CHAPTER 1
Ophelia
Takingyou had always been his plan…
My blood runs cold from the information Daisy, my friend from the cult, has given me.
Her words flick through my head as though on a slideshow, over and over. I’d always believed the Prophet taking me that day outside of the ice cream parlor had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d thought he’d noticed my pale blonde hair and mismatched eyes and decided it must mean something.
But now my brain rearranges those events. Instead of that son of a bitch accidentally happening upon me, he’d been told by someone else where I’d be. He’d been watching for an opportune moment to snatch me. Rage fills me at the thought, then terror because the biggest question now is who had betrayed me.
Who would arrange to have a young girl snatched by the leader of a cult? It had to have been a person in my life, someone close enough to know where we’d be and when, but I can’t bring myself to consider who could do that to me.
My legs feel shaky, and if I wasn’t already sitting down, I think I would fall.
Who would be sick enough to do that to a young girl?
Daisy and I are sitting on a bench, a short walk away from the main gates of Verona Falls where the guards stand watch. They seem curious about Daisy’s arrival but not alarmed. What is there to be worried about in a teenage girl who is dressed like she’s from the dark ages, in an ankle-length, long-sleeved maroon dress with her long brown hair tied back primly in a bun at her nape?
My Preachers, however, are clearly more concerned. They can see the effect Daisy’s arrival and the news she’s delivered has had on me.
The news about how I was taken is bad enough, but Daisy’s information about the Prophet’s plans for an ascension in the commune are horrifying. People will follow him, because they always do, partly because they’re too afraid to do anything else, but also because they believe in him. All the vitriol he spouted about us burning in the fires of hell for all eternity was real to those people—I even believed it myself for a long time—and they will do whatever it takes to ensure they go to heaven.
Cain is the first to step in, his huge form blocking out our view of the gates. “Ophelia, is everything okay? You’ve gone pale.”
Malachi joins him, angling his head, his dark eyes intense. “You’re shaking. Why are you shaking?”
I barely know how to answer them. I look around at their concerned expressions, and my mouth opens then closes again. Poor Roman is hurt after what my father did to him. He should probably be the one sitting down. It pains me to look at his face and realize that I’m at least some way responsible.
Malachi rounds on Daisy. “What did you say to her?” he demands.
Her eyes widen as she presses her spine to the back of the bench, as though she’s trying to disappear into the wood.
I can’t help feeling protective. Daisy was like a little sister to me back in the cult. “Mal, you’re scaring her!”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls. He turns back to Daisy. “Tell me what the hell you just said.”
Cain’s hand on Mal’s arm pulls him back a little. “You’re not helping, man. Take a breath.”
But I can see Cain is worried, too.
Malachi might have asked Daisy the question, but I answer on her behalf. “She said the Prophet is planning a mass suicide at the commune.”
Cain’s jaw drops. “What the fuck?”
I continue. “There are maybe a hundred innocent people there, women and children. If they go ahead with this…”
Malachi interrupts. “Why the fuck would they choose to take their own lives because some crazy bastard tells them to?”
“They don’t see it as taking their own lives. They see it as simply moving on to a new one. A better one. It’s like shedding a skin to become something restored. That’s what makes it so scary. They don’t see the truth.”
Maybe some of them will, though. There are bound to be at least a handful of people with doubts. Mothers who are looking at their children and have just enough uncertainty to feel that frisson of fear.
But if they dare question the Prophet, or even utter those doubts to someone else, believing they’re in private conversation, the Prophet will find a way to shut them down. Psychologically, it’s one of the things I struggled with the most—and that I still struggle with—his claim to be able to see inside our heads. He said he knew any time we questioned him, and the worst part was that it was as though he really did. He’d say things that made it seem as if he could tell what we were thinking and feeling. Maybe it was simply because he was incrediblyintuitive, or perhaps he had ears everywhere that reported back to him, but there were no secrets in that place.
Malachi reaches for me. “Come on, let’s go back to the water tower. You’ve had a shock.”
I understand he’s being protective, but I ignore his outstretched hand.
