Page 37 of A Silence So Divine

Sitting in a pew at the very back, I gnaw the inside of my cheeks and look anywhere but the front. Dust particles float through the slanted sunlight, and my eyes chase them. The Reverend is finishing his sermon, reaching my least favorite part of his spiel. Unfolding a piece of parchment from his breast pocket, he reads the names of last week's sacrifices. Under the guise of reverence, the Brothers honor all of the Damned that they slaughter.

I see it for what it really is. Gloating.

“...Agatha Harlow, Christopher Munn, Vince Reddington, Mabel Evers—” My eye twitches, but that’s the only expression I can afford, lest someone take notice. I read over the paper for that last girl, Mabel, five days ago. Reverend Curran had tried assigning me to her Reaping, but I convinced him I was better suited for a different pursuit.

She was 7-years-old, and had been deaf all her life.

Voices rise around me as the entire room begins The Lord’s Prayer, the monotonous recitation robotic in nature. I’m out the door as the last word is spoken.

With hasty strides, I make my way down the corridor and toward the exit. My stomach churns as I remember the picture of that little girl. Missing a front tooth, her hair in a messy braid thrown over her shoulder. Innocent, pure, and sure as shit notevil.

“Brother Bastien,” a voice calls from behind me. My shoulders tense, but I keep my face neutral as I look back. Reverend Curran motions to the door to his private office.

Fuck.

There’s no denying him, not if I want to keep my position and my life, so I follow. The door closes behind us with a snick. I keep my spine stiff as he circles his desk, straightening things along the way just to keep me waiting. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands around this motherfucker’s neck—

“How did you enjoy today’s sermon?” He asks conversationally. This is always how it plays out: a comment on the weather here, a compliment on my watch there. Then, he’ll drop the bomb on my new assignment.

“Incredible as always,” I respond dryly. There’s no use playing into his facade. We know each other too well.

“Mmmm, yes. Well, I’ll bet you’re wondering what I called you in here for.” He sinks into his chair, fingers intertwined over his chest. The epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

Inside, I’m seething, like I am every time I have to stand across from him and take orders like a dog.

“Naturally,” I reply. He smirks. If he’s bothered by my lack of ass kissing, he never shows it. I’m too valuable a weapon.

“‘Naturally,’” he snickers, shaking his head like we’re sharing an inside joke. “We’re expanding our patrol for the next week or so, due to some unfortunate circumstances.”

I don’t bother responding; I only wait for the other shoe to drop.

“We’ve got men on foot in some of the more rural areas. I know you hate rookie work, but we need all hands on deck until we’re able to locate some of our high priority targets. The cities have been a dead end; the only place left to look is the outskirts.” He says as if we’re making lunch plans, and not leading livestock to the slaughter.

“Of course, Reverend. Where would you like for me to begin?” I ask mechanically, staring at a point in the center of his forehead so I don’t have to meet his eyes.

He hums thoughtfully, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his shirt. Swiveling his head, he looks out the window and then to the watch on his wrist.

“It’s nearly nightfall now, so the men will be heading back any time. Tomorrow morning, meet your Brothers here and move from there. Depending on their luck, you might return to today’s location.”

The hairs of my neck prickle.

“They began today?” I question, fighting to keep any emotion from bleeding into my words.

He grunts in confirmation. “One of our more… unsavory locations.” There’s a bitterness to his tone.

It can’t be.It can’t be.The Brothers are too afraid of the house, of the “evil” that Eden’s father left behind when he took his own life.

“A bit out of the way, I know, but it’s possible the targets have crossed the river by now. I told the men to steer clear of the house itself, of course, but there’s at least 1,000 acres behind the estate.”

Panic has the edges of my vision blurring, but I can’t let it show. Mentally, I try to talk myself down. Creed and Eden never go further than the edge of the trees—the likelihood of someone seeing them is low.

But not zero.

“Good idea, sir. I look forward to the hunt,” I manage to spit out. The words taste like ash in my mouth.

“Yes, well, I suppose you’d better get home and get some rest. Fear not, Brother Bastien, you will return to Reaping in no time.” He shoots me a wink, and I envision jumping across his desk and snapping his neck.

“I’m grateful to serve you however the Lord sees fit,” I recite, repeating the same phrase I’ve uttered countless times since I began here.