Suddenly the crowd parts to let my father through. He’s flanked by the sheriff, Barry, and Deputy Roy McClaren. Their eyes scan the crowd, hands resting near their guns. Sweet old Roy looks nervous and uncomfortable, but a small smirk curls Barry’s mouth. This must be exactly what he hoped for.
“My good people,” my father bellows. “Our home has been poisoned by evil.” His deep voice rings across the lawn, causing all to fall silent. “We’ve grown too Godly. Too powerful in our faith. We’ve drawn an ancient enemy out of the dark. The Low Man has risen on a mission from the Devil. One by one, he’ll butcher us until none are left.”
The crowd buzzes.
“How convenient,” Ever whispers.
My father raises his arms and silence falls. “In the face of true evil, God commands us to act in his stead and carry out his holy punishments.”
The townspeople shout, raising their guns and torches.
“We must cast this demon back to Hell,” my father shouts, and as the crowd clamors, he turns and sweeps back into the church, disappearing through the double doors. The sheriff takes over, shepherding townsfolk. Are they planning to march through town in search of Everett? It doesn’t matter. Nothing they plan will come to pass.
I lean my head against Ever’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”
His stubble rubs my forehead as he nods. “Are you?”
I pat the papers in my dress and raise the branch we picked up on our walk. “I have everything I need.”
Someone bellows. Ever and I glance sharply at the crowd. A large, brawny man standing with Gerald Theriot—one of his fishing crew—raises his shotgun, pumping it. The men around him cheer.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ever says quietly. “It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Of course it does.” I’m the one who was shielded. I owe a debt. My father is my angel to bear. “Now remember, I need you to fly.”
“I know.” Ever cups my face. “I’ll see you when this is over.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise. He kisses my forehead and straightens to his full height.
As Ever strides toward the crowd, I watch him transform, exorcising his fear. His back straightens, he shakes out his arms, rolls his neck. He’s so well versed at walking into viper’s nests, into no-win situations. He’s been doing it all his life. I hate that I’ve asked it of him, pray it’s the last time.
He strides out of the dark into the ring of light cast by the crowd’s torches. The reaction is instantaneous. Screams and gasps puncture the air as hundreds of people turn in a rippling wave.
“You want me?” Ever shouts, throwing out his arms. “Well, I’m right here.”
Now run,I beg.Straight into the woods.
“It’s him,” Barry roars, and mercifully Ever takes that as his cue to whip around and run in the direction of the trees. People stumble into each other, random gunfire thundering, shots hitting the ground near Ever’s feet. Torches are dropped and stomped, and then in a massive swell the crowd charges after him, Barry and the sheriff in the lead.
I have no time to waste. As soon as the crowd clears, I head for the church with my branch in hand, only stopping to bend and seize one of the torches with embers still smoldering. I breathe life into it like Ever taught me, and when the flame is tall again, I kick open the double doors.
I know where my father will be: his favorite place on earth. Where he reigns on high.
The doors to the nave are open. A small crowd of women gathers around my mother onstage. I recognize Mrs. Autin the tailor, Julie Broussard the fishing wife, and Mrs. Anderson, my mother’s haughty doppelgänger, among them. Above them on the balcony, where I knew he’d be, stands my father.
“Did anyone else hear gunshots?” Julie asks, at the same time my father booms, “Bring in the crowd!”
I close the nave doors with a boom and shove the branch between the handles so the doors can’t open. A gasp sounds behind me. When I turn around, every person in the large, ornate space is gaping at me.
“Ruth.” My father’s voice echoes down. His eyes are fixed on my torch. “You came to repent.”
“No.” My voice is loud and clear. “I’m here so you can.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mrs. Anderson hisses to my mother, but my mother’s face is stony.
“Someone get the sheriff,” the reverend commands. But when one of the fishing wives darts toward me and the door, I point my torch at her.
“Stay back.” The woman halts. “The sheriff’s gone. They all are. There’s no one here but us.”
