“I’ll get right on it.” He heads off toward the row of white trucks and whistles at his workers. “Chainsaws, boys!”
I stride back toward my car, the winter wind shaking the last vestiges of dry leaves overhead. Out here on the western side of the property, one spot of land calls to me. But I can’t go out there. Not today. Not when everything inside me is already so raw. Dealing with Grace and fighting the inextricable pull of my Maiden is destroying what little composure I still have left.
My phone buzzes. I answer and drop into my car. “What?”
“Got another problem.”
I want to yell until my lungs burn. Instead, I ask what the fuck is wrong this time.
Noah sighs. “Just get up to the house. Dad wants to see us.”
“Fuck.” I throw my cell into the passenger seat and gun it down the lane. Leaves fly behind me, and a squirrel narrowly misses its date with destiny as I wind through the hilly terrain until I pass the Cloister, then slow as I approach the public-facing areas.
Parking at the back of the Prophet’s mansion, I step out of my car as Noah blows a thin stream of smoke.
“You still haven’t quit?” I hold my hand out and he passes the cigarette. I take a drag, then flick it to the ground.
“I did.” He shrugs. “But sometimes I can’t help it.”
“No judgment.” I’d leave that to my father. It was his forte, after all.
“What are we in for?”
“Not sure. Something about one of the Maidens.”
“Fuck.” I wonder if he’s caught wind of the flyers around town.
“Let’s get it over with.” He climbs the stairs ahead of me, his step jaunty despite the weight of our father’s impending bullshit.
We enter through the back hall, our footfalls echoing on the perfectly polished marble. Smoke wafts from my father’s office and carries the distinct scent of marijuana.
“Maybe he’s baked and it’ll all be one big laugh?” Noah’s hopeful tone is worn thin.
I walk in first. Castro sits at the small secretary table in the corner and rolls a joint. My father stares appreciatively at the one between his fingers. “This one goes down so damn smooth. We should up the price.”
“That strain? Sure. We’d get it. It’s pretty popular in Mountain Brook.”
“If the rich kids love it, they’ll pay for it.” He drops it into an ashtray, then turns to us. “Boys, sit down.”
We take seats across from his desk, even though I itch to move, to walk around, to indulge in the fantasy that I’m not tied to this place, my father pulling my marionette strings.
“It’s come to my attention that a woman from Louisiana has been visiting the congregation for the past few days and asking questions about her daughter.”
My hands go cold.
“Now.” He leans forward and puts on his ‘I’m a reasonable man’ mask. “I understand that her daughter is your Maiden, Adam. So, I expect you to solve this problem. We usually have excellent relationships with the parents of all our Maidens, and—” he grins “—Orphans are even better.”
Sick fuck.
“But yours has a meddlesome bitch for a mother that needs to be taken care of.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“How you going to do that, son?” He’s trying to start a fight.
I put on a bored tone. “I’ll speak with her. She must be staying in town. I’ll go to her, explain the situation, and send her back to Louisiana.”
“You seem confident.” Poison rolls off his tongue. “You think just going and explaining’s going to do the trick?”
“Yes.”
“What if she won’t go?”
“I’ll tell her all the lies she wants to hear.” I glance at him. “I learned from the best after all.”
His expression sours. “Your smart mouth is going to earn you some more lashes. Or maybe you need more convincing to stay in line? Maybe the lash isn’t enough for you anymore?”
“I’ll go with him.” Noah, claps his palms on his thighs. “Make sure it all goes down smoothly.”
My father leans back and opens his top desk drawer, his gaze flickering between my brother and me. He seems to come to some sort of internal decision, but only says, “Castro, that shit is a little too mellow for me.” He pulls out the cross-shaped box for another hit of his favorite candy.
“I’ll get on it.” I stand.
“Did I say you could go?” My father’s tone hovers at the brink of a jagged cliff.
I re-take my seat and wait as he arranges two lines and snorts both. Once he’s done, he wipes his nose and checks a mirror.
“How are the winter solstice preparations coming?”
“Fine.”
“You get with Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
A brief vision of me hurdling his desk and strangling the life out of him as Castro tries to pull me off flashes across my mind. Through gritted teeth, I reply, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He waves a hand at us. “Get the fuck out of here.”