The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“—have to do it now.” Rachel’s voice is just up ahead.

“I can’t get a shot.”

“Don’t shoot Adam!”

“I know!” Castro bites back.

I lean on a support beam. Blood trickles down my back, and my hand burns, the sting like a thousand bees going at my bones.

“Take it when you can. Then we need to go before he brings the whole place down. It’s such a mess.”

“—crucified you, and then you were gone. I thought maybe the angels—” The Prophet’s voice wafts in and out. He’s nearby on the stage. Thumps, yells, and screams emanate from the sanctuary. A riot, but contained. Why can’t they get out?

I keep moving until I see Rachel, her face ghostly because of the garish makeup lights aimed at her.

“It’s over, Dad. All of it.”

“Adam,” I breathe and take a few more steps forward.

“Just take me. You don’t need to kill all these people.” Adam sounds so reasonable, so close. “I’m the one—”

“This should have gone to plan.” Rachel crosses her arms over her stomach. “I don’t understand. The Father of Fire promised me. He promised! I carved and sacrificed that virgin. She was stupid and pretty, perfect! I did everything he asked of me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Something was wrong with her. Maybe she wasn’t pure. Maybe Noah fucked her and didn’t admit to it…”

My ears begin to ring, a wall of alarms blaring in my mind. “I carved and sacrificed that virgin.”

I stare at her, the truth becoming clear. This was why Noah couldn’t tell me. Rachel killed Georgia.

It had been her all along. The force of this terrible knowledge hits me like a physical blow, but I won’t let it knock me down.

I force myself forward, ignoring the aches in my body and the rips in my soul. Killing Grace was self-defense. Killing Rachel will be vengeance.

“Take the shot!” she barks.

I pick up speed, aiming for her. I’ll use my hands or whatever I can grab. My sister rots in the ground because of this woman, and I will make her pay. A strange sort of relief floods me as I push past the makeup chair. I have a target now. I know what I have to do. No more guesswork, no more investigation. It’s just her and me.

“He’s still in the fucking way!” Castro pulls my attention toward the stage. Adam stands with his back to us as he speaks to his father. The noise has grown so loud that I can’t even get snippets anymore, but they’re arguing.

Rachel groans. “It’s all falling apart. He knew. Somehow Leon knew. He told the Cathedral to keep his bastard kids there. How did he know?” She’s speaking quickly, as if to herself. “Leon has to die. Now.” She scowls. “Shoot him even if it hits Adam. I don’t care. Noah can take his place. Just shoot the Prophet now!”

I have to make a decision, and I only have a second. Save Adam or get justice for Georgia. It’s not a choice. Not really. My body seems to make it for me before I even think it through. I throw myself at Castro, tackling him to the floor as he fires a single shot.

“Puta!” he yells as we fall, and I land on top of him, his gun skittering across the floor and hovering on the edge of the stage. It teeters there in slow motion, as if it can’t decide whether gravity applies to it. I will it to fall, to get lost in the mayhem going on in the auditorium.

Castro shoves me off, and I turn to see Adam coming toward me, his limp slowing him down.

“Adam!” I scream and point at Castro who grabs the pistol before it falls over the edge.

He turns, but it’s too late.

The shot is fired, a life taken.

Chapter 30

Adam

Noah runs down the center aisle toward me, a gun in his hand. Castro lurches sideways, a red burst blooming on his side.

The gun still in his hand, he steps toward me. “Pendejo.”

“I told you it would end this way, asshole.” I raise my pistol and fire one shot. He falls with a hollow thump, his eyes open and vacant, blood flowing from his forehead. I’ve never had fewer fucks to give in my life.

I rush past him and drop to my knees next to Emily.

“Are you okay?” I lift her up.

She has blood on her white dress, and my hands go cold as I turn her over.

She winces. “My back. Grace cut me.”

“Fuck.” I sit her up and check the wound.

“Your hand.” I pull it into my lap.

“There was a wire.” Her lip trembles. “I had to.”

I don’t follow what she’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. Pulling her to my chest, I hold her. “We’re getting out of here.”

She nods, then looks behind her, her body going tense. “Where’s your mother?”