The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

“Girls!” My thoughts are derailed when the bus stops and Grace stands at the front. “Remember, best behavior.”

We nod, and she turns and steps off the bus. Chastity waves for the rest of us to follow.

“I don’t think I can.” Eve’s voice trembles at my ear. “I can’t. I can’t.”

I take Eve’s cold hand in mine, our touch hidden by the thick fabric of our robes. “You can.”

“No.” Tears roll down her cheeks, mascara streaking like the roots of a black tree.

The Maidens ahead of us stand and move down the aisle.

“Eve, you must.” I grip her hand tighter and pull her to her feet.

“I just want to go back to my room. Just leave me there.” Her pleading rips at my heart, but there’s nothing I can do.

“We have to move, Eve. I’ll stay close to you for as long as I can, but we can’t stay here.”

“No.” She yanks my hand with surprising strength. “I won’t.”

The aisle is cleared out, and we’re the only ones left. A Spinner stands at the front of the bus, her focus on us. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Eve, please,” I hiss.

“I can’t.” The fracture in her voice matches the one in her mind. Gone is the girl who tried to escape, who fought for her freedom.

“Eve—” I’m cut off by a vicious sting at my throat, and Eve yelps.

The Spinner at the head of the bus motions, one of the control fobs in her hand. “There’s more where that came from if you don’t get moving.”

I instinctively reach for the necklace, but it stings again. Clenching my eyes shut against the pain, I pull Eve along with me. She’s full-on crying now, her fear coming out in heaving sobs.

“Stop your whimpering.” The Spinner holds up the silver remote with several buttons, each one with a name beside it. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

I turn and face Eve. “We have to do this. Nothing bad will happen to us in front of the Heavenly crowd, okay? The Prophet just wants to show us off. That’s all. Nothing bad will happen, okay?”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head.

“Maiden.” The Spinner’s warning tone raises the hackles on my neck, but I ignore her and focus on Eve.

“You can.” I lift Eve’s veil, turn my sleeve inside out, and use it to wipe her face clean. “We’ll do it together. Come on. We have to go.” Once the mascara streaks are gone, I lead her down the steps and out into the cold night, fully expecting another stinging blast from the cross around my neck, but none comes. The Spinner is probably just glad to be rid of us.

“Let’s go.” I keep hold of Eve’s hand as we hurry to catch up to the line of Maidens. Our heels are loud on the black pavement, and we pass several cars parked along both sides of the narrow road. Glancing back, I find the Spinner at our backs, remote control still in hand. Of course.

We fall in line with the other Maidens, the Spinners surrounding us on all sides. We’re a white column, moving slowly forward, scraping along the earth toward whatever murky fate the Prophet has in mind. Despite what I told Eve, I have no delusions that this night will come without peril.

A few churchgoers give us a wide berth as they hurry up the slight rise and join the swollen crowd that surrounds an enormous stack of wood. I gaze upward, trying to find the top of it against the inky night sky, but my eye can’t capture the pinnacle.

“Eyes down,” a Spinner hisses at my side.

I drop my gaze earthward and listen to the conversations going on around us. Most of them are planning their Christmas dinners or talking about relatives coming to visit—leading normal lives. Others discuss their intentions to move onto the compound and avoid the vile sinners of the world. I’d like to inform them that they are the sinners, but I don’t want to think about the shock I’d receive if I did so.

We file upward until the ground evens out and we step off onto a damp, grassy path. Large white tents are set up around the outer perimeter of the clearing, and two firetrucks are parked amongst the trees. We keep walking to a wide wooden pavilion. Twelve white chairs are set up along the front, with several rows of benches behind them. Tables are arranged farther back, and hundreds of people are already seated while others move in orderly lines toward the open spots. Children play chase, darting through the throng, their laughter a discordant scratch on my ears. I can’t tell if the women are just dressed for the cold, but the long skirts and complete absence of pants tells me that it isn’t a coincidence. The Prophet’s teaching has filtered through all the faithful, and the women are falling in line on their own or, more likely, being forced to. The sheer number of them wearing sunglasses at night is a good indicator.