Chapter Thirteen
Grace
Outside the window, tiny snowflakes swirl in the light from dozens of lanterns surrounding the altar.
Did Prophet do this on purpose? Give me a room where I’m forced to see the spot I’ll die?
Probably. He’s just that demented.
The adults gather around the altar—a few at a time—all wearing heavy coats, scarves, and gloves, while I shiver in the thin, white silk dress Prophet delivered in a fancy box not long after he brought me dinner.
He threatened to strip me himself if I didn’t put it on. So, I did. But now I regret not fighting harder.
The plate of chicken and rice sits untouched on the desk. Every time I’ve even looked at the food, I’ve wanted to throw up.
For hours after Brother Malone locked me in here, I beat my fists against the door, screaming for someone—anyone—to help me. My fingers are swollen and bruised, my voice almost gone.
Now, I can’t step away from the window. Can’t pull my gaze from the altar.
The last time it was this cold on a full moon, I passed out before Prophet finished ranting about my divine purpose.
Will the knife hurt much? Or by the time he plunges it into my side, will I be unable to feel anything at all?
The click of the lock might as well be a gunshot, yet I don’t flinch.
“It’s time, Nova,” Prophet says as I turn around.
He and Brother Malone are both dressed in their best black wool coats. Figures. They’ll be warm and cozy as I turn into a sacrificial popsicle. They each take one of my arms and march me out of the room and down the stairs.
I should beg. Plead for my life. But it won’t do any good.
Splinters dig into my bare feet as they drag me into the middle of the living room.
The pinpricks of pain are enough to give me one final burst of strength they don’t expect, and I wrench my arms free, whirl around, and glare at the man about to murder me.
“You’re no prophet,” I hiss. “You’re a power-hungry, delusional asshole who made up some bullshit gospel because he needed to feel special.”
He snarls, wraps his hand around my throat, and squeezes until I can’t breathe. I claw at his fingers, drawing blood, but he only tightens his grip. “Swear again, and I’ll make your death ten times more painful. How would you like a hundred small cuts before the end, Nova?”
His fingers loosen, a challenge in his cold, brown eyes. I gasp and wheeze as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at the blood welling on the back of his hand.
I’m beyond caring what he does to me. In minutes, nothing will matter ever again.
“What do I have left to lose, you piece of shit?” I ask, my voice rough, but strong. “I’ll still be dead. Your entire flock is going to hear how you kidnapped me because of a tattoo. That’s not religion. That’s a fucking coincidence!”
The slap sends me reeling right into Brother Malone. His scratchy wool coat against my bare arms makes my skin crawl.
“Prophet?” Sister Mary, Prophet’s youngest wife, slips into the room from the kitchen. “I finished braiding the ceremonial ties.”
In her pale fingers, she holds a length of white and gold rope with oleander flowers woven into the strands. She doesn’t look her husband in the eye, just sets the offering in his hands and backs away.
“Excellent. Where is my father with the wine?” Prophet asks.
Wine?
Prophet doesn’t allow his flock to drink anything but water, milk, and juice. No tea. No coffee. And certainly no alcohol.
Fear flickers over Sister Mary’s face briefly until Abe shuffles through the front door. He carries a cup of purple liquid in his aging hands.
“You’re late.” Prophet takes the glass from his father. “The rest is at the altar?”
Abe nods, his eyes meeting mine for a single moment before he pins his gaze to the floor.
Brother Malone grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back. The fingers of his free hand dig into the sides of my jaw.
No. God, no.
He’s going to drug me.
Prophet pours half the liquid into my mouth, then slaps his hand over my lips while Brother Malone pinches my nose.
Swallowing the bitter grape juice is just another in a long line of deaths. My freedom. My voice. My hope. When he gives me the rest, I don’t resist. Maybe…it’s better this way.
“How long will it take?” Prophet asks.
Abe swipes a tear from his cheek. “She’ll start to feel the effects almost immediately. After she drinks from the goblet at the altar, her heart will give out in less than ten minutes.”
Prophet turns back to me, and Abe mouths, “I’m sorry.”
My stomach cramps with such force, it steals my breath. The room starts to spin. “What…did you…give me?” I manage through clenched teeth.
“A concentrate of oleander nectar.” Smug satisfaction drips from Prophet’s every word. “The plants hide the flock’s land from view. They serve as our protectors. Their flowers led me to you. And now, they’ll speed your journey to the Glorious One.”
I can feel my heart skipping beats against my ribs. “You…fuck…ing…bast—”
A wave of intense pain turns the world fuzzy. My legs tremble. How long until I can’t stand on my own? Until I don’t care? About anything?
Already, it’s getting harder to see. Black spots and bright, white halos float all around me.
Brother Malone spins me to face him, then ties my wrists with the braided rope. The scent of the blooms is so sweet I want to vomit. A flash of pure terror sends sweat breaking over my skin. No. Not again.
Thunder isn’t here. It’s not raining. I’m inside. Aren’t I? The white and gold are almost…pretty against my skin.
Am I drunk? It feels like I’m—no. The poison. The ceremony is about to start. I’ll die soon. I’m ready. Just a little pain and then…nothing.
Prophet tugs on the rope. I don’t fight. Just stumble after him with slow, awkward steps. Biting cold stings my cheeks. It’s darker now. My toes go numb. I can’t tell if the trembling in my limbs is from the freezing air or the poison.
Men and women start to chant and sing all around me. I can’t make out the words. The sound grows louder until each beat is like a physical blow to my chest. Or maybe that’s my heart giving out. Abe said…
Someone lifts me up onto the altar. Prophet shoves a crown of oleander blossoms onto my head.
The stems scratch at my temples. Panic sharpens my vision for a brief moment.
A silver goblet glints in the lights from the lantern.
It’s so cold against my lips. More bitter juice.
I swallow every drop, hoping the end comes quickly.
“The Glorious One will welcome our precious Nova home tonight! Her sacrifice will please Him so greatly, He will bestow upon me—upon all of us—life everlasting!” Prophet shouts.
With every passing second, I feel less and less.
The snow is so pretty falling around me. A hand cups my neck, easing me onto my back. My arms are pulled over my head.
The next cramp is so strong, I try to curl onto my side, but I can’t move, the ropes and my own muscles locking me into place.
Prophet’s voice is getting softer now. What’s he saying? Is it time?
I’m not cold anymore. Sweat prickles along my brow. My chest tightens as warmth bursts over my skin.
Shadows surround me. No. Those are men. Black coats. Black hats. Prophet’s clerics lay their hands on me.
Another burst of pain spreads out from my stomach. “Please,” I whimper. “Make…it…stop…”
I can’t hear my own voice anymore. I can’t hear anything at all.
I’m so hot. Who turned the heat on? It’s unbearable. I struggle to lift my head, but lose the battle.
Prophet pulls a shiny blade from inside his coat.
I can’t summon the strength to be afraid. Each wheezing breath is harder than the last. I’m burning up. And so tired. If I close my eyes, I’ll drift away. Maybe I’ll do that. Fall asleep and never wake up.
AJ. I want to see AJ again. One last time. His face is only a blur in my memories. Dark hair. Blue eyes. The rest…he’s gone.
“Aaron, I’m so sorry...”
The darkness draws closer. It’s calling to me. Telling me it’s okay to sleep. To stop fighting.
I close my eyes.
White hot pain pierces my side. I feel nothing but the burning agony spreading through my stomach and chest. My arms and legs are numb. I can’t scream. Can’t see. Can’t move.
All of a sudden, I’m cold again. So cold. Too cold to shiver.
“I love you, AJ.”
There’s nothing now. No light. No sound. Only the sensation of the last, slow beats of my heart fading away.