The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

Now, men throw themselves against the doors, the timbers shaking but not giving. Children cry and somewhere someone is wailing. Even the Heavenly police officers are shouting—some trying to calm the throng, others kicking at the doors.

I cut through the crowd and rush down the center aisle. “Here! I’m here!”

Dad looks my way, his eyes widening when he sees me. “The Prodigal has returned.”

Chapter 29

Delilah

The sanctuary is oddly silent, the stillness a promise of terrible things to come. I pick at the wings in front of me, pulling away a piece of the wire that forms their shape. The white metal doesn’t give easily, and the tips of the wings scoot across the floor as I pull. I yank some, then stop, listening for Grace.

“Delilah,” Grace’s voice, dripping with menace, moves closer. I peer at the side of the white tent nearest to me, then freeze when I see a shadow ease by. She’s close, too close. I give the wire slight pressure, a light touch that doesn’t make a sound, but also doesn’t do much in the way of pulling it free.

The Prophet starts his sermon, but I can’t pay attention to the words.

The shadow moves on, disappearing beyond my view. The entrance to the tent is on the other side, so I angle myself to watch the white flaps. I take a breath and use a little more force on the wire. It’s almost loose when a ripping sound makes me jump.

I turn toward the noise. A silver blade slices down the side of the tent only a few feet away. Everything comes into sharp focus, and I can’t seem to move. My heart beats in my throat, and my dress sticks to my sweaty body. The knife slides lower, clinks against the ground, and disappears.

Move, Emily. Fucking move! Abandoning my wire, I step back and edge around the next set of wings, then duck down as Grace pushes into the opening, a black phantasm invading the feathery white space.

“I know you’re in here,” she sing-songs.

I want to close my eyes, to pretend I’m somewhere else, to be somewhere else. But I can’t. I can only watch as she moves through the angel wings, her black dress swishing against the floor and stirring up tiny bits of white feathers that float through the air. Pressing my back to the wall, I reach forward and try to feel for any loose bit of metal in this set of wings. My fingers graze sturdy construction, and nothing gives until I reach the very top where the wings join in the center. A piece of the wire there is undone on one side. I pull as Grace creeps closer. It gives a little, but not enough.

“Just come out. No need to dirty up all these pretty wings with your filthy blood.”

I stop moving, stop breathing as she walks just to my right, her back to me, her head turning this way and that. She steps away, aiming for the tent flaps. She pushes out of the tent, the flap slapping back closed. I give the wire one more soft tug, and the piece pulls free. It’s only about four inches long, but when I touch the tip, the metal is sharp. I wrap my veil around the end in my hand and scan the tent.

Speakers pump the Prophet’s voice through the backstage area, his tone growing more and more dire.

I ease toward the back corner, only scraping one set of feathers across the floor as I go. Stopping, I listen for Grace, but the noise from the sanctuary is too loud now. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t think about it. My attention has to be on survival and escape. Creeping along the cinderblocks, my dress catching on some of the rough edges, I stop when I get to the corner where the tent meets the wall.

Taking a deep breath, I re-check the wire in my hand, making sure the veil is wrapped enough for me to use it without cutting myself open. I try to calm my breathing, to ready myself to sneak out of the feathers and try to circumvent Grace.

When the knife plunges through the tent next to my face, I scream.

“Bitch!” She slices down the tent as I push over the row of wings in front of me and run.

Stumbling out of the tent flaps, I see her barreling toward me, the knife out in front of her.

I gain my feet and run. I’m almost to the fabric backdrops when fire swipes across my back. A scream rips from me as I fall, then roll to the side as Grace comes down next to me, her knife sticking in the wood floor of the mainstage.

She yanks at it as I scramble back. “You should have kept your veil on. I wanted you to look like a perfect bride when Adam found you covered in blood.”