“This year there is much to celebrate, my friends. A beautiful crop of Maidens, the expansion of our Ministry, and the beginning of Monroeville. I’d like to thank all of you for coming and making our mission possible.” He walks toward my pavilion, the fire raging at his back. Despite the possibility of the structure falling over and crushing him with flames, he isn’t afraid. “As a reward, I offer you this free access to my blessed Maidens, as well as other delights.”
At his word, several nude women file out of the tents set up behind the pavilions. I recognize a few faces from the Chapel, but they look through me. Drugged and empty, they strut into the crowd of suitors.
“Indulge, and let your celebrations be in the name of your Prophet.
I turn to face him, refusing to watch the scene behind me as it devolves into debauchery.
“Maidens, come to me, your father.” He catches my eye and motions to me.
The necklace at my throat tingles, a reminder to comply. I’m not the only one who feels it, since Maidens file past me toward him, and I join.
A braying noise cuts through the sound of talking, and a Spinner leads a lamb through the clearing toward the Prophet.
I swallow hard. Adam always calls me “little lamb.” As I see the true embodiment of his words, a deep foreboding falls over me. It “baas” again and lets the Spinner lead it toward the charlatan in the crimson robe.
“On your knees,” Grace hisses and pushes me down in front of the Prophet. All the Maidens drop in a line as the Spinner holds the lamb nearby. It’s still somewhat small, not quite an adult. Its dark eyes don’t seem to focus on anything in particular, and I almost envy how oblivious it is.
“The Book of Leviticus tells us ‘you must sacrifice as a burnt offering to the Lord a lamb a year old without defect.’” The Prophet pulls a long, curved knife from his robe. “And the Father of Fire loves nothing more than the pleasing smells of freshly-spilled blood and roasting meat.”
The Spinner grabs the animal’s chin and lifts it sharply, its throat exposed. It shifts on its feet but doesn’t complain.
Run. The word is on repeat in my mind as I will the sacrifice to flee and save itself. My silent request doesn’t stop the Prophet’s blade. The lamb protests then falls silent as its blood spurts to the ground and its legs give way. I can’t feel anything, my body going silent as I watch this needless slaughter. Deep red stains the innocent white fleece, the Prophet’s violence tainting even the purest of creatures.
Someone grabs the shoulders of my dress and rips it down. Other Spinners do the same down the line until the Maidens are nude except for the skimpy thongs. The Prophet speaks in a language I’ve never heard, then dips his hands in the lamb’s blood.
“For you are chosen.” He starts at the end of the row and rubs his bloodied hands on Eve’s chest. “Precious to your Prophet.” He continues down the line, and when he gets to me, he uses fresh blood. It’s still warm, and the unmistakable tang of copper fills my nose as he paints me with his mark of evil. “You will live forever in the light of my love.”
When he’s done, the Spinners get us up and herd us back to the pavilion where the suitors engage in carnal acts with the girls from the Chapel, or stare, transfixed, as the nude, bloodied Maidens return.
The fire intensifies, a wave of heat at my back like a sunburn.
“The Father of Fire is pleased!” the Prophet crows.
A suitor has a woman bent over my chair, her breasts bouncing as he rams her from behind. I don’t look in her dead eyes. Instead, I turn to watch the Prophet. He raises his bloodied hands to the sky. “Bring her!”
My breath freezes in my lungs as a Spinner shoves a woman into the clearing, her steps uneven, her body bloody and carved with a roadmap of runes and religious symbols.
I rush to the pavilion railing, but the sting at my neck tells me I can go no farther. “Sarah!”
Chapter 14
Adam
Castro smacks me across the face. “Wake up, pendejo.”
I’ve been awake for about thirty seconds, trying to figure out what the hell is going on while pretending to be out. Bound tightly to a chair, I’ve only been able to discern that Tony is scared of what will happen when I wake, Castro is excited, and there are at least a half dozen other men around me in the small tent. Opening my eyes, I stare at Castro, then train my gaze on my mother.
She sits across from me, defeated, her eyes watery.
“What the fuck?” I strain against the duct tape but get nowhere.