The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“But you, everything’s even and perfect.” She peers at my nose. “I don’t even see any pores.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s amazing, and I’m jelly!” She returns to her drawer of colors and draws out a pallet of browns and another of pinks. “Let’s start conservative, okay? Maybe once we’ve done the subtle look, we can start over and go for a mermaid look or—” her eyes widen. “A peacock look!”

“Subtle sounds better.” I lean back.

“Don’t be a ninny.” She tilts my chin up. “Now close your eyes.”

“Close your eyes.” Grace stands above me, a hint of impatience showing through her too-bright countenance.

I do as she says and wait as the tickling brush does its work on my eyelids. Like this, I can pretend it’s Georgia again, delightedly highlighting and contouring and doing God knows what else. But I didn’t mind it. Because it made her happy. I mind now, because it makes Grace happy.

“Better.” She dabs some pink on my cheeks. “Too much.” Grabbing the hem of my dress, she wipes some off. “A little bit goes a long way on your corpse-white skin, doesn’t it?” She scrubs a little with my dress then drops the fabric. “You look alive now, at least. Let’s do something to your lips. They’re like two starved worms. And that eye—” she frowns at the bruise the Prophet left when he couldn’t get hard. “I think there’s some concealer in here.”

She works for a few more minutes, adding mascara and some other touches to make me look “like something other than a dead body.” When she’s done, she stands back. “You’ll never be beautiful, but this is as close as I can get.”

“You’re so beautiful, Firefly. With or without makeup.” Georgia’s voice tiptoes across my heart.

“Now, your dress.” She snaps her fingers. “Up. I want to see it on you.”

I stand, tired to my soul. “I thought you wanted me to stay? Now you’re happy I’m going?”

She cuts her gaze to me. “I did want you to stay. But things are different now. It’s a new day. You can go. I’m happy for you to disappear.”

“Why the sudden change?” I know why. She believes today is the day when the Prophet falls.

“Can’t I just be happy for you?” She holds the dress up to my shoulders. “You’re getting married. That’s something to celebrate, right? Now, take that dress off and let’s see how this one looks.”

I grab my hem and lift my dress over my head. Her apprizing gaze takes in every inch of my emaciated body.

“At least you lost some weight while you were here. Not enough, though.” She steps closer. “Arms up.”

Once the dress is on, she stands back. “Perfect.”

I look down. I’m wearing what could be considered a boxy white sack that flows down to my ankles. Not that I care what my “wedding gown” looks like. Even if I wind up marrying Evan today, in my heart, I’m already wed to Adam.

“I picked out a veil for you, too, but we can put that on at the church.” She smiles again, her teeth reminiscent of a crocodile even though they’re straight and smooth. “Get your shoes on.”

“We’re leaving now?”

“Yes. The senator wants a little time with you before the service begins.”

I slip on my flats. “I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

She laughs, the sound explosive and loud.

I stare at her, trying to parse through whatever is going through her mind. Reading her is impossible, but I know something wrong is simmering just underneath the surface of what I can see. Everything is off-kilter. A queasy feeling slithers through my stomach.

She tapers off her giggles. “Oh, I think you’re right about that tradition. It will definitely be bad luck.”

Chapter 24

Noah

I shove Chastity against the wall, her choked cry just what I was aiming for. “Call it off.”

She recovers, her eyes shuttering, her face going stoic. “Not a chance.”

“Why?” I glance down the hallway. The Cloister’s walls have ears, but we’re alone for the moment.

“Why?” she asks, incredulous. “I can give you a million reasons. All of them good.”

“To murder innocent people?”

“They aren’t innocent.” She shoves me back.

I let her. “The children are. The people who are fooled by the Prophet—”

“You mean the ones who are fine with oppressing everyone who isn’t like them? The ones who agree with the Prophet that homosexuals should be imprisoned, women who’ve had abortions killed, and mixed race marriages annulled?” Her voice shakes with fury. “Those people? The ones who are raising their children in this cesspool, who are teaching them the same values as the Prophet?”

“They still have a chance. To learn. To choose differently. To get out!” I force myself to keep my voice down. “If you sit in judgment of them and wipe them out because of it, you’re no better than him.” I shake my head. “No better.”