided. “So, she’s your Maiden now?”

  He hesitates, then resumes wrapping my other hand. “Yeah.”

  “What have you done with her?” The words fucking burn on the way out, but I have to know.

  He shrugs. “I threaten her super loud so Dad can hear. Then I lay next to her on her bed—”

  My fingers close, but the pain forces me to open my palms again. “What else?”

  “Hey, I haven’t fucked her in any form or fashion. I would never get my dick wet in your girl, okay?” He still doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “Tell me all of it. Come on, Noah.”

  “Why?” He finishes the bandages then moves back to my foot. “Why does it matter?”

  “Please.” I clench my eyes shut as he dabs the ointment onto my ghost toes.

  “I made her…” He takes a deep breath and spits out the rest of the words in a tumble. “Dry hump me a little for the camera.”

  My heart wrenches in my chest, and a blinding rage threatens. I want to throttle him, to fucking beat him into a puddle for touching her. Not his fault, I tell myself. Even though I know he’s blameless, the feeling remains, the need to protect what’s mine at all costs.

  “She doesn’t like me, if that makes you feel any better.”

  It does. I hitch up a shoulder noncommittally.

  He hurries on, “She asks about you constantly. And when I touch her, she doesn’t—like, I don’t know—she doesn’t respond like chicks usually do to me. There’s nothing there. Not really. She doesn’t want me.”

  “Do you want her?”

  His split-second pause is a knife to my gut, but then he says, “I like her. I used to think she was weird-looking, but now I see her better. She’s beautiful. Strong. I can see why you’re into her.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  He wraps my toes, his head down so I can’t see his eyes. “I don’t want her, not the way you do.”

  I let my breath out slowly, trying to put his last words on repeat and burying the earlier ones. If I don’t push the thoughts of them together down, down, down, it’ll tear me apart. And I can’t let anything come between any of us ever again. We have to stick together to make it through this.

  “There’s more,” he says quietly.

  “More?” I brace myself. “Tell me.”

  “She isn’t who you think she is. Well—” He shrugs. “I mean she is, but not all the way.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Remember the Maiden that Mom—” He audibly swallows. “The one she killed?”

  “Yeah, Georgia.” Something starts to fire in my mind, a memory that I can’t quite put my finger on. “What about her?”

  He wraps gauze around my foot, and I can tell he’s wrestling with the rest. He thinks I don’t know how Georgia’s death affected him. But I do. I can’t say if he loved her, but he cared for her deeply. When she was found, he changed. Grew darker. And I suspect that’s when the drinking started.

  “Noah, go on.”

  He clears his throat. “Emily is her sister. Well, half-sister. Different moms. Georgia would talk about her sometimes. Her Firefly—that was the nickname Georgia gave her. I didn’t put it together when I should have. But Emily told me. That day she tried to kill me? She thought I was the one who hurt Georgia.” He shakes his head. “I never would have hurt her. I was even thinking about… Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  My memory comes back full force. A gut punch would have been less of a blindside. I blink when I see the clue that should have led me to the real Emily. When I spoke to her mother, paid her off to stop asking questions about her daughter, she’d said, “Please don’t kill her. Like you did Georgia.” At the time, I’d just assumed she’d read about the murder when it happened. But now I think about it, that doesn’t make sense. She was an addict in Louisiana at that time, and Heavenly did its best to keep the story off the front pages. There’s no way she would have known about it. Not unless she had a connection. Emily was it.

  I dig the heels of my palms into my eyelids. “Fuck.”

  “I take it you didn’t know.”

  “No.” I can’t fathom the dedication it took for Emily to follow her sister down the twisted path to Heavenly. She’s been here trying to find Georgia’s killer all this time. “She never told me.” Why didn’t she tell me? I try to switch places, put myself in her shoes. She’s in a strange place and doesn’t know who to trust. Not even me. The thought stings, but I understand. And once she believed it was Noah? Fuck. I run my fingers through my hair and pull. Of course she couldn’t tell me if she thought my brother did it. And the truth is somehow worse. Not Noah, but my mother. My mother took her sister’s life. There’s nothing to solve this, no way out of it.

  “It’s kind of a mess.” Noah seems to read my thoughts.

  “You didn’t tell her it was Mom, right?”

  “No fucking way.” He finishes bandaging my foot and finally looks at me. “I couldn’t do it.”

  I don’t blame him. I’ve come to learn that Emily is a force. She doesn’t have a lot of power in the Cloister, but what she has, she uses to devastating effect. “You’re supposed to see her tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah.” His answer is wary.

  “I’m going.”

  “No way.”

  Felix jumps on the bed and stands on my chest, then turns around three times before settling with his tail in my face.

  I try to push his fluff away from me, but his claws dig into my shirt. “Fuck.” I speak around him. “I’ll wear a hoodie. Hurry in, keep my head down, and be you.”

  “You can’t even walk, dipshit.”

  I point to the joint on the bedside table. “I’ll smoke up enough to dull the pain.”

  “Too risky. If someone sees you, you’re fucked. And someone will see you. Especially if you’re lit. You’ll probably ask Zion if he has any Cheetos.” He stands. “I’m not letting you out of here just so you can get nailed to the cross again. Forget it.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right, but I can’t deny my need for her. I have to see her, have to do something to soothe her broken heart. Her sister. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I knew she was holding something back from me, but a righteous vendetta was not something I could have guessed—not until I got the clue from her mother. But I was too thickheaded to put it together then. This revelation changes everything and nothing. I still have to see her. A dangerous idea forms. “Wait, how about you bring her here?”

  He arches a brow. “I can’t just borrow her from the Cloister. She’s not a library book.”

  “Why not?” I pick Felix up and place him beside me on the bed. He gives me a surly look, his orange eyes half open.

  “He’s just going to crawl right back on you in a minute,” Noah deflects.

  “Bring her here, okay? Think of something, but get her here. Please?”

  Felix, true to Noah’s prediction, climbs onto my chest again, this time opting for settling with his face up against my chin.

  “Come on, Noah. I’m whoring myself out for
your cat. It’s the least you could do.”

  He smiles at the orange furball that’s trying to suffocate me, then sobers when he looks me in the eye. “Look, I can’t promise anything. But I can try.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “No, you’re asking for more trouble on top of the shit heap full of trouble we already have.”

  “Maybe.” I give in and pet Felix. “But I have to see her. I can’t do what needs to be done until I know she’s safe, okay?”

  “Fine.” He lifts the lid on Gregory’s terrarium and uses his index finger to stroke the old lizard’s head. “But once that’s done, we have to get serious. About Dad, about the Chapel, about everything.”

  “I’m serious.” I settle back and close my eyes. “We’re going to deal with it all, including Mom.”

  “Man, I wouldn’t tell her about Mom and her sister. I hope that’s not part of your reason for seeing her.”

  “I don’t know.” I’m not sure if I can tell her, let alone if I should. But she deserves to know… at some point.

  Felix digs his claws in again, making himself at home, perfectly at ease with the swirling shit storm all around us.

  Everything is coming to a head, like a slow-moving wave on the ocean that grows higher and higher the closer it gets to land. When it hits, some of us will be able to weather it, and some of us will be swept away. I can only hope Noah, Emily, and I are sturdy enough to keep our feet on land.

  Chapter 19

  Delilah

  I pace the short length of my room. Grace didn’t come get me today. Instead, I went to the TV room—this time with a Spinner stationed just inside the door—and watched videos on “The Journey of the Prophet,” consisting of multiple propaganda pieces focusing on his life.

  Though boring, there were some bright spots. Adam featured in a few of them, always in the background, his dark eyes surveying everything going on as if he was taking names. The younger version of him didn’t smirk as much, but he was still in there, the calculating mind and the forceful character that leaps out of the screen even now.

  After a lunch of steamed vegetables, I was escorted back to my room and dumped for the afternoon. I’ve been pacing ever since. The sun has long since gone down, and I haven’t bothered to turn my light on. I continue my walk in darkness.

  Sunday looms large in my mind, the black tornado from my dreams waiting to swallow me up. Grace didn’t say a word to me as we left the Prophet’s house yesterday, but I could feel her seething. I’m still here like she wanted, but Sunday is just two days away. If I marry the senator and leave, I know what Grace will do to my mother.

  I turn sharply when I’m almost to the far wall and pace back to the door. Getting on Evan’s good side worked a little too well. I underestimated him and assumed the Prophet would still opt to keep me around for at least a month or two. I would have used that time to get under Evan’s skin during his visits, to try and convince him that Heavenly is a threat. But all that’s shot to pieces now. I can still work on him, try and turn him against the Prophet, but I’ll be utterly under his control. And Evan isn’t the sort to bend easily.

  My foot hits the wall next to the door, and I turn again, my dress whirling out from my body dramatically as I tread the same path over and over. Noah didn’t come yesterday, so I couldn’t explain anything. Had something happened to him? It feels odd to worry about Noah, especially when I was convinced that he’d murdered Georgia. But now, I care for him, even though I wish I didn’t. It seems like anyone I care for gets crushed by the Heavenly machine.

  My door swings open, halting my progress.

  Grace’s sneer greets me. “Get your shoes on. We’re going out.”

  I hurry around my bed and slip on my flats. “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up.” She turns and walks away.

  I follow, keeping up with her clipped pace. No point in asking any more questions. She didn’t bring me a robe this time, so I guess we aren’t heading to the Prophet’s house. That’s a relief, but it also begs the question of where we’re going.

  The cold night greets us, and we pile onto a golf cart. She heads up the pavement, the cold wind biting through my thin dress. When we come to the main compound road, for a moment I think she’s going to turn right toward the Rectory—either to give me a cruel visit to my mother or to have me join her—but she turns left toward the main entrance.

  I hunch forward against the wind as she speeds up the hill, the golf cart’s engine only a quiet hum. She passes the rear of the Prophet’s house and stops in front of one of the smaller ones that flank it.

  “I’ll return in one hour. Be outside waiting. If you set foot outside this house otherwise, you will be found and taken to the Rectory. I’ll be sure to accommodate you next to your mother so you can hear her screams. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Go.” She points to the black front door.

  I want to ask who lives here, what I’m doing here, and about a dozen other things, but I don’t. I simply step off the golf cart and walk to the door. It swings open as I approach, and Noah stands just inside wearing a hoodie, a hand-rolled cigarette or a joint hanging from his mouth. He motions me inside.

  “You know the rules,” Grace calls.

  “I got this, and you got what you wanted.” He points down the road leading to the Cloister. “Now hop on down the bunny trail, and I’ll see you in an hour.”

  I step inside, and Noah slams the door behind me, his hood pulled up.

  “I hate that bitch. Like, I used to think ‘oh, I feel bad for her because x, y, z, but a few years ago, I realized she’s just rotten all the way through.” He says it all with what is—from the smell—definitely a joint dangling from his lips.

  “I could have told you that.” I peer around at his house. It’s nice—dark wood floors, conservative but contemporary décor, and large—a great home for a family.

  “You probably know her better than I do.” He shrugs. “Which is shit luck for you.”

  I’m suddenly keenly aware that I’m alone with him in his house. “What am I doing here?”

  He pulls the joint from his lips and offers it to me. “You want?”

  “I’m good.” I shake my head. The forced LSD trips have changed my mind on indulging ever again.

  “Okay, cool.” He walks ahead of me, his bare feet silent on the floor. “Come on upstairs. Where I am most definitely not going to fuck her!” He points the joint at the ceiling fan in the living room as he passes, as if he can see whoever’s watching him and communicate directly.

  I’m no less confused than I was when Grace came to get me, but I follow him up the stairs. “What did you give Grace to get me here?” I ask quietly.

  His jeans hang low on his hips, the elastic of his boxers visible. I drop my gaze and watch the stairs as I climb.

  “Information.”

  “Oh.”

  He turns left at the top of the stairs and walks to the end of the hall. “In here. Strip and get on the bed.”

  My insides clench. A large bed sits in the center of the dim room, the white sheets and duvet mussed. “What are you—”

  “Just do as you’re told, Maiden.” His tone turns gruff and he steps into the en suite bathroom, then closes the door.

  I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I reach for the hem of my dress. Maybe I’m wrong about Noah. Why else would he have me brought here? He’s going to hurt me, use me. Trusting him was a mistake.

  I pull my dress off and lay it across the foot of the bed. My heartbeat pulses in my temples as I crawl between the cool sheets and pull them up to my chin. They smell like him, but also like some sort of detergent. I itch to flip on the lamp beside me so I can see what’s coming. But that might be a bad idea. Maybe it’s better if I don’t know. I remember the lamb at the Winter Solstice, the way it looked around with guileless eyes, completely unaware of its fate. Would it be better to be ignorant?

  The bathroom door opens, and I clench
the sheet. I’m shaking, my body in open revolt as Noah crawls into bed beside me.

  “Noah, please don’t do—”

  “Shh.” A cool hand rests on my shoulder, and I turn to look at him.

  I blink. He slaps a hand over my mouth. “Not a word.” His voice is quiet, a low rumble, the hoodie keeping his face in shadow.

  Tears obscure my view, and I kiss the bandaged palm. Adam.

  He pulls his hand away and moves closer, wrapping his arms around me as I turn to him and bury my face in his neck. I hold him, squeezing so hard that I don’t know if he can breathe. My soul stitches back together, enmeshed with his as he strokes down my back.

  “Shh, little lamb. My Emily.”

  I try not to sob, but I can’t hold it back. Relief unlocks a pool of emotion inside of me, and I entwine my legs with his, melding our bodies together to convince myself that it’s him, that he’s really here.

  He continues to soothe me, his voice in my ear, his hands moving along my bare skin.

  When I’m finally able to speak, I whisper, “Your hands.”

  “They’ll be fine.” He kisses my forehead, then drops kisses all down my cheeks. His hoodie covers most of his hair, hiding him from the camera.

  “I was so scared.”

  “I know.” His lips move to my neck, tracing a trail of fire.

  Cold worry skitters across my mind. “Is this safe? Can you be here?”

  “I don’t care.” He moves back to my face and claims me in a kiss that obliterates every thought from my head. His taste, his hands, his everything. I’ve been starving for it. And though I knew I needed him on some level, I didn’t realize how badly.

  His tongue sweeps across mine, and he moves on top of me, his hips between my legs as I open for him. He kisses me like he’d die without it, and I return it with just as much passion. Messy and seeking, we share pieces of our souls, and I want to give him everything. There’s so much I need to say. I have to confess about Georgia, tell him who she was, tell him who I am. I have to tell him what seeing him on the cross did to me, the deep scar it left on my heart. But all I can do is kiss him.