They don’t know Adam. And judging by the way Adam’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes—thus not one Montana sapphire sparkle in sight—I think he feels that, too.
But Adam makes no effort to extricate himself. And that’s when I spot another small group of men walking up, including…oh gods. Including Grayson Baker.
My heart begins to beat so fast, I can feel it wanting to jump out of my chest and splatter all over the floor.
The last time I saw Grayson, I was half naked in my bedroom, allowing my crow brethren to attack him. I repeat the memory of him shrieking in my mind like an incantation.I’mthe powerful one here.He’sthe one who should be afraid.
But maybe time has made him return to his arrogant ways, because when he sees me, he smirks. And then he looks at me down and up, and up and down, and winks.
I’m hyperventilating by the time that wink happens.
And Adam has been pulled into the massive group of people. It’s soloud. Even if I’d shouted his name, he wouldn’t hear me.The sounds of people shouting and shrieking press in on my chest and I feel like I can’t breathe even more.I’ve got to get out of here.That’s what my body keeps screaming to me.
So I do the only thing I can think to do.
I turn and run.
16
I honestly don’t know whereI’m going, but my feet seem to. They carry me right into the sanctuary of the church.
I haven’t been to the actual church building in so long, I’d almost forgotten what it looks like. The sanctuary itself is tall, with pointed arches, everything made of white brick and pale gray cement. The doors are open tonight, and I push them, letting the freezing cold air within surround me, carrying with it the faint smell of lemon cleaners and spicy incense.
The windows are also tall and skinny like the interior, with black boards framing the stained glass. On one side of the church, the stained glass depicts key scenes from the Old Testament; on the other, it’s all the key scenes from Jesus’s life.
It hits me, what @tryingsomethingnew had told me about the church. The weird doors. The weird architecture. I want to kick myself for spending so much time withpeoplethat I lost sight of my little investigation into the possible Cranberry witches’ cult.
There are a couple of women praying right in front of the altar. The church always has its doors open between Masses for thatpurpose—to allow people to come and talk to Jesus. They’re so immersed in their divine conversations that no one looks at me as I walk around the perimeter of the sanctuary, looking for anything unusual.
I walk around to the bathrooms and examine both the men’s and women’s. The church store is closed, but when I stop to examine it, peeking in though the door windows, I notice something a little bit strange. Almost all the relics are not of Jesus, Mary, or random angels. They’re of Mary Magdalene. There are prints of old paintings, little saint cards depicting her being carried by angels, her hair dark and flowing, her gaze tilted toward the heavens. For some reason, I don’t remember the focus on Mary Magdalene when I was a kid. Has the church store always been this way? Or did this change happen when I was in a coma in an oak tree?
My phone beeps. It’s Adam.
Hey, where are you? Is everything okay?
I don’t know what to say to him. I’m not mad at him, exactly, but I don’t feel great about how easily he’d forgotten me when his adoring fans appeared. Just two hours ago, he was pouring his heart out to me about his List of Impossible Ghostly Things. Just forty-five minutes ago, he was telling me he’d do anything to see me smile. And now he’s onlyjustnoticed I ran away—I check the time—twenty minutes after I’d left him.
I’m fine, I tell him.Thanks for checking in.
Where are you?
I swallow. I don’t want him to know how hurt I feel right now.Oh, around. I have a ride home so you don’t have to—
“There you are.” Before I finish the response, Adam’s voice, Adam’s words, are behind me, surrounding me just as the church air had earlier when I first stepped inside.
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure what, when he wraps his arms around me in a big hug.
“Oh,” I say, and after a moment, I put one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist.
His lips touch my neck. Not in a kiss, exactly, but in relief. “I was so worried about you. Why did you turn your phone off?”
“I didn’t?” I say into this shoulder. His voice is reverberating into my skin. It’s making goose bumps trail down my body. It’s making my nipples hard.
“I called you, like, a dozen times. It went straight to voice mail.” He pulls back and looks around. “I’m pretty sure most of this building is shit service. You been here this whole time?”
I nod.
He swallows. “Why—why did you leave me?”
