Chapter 28
Silas
I’d have rather faced a hundred ghosts than willingly walk into that tent…but June had asked me to, and I could never say no to June Fontenot.
We were parked off a dirt road just past the county line, the headlights cut, the radio silent.
You could hear the music from here—those same revival chords I’d grown up hearing on cassette tapes and late-night broadcasts.
It was all tambourines and shouted hallelujahs, more a war cry than a prayer.
June sat beside me in the passenger seat, her skirt smoothed over her thighs, her fingers twisting the rosary around her wrist. She hadn’t said much since we left Willow Grove—just reached across the center console and kept her hand on my knee like she knew I’d bolt if she let go.
“You ready?” she asked.
No. Not even close.
But I looked toward her and found her blue eyes…found the sapphire ring on her left hand. This wasn’t the end of anything; it was the beginning.
I had to have faith that was true.
“Yeah,” I said, voice soft. “Let’s do it.
We both climbed out of the truck into the late summer humidity, dewy grass staining dark patches onto my boots.
It had been raining almost non-stop ever since the night Abel—or at least, someone we thought was Abel—had snuck into the church.
There’d been a brief reprieve, but all it had done was warm things up and make it muggy again, and I was already sweating when I rounded the front of the truck to take June’s arm.
She looked gorgeous—in a plain white linen dress, that silver cross at her neck hanging just below the hexafoil medallion. Her lips curved at the sight of me.
“You clean up nice, Mr. Ward,” she said.
“So do you, Miss Fontenot,” I replied—but there wasn’t any conviction in the teasing.
June patted my forearm. “We don’t have to do this,” she said.
I thought about Whit and Delilah—just a few minutes behind us, parking somewhere in the woods like the hooligans they were—and shook my head.
“I think we do,” I said. “I’m okay.”
June nodded. “I love you,” she said.
I leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Love you too.”
The tent loomed ahead, white canvas straining under floodlights, casting twisted shadows across rows of folding chairs.
At first, I thought there wasn’t anyone inside—until we neared the tent flap, and the first few folks came into view.
There weren’t many of them, and almost all were old or out-of-towners…
but there were enough that it brought back bad memories.
My only saving grace was when I found the church ladies standing at the back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, with Jamie Wright, Jasmine Evers, and my brother Beau with them.
“Well, it’s about damn time,” Francine said, only for Loretta to smack her arm. She snorted and glanced at her friend, shaking her head. “I don’t think this counts as a house of the Lord, Loretta…”
“Just try not to curse in front of the preacher,” Birdie said, as if June would judge. “We’re here for a righteous cause, after all.”
“Here to see the circus,” Beau grunted. “I mean…look at ‘em.”
I followed his gaze to find a group of worshipers in a loose half-circle near the stage—arms lifted, eyes closed, swaying like grass. It wasn’t the swaying that got me…it was the muttering. Low and rhythmic, not English, but not quite gibberish either.
“They call it quickening,” June offered, voice quiet. “Say it’s the Holy Spirit stirring the body before the tongue can catch up.”
She didn’t sound skeptical…but she didn’t sound quite as open-minded as usual, either.
I searched her eyes as she kept her gaze on the half-circle of worshipers, where a woman had fallen to her knees, hands shaking in the air.
She was letting out strange little gasps between syllables…
almost like she was drowning. June’s fingers tightened in mine just slightly.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked quietly.
June smiled up at me—but I caught how her eyelashes fluttered like she’d just been snapped out of a bad dream. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.”
I believed her.
But I kept her hand in mine, just in case.
The noise from the front of the tent started to build, more voices joining in, more muttering.
Someone let out a sudden high laugh that made the hairs on my neck stand up.
I’d never been to a service at the Remnant Fellowship back in high school, but Amelia had described it to me…
and even that wasn’t enough to prepare me.
This was entirely alien, more disturbing than when my brother’s house had been haunted.
Because I didn’t think they were hearing God or the Holy Spirit.
There was something else here. Something that made crows smash into windows, that summoned ghosts with whispered warnings.
The tent lights flickered. I thought I saw a pale figure out of the corner of my eye.
June hissed out a breath, and when the lights came back on, I found her yanking her hand out of her pocket and muttering, “What the fuck?”
“What happened?” I asked.
“The spell bottle Flora gave me,” she whispered. “It just got really warm.”
Then all the voices stopped.
And I heard a low, sinister rattle.
I pulled June close and my eyes shot to the trampled grass beneath us, sweeping for any sign of the snake I was certain was here…but I didn’t see it. The rattle kept going, though, and I lifted my gaze to search the tent for it, knowing—
There was Abel.
And in his hand…a rattlesnake.
A timber rattler, just like the one that had wound up in my bed.
He emerged from behind the altar at the front of the tent, silhouetted against a red neon light like the devil himself. His hair was slicked back, sleeves rolled up. He didn’t have a microphone or anything—the congregation was too small for him to need it—but his voice boomed all the same.
“Brothers and sisters!” he cried, arms thrown wide like some dime-store prophet. “Can you feel it?”
Holy hell…I didn’t think I would, but I felt it—that crawling, creeping sensation I’d always gotten in deep, dark, haunted places. Not God. Certainly not God.
And June…she was trembling.
“The veil is thin tonight, brothers and sisters,” Abel was saying, the rattlesnake’s tongue flicking out as he held it up, its sinuous body moving slowly. “The old spirits stir. We are standing on sacred ground, consecrated by fire.”
I held June closer, tighter—and in the pocket of her dress, I could feel the heat of the spell bottle, though I couldn’t make sense of it. This…whatever we were witnessing, it was far worse and far more dangerous than we’d expected.
“We should get out of here,” Beau was saying. “Miss Evers, Miss Farber, Miss Calhoun—let’s go back to the truck—”
They started to back out, Jamie with them. No…this had been a mistake. I needed to get June out. I gripped her hand, trying to tug her with me.
But she stepped forward.
She was listening.
It made the world seem real again, a little less sinister. June was here…strong, smart, protected. And Amelia had to be present somehow. I knew that.
We were safe.
Nothing was going to happen.
I looked back at Beau and saw the same look on his face that I’m sure was on mine…a look that told me he’d also been confused. The women didn’t seem to share his sentiment, giving him a look like he was truly insane for wanting to get them out of there.
And June—she was taking another step forward, down the center aisle…going toward the middle row of folding chairs.
Taking a seat.
All I could do was join her, watching as Abel reacted. He was the one who was confused now—like he had no idea why his little stunt wasn’t working. June just sat down like she was politely occupying a pew, spine straight, legs neatly crossed at the ankle.
The spell…it wasn’t working the way Abel wanted, not on June or the church ladies, anyway.
Whatever God he was calling on? Women didn’t hear it the same way.
Abel raised his voice, eyes fixed on June now. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked the crowd. “The power movin’ through this space. The tremblin’! The fire comin’ back to life!”
A few of his congregants started mumbling again, but June just sat politely, watching, listening. Abel turned in a slow, sweeping circle, sweat beading at his temples as the snake writhed around his wrist.
“This place is alive!” he bellowed. “The veil is thin. We are walking where the saints have walked, where the martyrs have burned…where the good folk of Willow Grove have for hundreds of years prayed to our righteous God!”
He pointed his free hand at June, one accusing finger jabbed at her like a weapon.
“And this woman, this Jezebel, thinks to come here and call herself holy.”
I hadn’t felt a reaction from her since the beginning of the whole ordeal, but the term Jezebel seemed to get to her. Goosebumps rose on June’s arms, her chin lifting.
Still, she didn’t say a word.
But Abel caught the thread and pulled.
“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now, almost to himself. “Jezebel. Harlot. She wears white, but her soul is black with sin…she comes wrapped in silk and Scripture, but she’s anointed with blood!”
The snake writhed again, agitated, head shifting toward his shoulder. Abel barely noticed.
“She whispers to weak men, and they follow her—just like Adam followed Eve! She is temptation made flesh, a curse upon this place, a danger to all of us!”
He was sweating now, full sheen under the floodlights. His congregation writhed…but they seemed smaller, less threatening.
Because when I looked over my shoulder, there were more people inside.
People from our town.
Baristas from Sweet Briar, booksellers from the Wrights’ place…
old folks who’d retired a long time ago and puttered around in the park.
Even Delilah and Whit had appeared at the back, Whit holding something up and trying to catch my eye.
I couldn’t quite make it out, though…because something was materializing in front of them, glowing brighter than the floodlights.
I didn’t think they could see it, but I did—and June did too.
Amelia.
It was the first time I’d seen her in such vivid detail since she died…dressed all in white, feet hovering above the grass, with vast, feathered wings stretching behind her. Her eyes were wide—not blind, like June had said, but burning like holy fire.
And Abel?
Abel saw her, too.
I only knew because he let out this horrified, shocked gasp. I heard a chair fall a second later, a few cries. When I looked back toward the front of the tent, I found Abel on the floor, the snake nowhere to be seen, the preacher shoving himself back on his elbows with terror in his eyes.
“No,” he whispered. “I…I buried you. You’re gone.”
The snake’s rattle started up, a sinister hum under the growing cacophony of both congregants and townsfolk muttering in confusion.
No one knew what was going on; no one but me, June, and Abel.
I scooped June into my arms and we stood, my arm flinging out behind me to knock a chair aside so we could get well out of the way of the snake… wherever it might be.
And I moved through something warm—warm like the breath of spring, like a hearthfire in winter—only to find bright white in front of me, shielding us…Amelia’s wing.
Abel was still backing away, scooting on his elbows like he could crawl out of the grave he’d dug himself. His eyes were locked on Amelia, on June’s angel—wide with horror, sweat dripping from his brow, mouth working like he meant to pray but couldn’t find the words.
“You’re gone,” he breathed. “I watched you die.”
And as soon as he’d confirmed—as soon as he confessed—the rattlesnake struck.
It happened fast and violent—just a ripple of scales in the grass, then a scream, blood, an eruption of footsteps as people flooded out of the tent in a panic.
June stayed steady, watching through the iridescent sheen of Amelia’s wing as Abel slapped at his neck, eyes bulging, gasping through blood and venom.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out.
He was dying…and he knew it.
Still, his hand reached out—not to me, not to June, but to his sister.
“Save me,” he rasped.
But that was all he got out.
Amelia’s wings curled around the two of us, blocking Abel from our line of sight—and I was glad for it, because I knew it was ugly.
I knew what happened when someone was bitten by a rattlesnake…
knew it better than anyone should. The venom would move fast; it didn’t have far to travel.
His heart would pump it straight into his brain, his lungs. He’d seize. Bleed.
Drown.
Neither of us needed to see that.
And Amelia didn’t want us to.
June curled into my arms, tucked her head against my chest…and I finally felt her break, felt her composure ebb away. We were still held in Amelia’s wings, so vast I could barely comprehend them. That spring wind consumed me, filled my lungs, the first taste of new love.
I was, for the first time in over a decade, held by the girl I’d once loved.
And then she was gone.
Leaving me with the woman I loved now.
I blinked my eyes, trying to make sense of where I was. June was still in my arms, people were screaming…and someone was shaking me, dragging me.
“Silas!” Whit’s voice came through the fog. “Jesus, dude, get it the fuck together and let’s get out of here!”
June was trembling in my arms, tears streaming silently down her face. The strength she’d shown was spent, burned clean through, but I had enough left in me to carry her.
So I did.
I scooped her up without a word and turned toward the tent flap, nearly colliding with Delilah. The redhead’s eyes went wide when she saw June, but I shook my head.
“She’s okay,” I said. “Just…we need to get out of here.”
Delilah didn’t argue—just reached for the tent flap with one shaking hand and held it open, ushering us through. Outside, it was raining, cool as a baptism. Blue and red lights flashed somewhere through the trees. Phone flashlights danced. Tires spun. People were crying, running, praying.
But whatever had been here, whatever Abel had tried summoning…it was gone.
Gone, like Abel himself.
Gone…like June’s angel.
Gone…like Amelia.