He dropped to his knees in front of her.
“You must listen to me, Kiki,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “You must go with Sister Anne now. Right now. She will take very good care of you. Do you understand?”
Her lower lip trembled. She sniffled and nodded.
He turned his head. “Sister Anne!”
A younger woman in a gray habit stepped forward from the shadows just inside the breezeway. Her face was pale, her hands shaking.
Kiki looked up at her. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” shemumbled.
Sister Anne offered her a small, trembling smile. “I know, sweet one. You didn’t.”
Sister Anne lifted Kiki into her arms, cuddling her petite body against her. She was turning away when a sound behind them made her expression change. Her smile disappeared, replaced with horror.
Kiki looked back the way she had come.
The laughter had been replaced with shouts and terrified screams. Therat-tat-tatof gunfire echoed through the courtyard archway.
Sister Maryna whispered fearfully to Sister Anne tohurrywhile Father Bishop spun toward the orphanage entrance. Two men in camouflage burst through the open doorway, their rifles raised.
“You know what to do. Keep her safe at all costs,” Father Bishop ordered.
Kiki clung to Sister Anne’s neck, crying as the novice nun turned and sprinted for the side door. She watched in horror as the men swung their weapons toward Father Bishop.
“No…” she whispered.
Something inside her flared. Bad things happened when it did. She didn’t know what it was. Only that she wanted to protect him.
Her small hand lifted. Trembling fingers stretched outward—then closed. So did her eyes. With a sob, she buried her face against Sister Anne’s neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over.
Behind them, the world fell silent.
No more gunshots.
No more screams.
Only the slap of Sister Anne’s sandals as she bolted through the gate behind the orphanage and rushed toward a waiting car. The back door was already open. A man in the driver’s seat waved them in.
Silent tears tracked down Kiki’s cheeks. Her heart hurt. So did her head. She raised her eyes to the rear window and looked out as they sped away.
Father Bishop stood framed in the orphanage doorway, his black robes fluttering, unharmed. His face was grim… and pale.
He raised a hand in farewell.
Kiki pressed her palm to the glass—small, solemn, and lost—as the car turned the corner.
Her mama’s warnings echoed in her head. The bad men had found her, just like she said they would if anyone learned how special she was.
One
Eight Years Ago
Calais, Maine
“There’s been an incident in the Middle East you might be interested in, love,” a sultry female voice called out.
