The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“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.

I stare at the stage door at the very end of the hall. That’s where my father will make his entrance just before it’s time to start. I balance on my good foot, waiting. After about ten minutes, the door opens and my mother walks in, her limp slowing her down. Castro holds onto her elbow and leads her up the stairs and through the door. They’re going to make their move. My mother usually comes to service, but she has an assigned seat in the crowd, surrounded by members of the Heavenly Police Force and Protectors. She’s breaking protocol. Expectation hums through me like a funeral dirge. It’s all about to go down.

Running my fingers over the pistol in my pocket, I reassure myself that if she doesn’t get it done, I will. My father has to die today. Heavenly has to end. Before more people are lost, before Emily is sold to a monster, before anyone else falls into my father’s trap.

The door opens again, and my breath freezes in my lungs. Emily walks in, Evan at her back. Her face is drawn and pale, and her shoulders are curved forward, as if she’s in a protective stance, seeking to shield her softest parts from attackers. Evan whispers something in her ear, then leads her to the stairs. When she gets to the top, she turns, her gaze resting on the door where I stand as if she can see me in the dark. The sadness in her pulls at me, yanking me toward her no matter the consequences. I rest my hand on the door handle, my heart pumping as if I’ve been sprinting through the trees again, racing after her. She stares for a moment longer, her gray eyes seeking. I turn the handle and start to open it.

She turns, Evan leading her through the door to the stage and closing it behind them. My hand relaxes, the door clicking shut. She’s gone, but I feel her. In my soul, in every part of me that’s still alive. I won’t fail her. Not anymore.

I wait, biding my time until everyone is in place. When the door opens once more, my father strides in with half a dozen Protectors. He hands a black satchel to Zion and gives instructions that I can’t hear. When he’s finished, Zion nods and motions for the Protectors to follow him. My father climbs the stairs to the stage in what I hope is his last performance.

After a few minutes, I leave the dark room and push through one of the side doors to the sanctuary. The seats are already filled, an ensemble onstage singing a hymn as the crowd murmurs quietly. I ascend the stadium stairs and choose the only empty seat on the right side aisle.

“What a blessed morning.” The man in the seat next to me is already too chipper for my tastes.

“Morning.” I keep my voice low, my hoodie up.

He doesn’t take the hint. “You a regular?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m Gene. Pleased to meet you.” He holds his hand out.

Mine are still bandaged and in my pocket. “I’m sorry, but I’m getting over a cold, so it wouldn’t be—”

“No need to say more.” He chuckles. “I don’t need to bring any sickness into my house. Got a newborn at home with my wife. I’ve brought my daughter and son to service, though. Don’t like to miss, not when the Prophet’s on fire like he has been the past few Sundays.”

I could laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I nod along as he continues waxing warm and fuzzy about my father. I still haven’t looked the guy in the face, but I can picture him. Good ol’ boy. Maybe a beard. Laugh wrinkles next to his eyes. Seems harmless. But if he’s enjoying the Prophet’s teachings, there’s a part of him that hates. Hates so deeply that he comes here to indulge it once a week, to let it free under the guise of religion. Jez wants to destroy him for that hate. I hold onto hope that he can change, that his children can choose a different path. Perhaps I’m naïve. The more he talks, the more I’m sure of it.