The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“Sure.” I hold my hands out to him and jerk my chin at the wrist covered in blood. “Grab the cuff and pull.”

Chapter 34

Delilah

Once Ezekiel’s disappeared into the trees, I snag the little brown plastic wedge from behind the door and shove it under the bottom, leaving it wide open. The door stays put, and I pull on it a little to make sure. It’s stuck.

Creeping through the dark kitchen, I pass the wide stovetop and another prep table. The white tiles are quiet underfoot, and I open the door to the dining room. It only creaks a little, but it’s loud in the still air. Nothing happens, so I pull it the rest of the way open and walk into the dining room. The lights are off, the high windows illuminating just enough for me to make my way through the tables and into the main hall.

A guard lies next to the doors leading to the children’s rooms, his head a bloody mess, a splatter of crimson on the wall. I skirt around him and push through to the children’s hall. Rachel isn’t here, the rooms dark. A baby cries in the nursery, so I walk to the next set of double doors and open one just a hair.

Rachel stands in the center of the hall and pulls sticks of dynamite from the black satchel, lining them up and twisting their fuses together.

“Shut that baby up or I’ll kill it right now!” she yells at someone I can’t see.

I duck back in the door and close it quietly.

The children’s rooms are silent, and I hope it’s because they’re gone. I go to the first room on my right and open it. Two little girls huddle between twin beds, their arms around each other, their eyes wide.

“Don’t be scared.” I drop to my haunches. “I’m Emily. We’re going to play a game.”

“But the mean lady said to stay here and don’t move.” The older girl’s voice trembles.

“We don’t listen to her. Come on with me.” I hold my hand out.

The older girl eyes me warily, but the younger breaks free of their embrace and toddles over. She has blonde curls and deep brown eyes.

“Hello,” she murmurs shyly and takes my hand.

When the older girl sees that nothing bad happens, she comes over, too.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Nazareth.”

“What a pretty name.”

She blushes.

“Nazareth, can you take your friend to the kitchen for me? We’re playing a little game. Ezekiel is hiding in the trees outside the kitchen door. I’m going to come try and find him in a little while. Would you like to play, too?”

Nazareth nods.

“Great. All you have to do is head out that kitchen door and hide with Ezekiel, okay? Can you do that?”

She takes the smaller girl’s hand. “We’ll hide, and then you come get us?”

“That’s the plan.” I smile.

“Okay.”

I open their door and peek down the hall. It’s clear, so I lead them out and into the main area, doing my best to put myself between them and the guard’s body. Once they’re through to the dining room, I head back to the children’s wing and go to the next room.

It’s darker in here, the windows along the roofline not giving enough light to see.

I shut the door behind me. “Hello?” I scoot around the little bed toward the darkest corner of the room. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Just come out.”

“I can’t make that same promise.” Grace’s voice stops me, and she rushes at me from the shadows, the Prophet’s curved blade in her hand.

I leap backward, but the blade catches me on the arm and slices through my dress, leaving a shallow cut.

She lurches out, her face in shadow, the side of her dress dark with blood. “You’re going to die here.”

I dodge back as she swings again, but she seems to have used all her momentum on the first strike.

She staggers closer, one bloody hand at her side. “You ruined everything. Everything! You took him away,” Her voice breaks on a sob. “He was supposed to be mine. All this was supposed to be mine. Not yours.”

And, in her own mind, I think she’s the hero of her tale. The put-upon woman who loved a man despite all else, who sacrificed everything just to be with him. As sick and twisted as it is, I remind myself that to her, she’s a victim—of the Prophet, of Adam, of me.

But understanding isn’t the same as sympathy.

I unwrap the binding on my hand enough to pull out the knife I stashed there after I used it on the Prophet. “Drop it, Grace. If you stop this now, you could live. You could be someone else.”

Tears roll down her face, her eyes sparkling. “There is no one else but me. Just me. Weak, stupid Jenny who joined the Cloister and thought the Prophet was chosen by God. Dumb Jenny who followed every rule, did everything asked of her, but fell in love with the one man she shouldn’t have. Jenny didn’t deserve to live. She was a stupid bitch like all the other Maidens. So I killed Jenny.” She thumps her chest with her palm. “She’s dead in here. I don’t want to be anyone but Grace. Grace is strong, smart. She fights for what she wants. She is no one’s victim.” Her back straightens for only a moment before she gasps and grabs at her side. “But you took all that from me.”