The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

I peel off the thong and step into the spray, my muscles on autopilot. “He killed her.” The water hits my face and mingles with the tears. “Adam did it.”

“I know.” She soaps up a washcloth and washes my face first, then the rest of me.

“Did he do it. Before? To Georgia?” I ask the question that has terrified me since the first day I met him. “Was it him?”

She turns me so the spray hits my back. “No. At least I don’t think so.” Her voice is barely audible over the hiss of the water. “The Prophet has never done this before. At least, not openly. He sacrifices animals every year. It’s part of his ritual to the Father of Fire. But he’s never gone this far. Not even Grace knew what he had planned.”

“Adam cut her throat.” The words make it too real, and I sink to my knees. Chastity drops to the floor beside the tub and pushes the wet hair out of my face.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“How?” I look at her with the most honesty I’ve shown to anyone since I’ve been at the Cloister. “How can any of this ever be all right?”

Her eyes water. “I don’t know. But it will be. We’ll make it all right. You, me, and some of the others.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get you dry.” She turns off the faucet and wraps me in a towel, then walks me to the bed.

“She had the same markings,” I whisper. “The same as Georgia’s body.”

“They’re from the Prophet’s book.”

“Book?”

“He has a book that he believes was dictated to him by the Father of Fire. I’ve never seen it. But my Protector told me about it when I was a Maiden. He said it has all sorts of symbols and crazy writing in it, and the Prophet believes it’s a prophecy of the coming war between his people and the rest of the world.” She glances at the door. “I have to go. I’ve used up all my favors with Spinner Bethlehem to get this time with you.”

“If the Prophet is the only one with access to the book, then he must have been the one who ordered Georgia’s death.” I grab Chastity’s hand. “Can you promise me it wasn’t Adam? If he killed Georgia—”

“I can’t promise, but I have reason to believe it was someone else.” She pulls her hand free and backs to the door.

“Who?”

“Soon.” She opens the door and slips out.

I climb into my bed, not bothering with the white dress. Curling into a ball, I can’t stop the gruesome picture show in my mind. So much blood. And in the center of it, Adam.

Sarah didn’t scream when the knife cut through her skin. My thoughts ricochet off each other. Adam cut with a sure hand, as if he’d done it before. The flames swirl at his back, urging him on. So many horrible memories pile onto each other that I suffocate beneath the weight.

Am I asleep, awake?

My skin tingles then heats until I feel as if I’m standing in front of the fire, the tornado whipping around and burning my flesh off with each twist of the flames. Fighting the towering inferno is impossible, but I hold my ground. I blister and scorch, the fire consuming me until nothing is left but singed bone and ash. When the fire relents, Adam appears through the smoke, his face covered in blood, and collects my remains as a trophy.

Chapter 16

Adam

I sit in my shower, the walls and door shattered, glass all around me. Cold water pours onto me as I drink straight from the bottle I grabbed on my way up. Maybe Noah is onto something after all.

The Protectors dumped me on my front step, and one of them stayed to stand guard. I’m even more of a prisoner. So I sit and let the water run and drink myself into oblivion.

Noah won’t be showing up to give me some words of comfort. I don’t even know if he survived his beating. No one will tell me anything. I replay what I did over and over. How easily the metal cut through her skin, the warm blood spurting over my hands, the look of utter horror in Delilah’s eyes as I became the monster she always feared.

I take another large swig from the bottle.

The water can’t wash away my sins. Not this one, especially. That girl didn’t deserve to die. I killed her. I didn’t have to. I could have thrown the knife down, maybe even turned it on myself. Would it have saved my mother or Noah? No. Would Delilah also pay the price for my disobedience? Yes. But none of these explanations can erase the evil I committed tonight. A clock chimes midnight downstairs. Merry Fucking Christmas.