The Church

by Celia Aaron

  “I bet you’re always up to it.” The Prophet laughs. “A young buck like you. What I wouldn’t give to turn back the clock.”

  Grace eats with prim precision, her faint smile brimming with viciously positive energy. I try to eat, but my stomach rebels, aching as the too-rich food hits it.

  The Prophet and Evan continue to make small-talk. I’m relieved that they don’t expect anything from me. Not right now, anyway. After all, Grace has always taught us that Maidens are better seen and not heard.

  I take small bites and sip the orange juice by my plate. It’s too sweet, the shock of sugar like a revelation on my tongue.

  “We have big plans. So much can be accomplished here at Heavenly, and we can do even more with a little help from our friends in Congress.” The Prophet finishes his meal.

  Evan places his napkin next to his plate. “You know Heavenly always has my support.”

  The Prophet pauses, as if expecting more of a pledge, but Evan doesn’t offer it. A sour note seems to grow for a moment, then the Prophet stands, his jovial mask in place. “Service will be starting soon, but I have some business to attend to first.” He glances at Grace and me. “And I think it’ll be a treat for all of you to see it. You, too, Evan.”

  “Sure thing, though I’d like to have some private time with Delilah first, if that’s all right?”

  “Of course.” The Prophet motions for Grace to join him. “We’ll just be in my office. Come on over when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.” Evan doesn’t take his eyes off me as the Prophet, Grace, and Castro leave us. Once the room is cleared, he stands and walks to my side of the table.

  When his hands come down on my shoulders, I jump.

  He squeezes. “Almost mine, darling.”

  I don’t move, barely breathe, but he takes my arm and pulls me to my feet, then embraces me. I force myself to return his hug, wrapping my arms around him even though it feels wrong, every bit of it off and dirty and tarnished.

  “Don’t worry about this dress.” He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll have another ceremony in a few months. A real one. You can have any dress you like. A big cake, huge reception, dancing, flowers—all of it. This hillbilly ceremony is just a little formality.” Pulling back, he stares down at me. “I’m not like them.”

  I’m too unsure to respond. What does he want me to say? That I believe him? I don’t.

  “You’ll see.” He grips my upper arms. “I have some quirks; I can admit that.”

  “Quirks?” I can’t hold back the incredulity.

  “My dark side, yes.” He peers at me, and I swear for a moment that he’s actually trying to speak to me on a level as equals. “I can’t deny it, and I want you to revel in it like I do. You have it inside you—the fight, the fire. You’ll come to want our sessions, you’ll see. But that’s just one part of our lives together. I want this marriage to work. I want you to shine on my arm wherever we go. You are my future.” He strokes my cheek, his palm warm, his words treacly sweet like concealed poison.

  I will never be your anything.

  He glances out into the foyer. “These rednecks are just a stepping stone for us.”

  I nod. He’s saying exactly what I want—that he doesn’t care about Heavenly, has no stake in what happens to this place. It will make it so much easier for me to convince him to destroy the Prophet. But I still hold onto hope that I won’t have to do any convincing, that I’ll be with Adam, safely away from Evan’s grasp by the end of the day.

  “Come on.” He sighs. “Let’s go get this over with so I can take you home.”

  “Home?” I ask.

  “I have a house in Birmingham, remember?” His smile sends a shiver down my spine. “It’s all set up for us. Everything we need for our little honeymoon.” Pulling me along with him, he leads me across the hall into the Prophet’s office. Noah and Castro are already there—Noah drinking and Castro scowling. Grace is perched on one of the leather chairs like an attentive bird, and in the far corner sits Ruth, the kind wife from the Cathedral. Both of her eyes are swollen, her lip split, and silent tears spill down her cheeks.

  “What’s this business?” Evan walks to the chair next to Grace, sits down, then pulls me into his lap.

  Looking around at the miserable faces, I sit there, Evan’s hand on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing a circle on the stiff fabric of the dress. I’m a prized possession, a pampered dog. Ruth doesn’t make a sound, but her tears are fresh and the bruises are just now forming around her swollen eyes. What is happening?

  “Just a little something to show you how serious I am about Heavenly’s future.” The Prophet smiles, his blue seersucker suit doing its best to convince everyone he’s a southern gentleman instead of a sadistic devil worshipper.

  I don’t look at Noah. I can’t. I feel certain our secret would be out, our alliance obvious if we were to make eye contact. So I stare at the arm of the chair and wait for whatever the Prophet has in store for me, for Ruth, for whatever victim in his web he’s chosen to devour.

  “Bring her.” He points at Castro.

  The man rises and leaves, but his footsteps don’t go far.

  The Prophet opens his top desk drawer and draws out a blade.

  I swallow hard, and black spots fill my vision. It’s the same blade that cut Sarah’s throat. Her face flashes through my mind—the empty, dead look in her eyes as her blood spilled. I unwillingly cringe away, back into Evan’s arms.

  “Shh,” he whispers in my ear. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing here does. He won’t touch you, darling. You’re mine.”

  The Prophet runs his thumb lightly along the blade, then nods. “Sharp enough.”

  Castro returns dragging a woman in a Spinner’s dress. Her light hair is too familiar, and I lean over to see her better. I grip the arm of the chair and shake my head. No.

  “You see, even for a man like me, there are problems that I have to solve before they become too big, too overwhelming.” The Prophet walks around his desk and leans against the front as Castro yanks Chastity’s hair, exposing her badly beaten face.

  Noah shifts on the couch, but doesn’t intervene.

  “Just a few days ago, I learned from Ruth that some of my sweet, devoted girls were planning to kill me.” The Prophet tsks and looks at Evan with comically raised brows. “Can you believe that?”

  Evan pulls me tighter against him. “That’s a surprise.”

  That day Ruth didn’t come back to the Cathedral—was that why? Had the Prophet gotten wind of her plan?

  “It is.” The Prophet nods. “It was quite a shock, I can tell you that. But Ruth was truthful, eventually. I had to get my son involved, poor boy. Ezekiel is tough like his mother, though.” He points at Ruth. “She raised him well. He didn’t cry… at first.”

  Ruth gasps in a breath and covers her mouth with her hand.

  “She’s a good mother. That’s why I’m going to let her live.” He turns his attention to Chastity. “But you, my dear, have no value anymore. Too many mistakes. Too many attempts to disobey me. ‘God’s wrath comes on those who are disobedient.’ You, Chastity, have flouted my law for far too long. I’ve been forgiving. But now that time has passed. You and your friends planned to destroy the church.” He steps to the sofa where Noah sits, stone-faced, and reaches behind it. Grabbing a satchel, the Prophet stands and pulls a stick of dynamite from it. “Foolish woman. What good would that do? Even if you killed us all, more warriors of the Lord would rise to take our places.” He shakes his head and gently drops the bag on his desk, more khaki tubes rolling around inside.

  “Fuck you.” She spits on the polished wood floor.

  “Dad, you don’t have to do this.” Noah stands and runs a hand through his hair. “Send her to the Rectory. Or maybe you could—”

  “Noah, I didn’t ask for your input.” The Prophet’s voice goes chilly in an instant.

  “I know, but you can’t do this.” He steps toward his father.

  Th
e Prophet whirls on him. “I can’t? Have you forgotten I have been chosen by God to lead the faithful?”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, but Chastity doesn’t deserve to die.” He puts so much faith into his words, as if they aren’t falling on the deaf ears of a madman, as if he thinks his plea for mercy might work.

  Some of me hopes right along with him, but most of me despairs.

  “I decide what people deserve, son. Not you.” The Prophet turns his head toward the hallway and yells, “Zion!”

  “Dad, don’t.” Noah shakes his head. “Don’t do this.”

  One of the Protectors walks in, his assault rifle in his hands.

  “Zion, please escort my son to the church for morning service.”

  The Protector’s eyes pinball from Chastity to me to the Prophet, but he does as he’s told. “Come on.” He points the gun at Noah.

  “Dad—”

  “Go!” The Prophet bellows.

  “Move.” Zion walks around to Noah’s back and presses the barrel into him. “You heard him. Get going. Now.”

  “No.” Noah’s voice is strong. “I won’t let you do it.” He brings his fists up, his only weapons.

  “I thought you might betray me like this.” The Prophet scowls and jerks his chin at Zion, who turns his gun and brings the butt down hard on the back of Noah’s head. Noah groans and crumples into a heap at his father’s feet, unconscious.

  “No!” I yell, helpless in my captor’s arms. Hot, angry tears form, and my hate roars inside me. For the Prophet. For Castro. For the man who holds me captive and allows this horror show to continue.

  “Drag Noah to the sitting room.” The Prophet waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll get him in line later.”

  “Yes, sir.” Zion shoulders his gun and grabs Noah’s feet, pulling him out of the room.

  “Now.” The Prophet turns back to Chastity. “Where were we?”

  “I was telling you to go fuck yourself,” she grits out.

  I freeze, Evan’s arms holding me tighter as the scene plays out to its inevitable end. Stop, please stop.

  The Prophet grabs her face, squeezing viciously. “Still defiant. Even after everything I let Castro do to you.”

  She laughs, the sound hard. “I couldn’t even tell when he was inside. That’s how big of a man Castro is.”

  “Puta!” Castro shakes her, her arms flying like a rag doll. One of them moves too much, as if it’s broken in several places.

  No. I can’t sit here and let this happen. I won’t. Noah took a stand, and now I have to do the same.

  The Prophet approaches her, the blade in his right hand. “And don’t worry about your other conspirators. I have men out looking for them. It’s only a matter of time. They’ll be rounded up and taken care of. Jez especially. I’ll give her a little extra lesson in pleasing men before stringing her up like the witch she is. She and her handful of whores will hang in the punishment circle, a meal for the crows and whatever other beasts will lower themselves to partake.”

  “Let go.” I struggle against Evan’s hold, kicking his legs and trying to push out of his lap. “Let me go.”

  The Prophet shoots me an amused look. “You sure you can handle that one, Senator?”

  “I’ll do just fine, thank you.” Evan yanks me against his chest, one arm around my waist as his hand claps over my mouth. “You have to get through it, darling,” he whispers in my ear. “The rules are different here on the Prophet’s turf.”

  I scratch at his hand, and scream, desperate to get to Chastity.

  She turns to me, her light eyes clear. “Light it up, Firefly. Don’t let them get away with it any longer. For Georgia. For me. For Sarah. For all of us. Light. It. Up.”

  “That’s enough silly talk. The Father of Fire is waiting. You aren’t pure, but he’ll take you. Use you. Burn you from the inside out.” The Prophet directs Castro, “Hold her good. I don’t want to get any on my suit.”

  I fight against Evan’s arms, but I get nowhere. And when the Prophet’s blade opens Chastity’s neck, a crimson river flowing to the floor, I scream and scream and scream.

  Chapter 26

  Adam

  Keeping my hoodie up, I dissolve into the crowd that hovers in the entry to the sanctuary. The Prophet smiles down from enlarged photos posted along the walls, his gaze always on the congregation, counting his minions.

  I ease past a couple talking about their daughter’s grades in school—they find them too high in math. The murmuring jumble of souls has molded themselves to fit my father’s edicts. The women’s dresses almost brush the floor, and several of them have thick makeup to cover bruises. The children are still jubilant, running and giggling with each other, but they’ll be broken soon enough. Once their parents move them into Monroeville, there will be no escape. Their childhoods will end as abruptly as mine did, and with just as much grief.

  My hands shoved in my pockets, I limp toward the double doors that lead to the classroom section of the church. Some people are inside, most of them bustling about and getting ready for the service. Keeping my head down, I push into the nearest room. It’s dark, and I don’t touch the light switch as I survey the nearest support column. Wide and painted white, three men could barely hold hands around it. There are a dozen of these in the structure, each one supporting an essential piece of the church. Circling this one, I don’t find anything—no tampering, no dynamite. One down, eleven to go.

  I open the door, then quickly let it close. The women from the Cathedral file in, their antiquated dress and hair styles covering over the fact that they are sex slaves. Their children aren’t with them. Odd. My father doesn’t like for my brothers and sisters to ever miss a service. I peer through the sliver of a window in the door, seeing but unseen. Noah should be here by now. We’d agreed to meet up and search for the Chapel saboteurs. But he isn’t here. I’ll have to go it alone. Worry creeps into my thoughts—for Noah and Emily. But if I dwell too much, I won’t be able to get this done, or maybe I’ll make a mistake. No good options.

  Once the hall clears of the Cathedral wives, I open the door and ease to the next room. This pillar is half-buried in the wall, but the accessible sides are clear. I double check it, but hear the door opening behind me.

  Fuck. I press myself to the wall in the small crevice created by the pillar.

  “Where is she?” Jez’s voice reaches my ears.

  “She was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.”

  “Do you have any?” Jez’s voice rises.

  “Dynamite? No. She kept a close eye on it. Was supposed to bring it.”

  “We’re screwed without it. Where is she?”

  The door opens again, light from the hallway creating a rectangle on the floor before going dark again.

  “Ruth and Chastity are missing.” It’s the old Spinner, Abigail. “Someone says they were both taken to the Prophet’s house over an hour ago. Haven’t come out.”

  Stunned silence. Their plan has gone to shit. Somehow, the Prophet found out about it.

  “What are we going to do?” The woman’s voice I don’t recognize is a mouse’s whisper. “If he has Chas—”

  “She’ll be okay.” Jez is vehement. “She’s tough. But we need to do this without her for now. We still have the gasoline stockpiled under the Chapel. I’ll take some of the girls, head over, collect it all, and bring it here. We’ll just go back to plan A. No problem.”

  “But there is a problem.” I walk out, my foot aching with each step.

  “Shit!” Jez backs away, then stops. “The fuck are you doing in here?” She wears a modest blouse and skirt, and, with her hair up in a severe bun and not a scrap of makeup on her face, she’s become someone else. Not Jez, the madam, but another one of the Prophet’s followers, devotion in her bones.

  “I was checking for explosives. You’re never going to believe this, but I heard some psycho assholes were going to try and blow up the church. Crazy, right?”

  She pulls a knife from t
he pocket of her denim skirt. “You and your smart mouth. I should gut you on principle.”

  “I’m not the one you need to worry about. If he took Ruth and Chastity, he knows what you’re planning. You’re lucky the Protectors haven’t swept you up yet. Once they do …” I let out a low whistle.

  “Fuck.” She shakes her head. “This is a cluster.”

  “If you want to survive, you need to get what girls from the Chapel you can and make a break for it. They’ll capture some of you, but not all. Most of the Protectors and some of the guards are here in the church for the big service.”

  “We aren’t running.” Jez puts the knife back in her pocket.

  “Then you’re dying.” I’m not a fan of their murder plot, but I’m not a fool either. They’re victims of this place, tainted by the purest form of cruelty. To them, their plan is warranted—justice, even.

  “What about you? I don’t see you limping away from here despite all your advice to turn tail and run.”

  “I still have a part to play.” I still have my love to save. “Doesn’t mean you can’t save yourself and some of your girls.”

  The girl I don’t recognize shifts from one foot to the other. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should—”

  “No.” Jez turns to the door. “Get into the crowd. Keep your eyes peeled. I’m going to the Prophet’s house to find Chastity.”

  Abigail sighs, her wrinkled forehead even more furrowed than usual. “That place is a death trap for you, girl.”

  “I have to go. For Chastity.” Jez leaves, the door clicking shut behind her as Abigail wrings her hands.

  “All falling apart,” the old Spinner mutters to herself, then leaves, the other girl on her heels.

  I peek into the hall, watching as they disappear into the sanctuary proper. The people are thinning, most of them taking their seats for the big show. Where the fuck is Noah? I press my forehead to the door and try to think of where he could be. Maybe on the other side checking the supports for the dynamite that will never come? I refuse to think of the grimmer alternatives.