The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

I turn sharply when I’m almost to the far wall and pace back to the door. Getting on Evan’s good side worked a little too well. I underestimated him and assumed the Prophet would still opt to keep me around for at least a month or two. I would have used that time to get under Evan’s skin during his visits, to try and convince him that Heavenly is a threat. But all that’s shot to pieces now. I can still work on him, try and turn him against the Prophet, but I’ll be utterly under his control. And Evan isn’t the sort to bend easily.

My foot hits the wall next to the door, and I turn again, my dress whirling out from my body dramatically as I tread the same path over and over. Noah didn’t come yesterday, so I couldn’t explain anything. Had something happened to him? It feels odd to worry about Noah, especially when I was convinced that he’d murdered Georgia. But now, I care for him, even though I wish I didn’t. It seems like anyone I care for gets crushed by the Heavenly machine.

My door swings open, halting my progress.

Grace’s sneer greets me. “Get your shoes on. We’re going out.”

I hurry around my bed and slip on my flats. “Where are we going?”

“Shut up.” She turns and walks away.

I follow, keeping up with her clipped pace. No point in asking any more questions. She didn’t bring me a robe this time, so I guess we aren’t heading to the Prophet’s house. That’s a relief, but it also begs the question of where we’re going.

The cold night greets us, and we pile onto a golf cart. She heads up the pavement, the cold wind biting through my thin dress. When we come to the main compound road, for a moment I think she’s going to turn right toward the Rectory—either to give me a cruel visit to my mother or to have me join her—but she turns left toward the main entrance.

I hunch forward against the wind as she speeds up the hill, the golf cart’s engine only a quiet hum. She passes the rear of the Prophet’s house and stops in front of one of the smaller ones that flank it.

“I’ll return in one hour. Be outside waiting. If you set foot outside this house otherwise, you will be found and taken to the Rectory. I’ll be sure to accommodate you next to your mother so you can hear her screams. Understand?”

I nod.

“Go.” She points to the black front door.

I want to ask who lives here, what I’m doing here, and about a dozen other things, but I don’t. I simply step off the golf cart and walk to the door. It swings open as I approach, and Noah stands just inside wearing a hoodie, a hand-rolled cigarette or a joint hanging from his mouth. He motions me inside.

“You know the rules,” Grace calls.

“I got this, and you got what you wanted.” He points down the road leading to the Cloister. “Now hop on down the bunny trail, and I’ll see you in an hour.”

I step inside, and Noah slams the door behind me, his hood pulled up.

“I hate that bitch. Like, I used to think ‘oh, I feel bad for her because x, y, z, but a few years ago, I realized she’s just rotten all the way through.” He says it all with what is—from the smell—definitely a joint dangling from his lips.

“I could have told you that.” I peer around at his house. It’s nice—dark wood floors, conservative but contemporary décor, and large—a great home for a family.

“You probably know her better than I do.” He shrugs. “Which is shit luck for you.”

I’m suddenly keenly aware that I’m alone with him in his house. “What am I doing here?”

He pulls the joint from his lips and offers it to me. “You want?”

“I’m good.” I shake my head. The forced LSD trips have changed my mind on indulging ever again.

“Okay, cool.” He walks ahead of me, his bare feet silent on the floor. “Come on upstairs. Where I am most definitely not going to fuck her!” He points the joint at the ceiling fan in the living room as he passes, as if he can see whoever’s watching him and communicate directly.

I’m no less confused than I was when Grace came to get me, but I follow him up the stairs. “What did you give Grace to get me here?” I ask quietly.

His jeans hang low on his hips, the elastic of his boxers visible. I drop my gaze and watch the stairs as I climb.

“Information.”

“Oh.”

He turns left at the top of the stairs and walks to the end of the hall. “In here. Strip and get on the bed.”

My insides clench. A large bed sits in the center of the dim room, the white sheets and duvet mussed. “What are you—”