The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“What exactly is it that we’re doing?” I eye the long swabs.

“This one talks too much. I thought Maidens weren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to.” Jez shrugs. “Maybe rules have gotten lax since my time at the Cloister.”

I glance to Chastity, who continues with her work as if she hadn’t heard me. I try again. “So, we’re doing what?”

“STD testing.” Jez smirks. “We can’t have the girls passing shit to the fine, fine gentleman who frequent this establishment, now, can we?” Her tone tells me she’d be more than happy if every man who visited left with herpes.

“What about HIV?”

“More questions, Maiden?” She looks me up and down. “You’re an interesting one. We give blood samples every six months. But our clients are more worried about the clap than anything else.”

“Oh.” I say ‘oh’ as if that clears everything up for me. As if a whorehouse on a religious compound makes total sense. As if I don’t have questions about how Maidens end up here. I do some quick math and reassure myself it’s impossible for every Maiden to be in the Chapel. There isn’t enough room, and I didn’t see that many women on the way in. Not to mention, I know some get married off to important or wealthy men. Some of the others return to the congregation or their parents, but very few.

“Go ahead.” Chastity motions to the door, and—with one more long look—Jez walks over and opens it.

When she turns her back, her dark hair brushing to one side, a row of scars appear. Small circles sprout in a row down her spine and disappearing into the bustier. Though I can’t be certain, they look like cigarette burns.

She swings the door open and calls out, “Girls, time for the check. Get on in here if you aren’t busy. If you are, come when you can.”

“I’m already coming,” a man yells from down the corridor. Some of the women laugh. Others silently exit their cubicles and make their way toward us. Most are nude, which has become frighteningly normal for me. I’m more often naked than clothed at the Cloister.

“Here we go.” Chastity lowers herself to her knees.

The first woman comes in, her mascara already streaked and dried down her face. Her ribs protrude, and she looks ten years older than she probably is. She gives Chastity a glare, then turns her gaze to me. Something like molten fury passes across her face. She steps toward me, but Jez grabs her too-thin arm and whips her around. “Get it done.”

“Cherry,” Chastity says.

Cherry bends over and spreads her cheeks.

“Cherry.” Chastity gives me a pointed look.

“Oh, right.” I grab the Sharpie and write the woman’s name on the vial.

Chastity takes a clean swab and gently inserts it into Cherry, then pulls it out and hands it to me. I place it in the vial and press the top on.

“Is it in yet?” Cherry laughs, but there’s no joy in it.

“You’re done.” Jez motions for the next woman to come inside.

We spend the next few minutes taking samples. It’s demeaning, but none of the women seem to mind. They walk in dead-eyed and leave the same way. Most of them verge on emaciated, though a couple are large, as if they’ve been treated differently to please certain clients’ particular desires. It isn’t lost on me that Chastity seems to know most of their names.

When we’re done, Chastity collects the vials and places them in the backpack.

“That’s it, then?” Jez speaks with too much force, but volume can’t hide the vulnerability in her eyes.

“Until next month.” Chastity hefts the backpack. “I’ll send these off to the lab as soon as possible.”

“So efficient.” Jez steps closer to Chastity.

“Jez—”

She touches Chastity’s face so softly that I suddenly feel out of place, a spectator to an intimate scene.

“They’ll see,” Chastity hisses, but leans into Jez’s touch all the same.

I turn my back and side step until I’m standing in front of the camera. The angle is tricky, but maybe I can shield them, at least a little bit.

“Does it hurt?” Jez’s voice is soft, the venom gone.

“Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Jez’s voice cracks just a bit, a hairline fracture.

Chastity lets out a breath. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

“We have to go.”

“I know.”

I can’t tell if they embrace, but then Chastity is tapping my shoulder. “Come on. We need to get back.”

I catch Jez’s eyes, the tears that threaten, and she covers her mouth with her palm to stifle a sob.

Chastity walks out, her long skirt swishing on the garish carpet, and I follow her past the grunting senator and some other scenes of depravity. Skin slaps on skin, women moan loudly, and I focus on getting out of here. Keeping my eyes ahead, I stay in step with Chastity until we push out the doors into the vestibule. The guard doesn’t look up as we pass, and a rifle leans next to the outer doors. It wasn’t there before. For a second, I consider grabbing it. But the foolishness of the idea keeps me walking. It would accomplish nothing, and after all, I was in this until the end—until I found out about Georgia.