New-age music filled the auditorium from two large speakers positioned on each corner of the stage. Several in the back began chanting. Everyone joined in, their garbled sounds growing louder until their chants abruptly ended.
Silence.
Brit was impressed. Though the music sounded like it was on repeat, the members knew when to stop. They weren’t fidgeting. Not a single cough or sneeze. Curious, she glanced over her shoulder. Everyone appeared to be breathing in sync. A calmness settled over her.
The curtain opened all the way to reveal a podium on the other side of the stage.
A bell chimed.
“Welcome, Master Sanders,” everyone murmured at the same time.
“Here we go,” Brit whispered.
A tall, gangly man with short, thinning hair and a long beard entered the stage from the side. In his hand, he held a mic. He stopped in front of the chair. His vacant, non-blinking stare swept over his sea of followers. Then, his lips lifted, his barely-there smile brightening his dull eyes.
Everyone bowed their heads.
“Greetings, loved ones,” he began. “Tonight, we welcome home one of our own. My daughter, Clarice Honor Sanders, has returned to the nest. She was taken from us before she was could choose to stay, to revel in the simplicity of our lives as we prepare for the rapidly approaching end of time.”
The group raised their heads.
“The day draws near, Master,” the group parroted back.
Oh, wow, they actually believe this crap.
“Honor has written a book,” he continued. “It’s about her life, here, at the ranch. She’s going to read us several excerpts, then questions will be allowed.” After a pregnant pause, his gaze settled on Brit and Addison.
“Honor has invited guests from her outside life. Make them feel welcome.” His vapid smile sent shivers through Brit. “They are seedlings from Mother Sanders. Though she chose the road to hell when she left us, her seedlings are welcome.”
He tipped his head toward them, held his gaze for way too long before letting it float over his flock.
“My daughter, Clarice Honor Sanders.”
The crowd pushed to their feet, but instead of applauding, they started chanting again.
Honor walked onto the stage, a hardcover book in her hand. Craig held out his hand, like he was the Pope. Brit assumed Honor was supposed to kiss it, but she did not. Instead, she took the mic from his other hand and faced the audience.
Craig folded into in the oversized chair and stared so intensely at Brit and Addison that goosebumps covered Brit’s arms.
Brit turned toward Addison. “He’s freaky,” she whispered.
“Don’t look at him.” Addison clasped her hand. “He’ll suck you in with his mind powers.”
Brit bit back a laugh. “He doesn’t stand a chance against us.”
Honor set the book on the podium, then returned to her spot to the left of her now seated father. She wore no smile and her cold stare sent a chill through Brit.
“I’m Honor Sanders. I used to go by Clarice, but most of you remember me as the Seedling from the Most High.”
Honor paused while the followers welcomed her with a chant.
“I was born here, spent my first eight years here,” Honor began. “There were very few children on the ranch, so I spent a lot of time alone. Some books were brought in, a few followers offered me school lessons, but for the most part, I was alone. It wasn’t until third grade when Liliana?—”
“Mother Sanders,” Craig corrected.
“WhenLilianasent me to a very expensive boarding school,” Honor continued. “The education was great, and I loved learning. The better I did, the more scholarship money I received. Craig here?—”
“You will be removed if you don’t address me properly,” Craig interjected, the bite in his tone causing Addison to squeeze Brit’s hand.
