The Last Harvest(31)

I let out a deep sigh, close my eyes, and untie the robe, letting it drop to the ground.

“Hold your arms out, please,” Miss Granger instructs gently.

I do as I’m told and try to hold still, but my insides are trembling. I can feel her warm touch on my wrist. I can feel her breath on my skin, running from my fingers all the way up to my left shoulder. “Clear,” she whispers.

The priests chant a prayer. Something cold and wet splashes on my skin. I suck in a startled breath.

“It’s just holy water,” she whispers. “To protect you.”

They do the same thing with my right arm.

Miss Granger then steps behind me, running her fingers across my shoulder blades, down my spine; my skin prickles up in goose bumps. But it’s not just from the cold or the shock of water on my skin … it’s her touch, and that’s the last thing I want to feel in this moment. Miss Granger is a beautiful woman, but she’s still my guidance counselor. The holy water splashes across my back.

Miss Granger moves in front of me. I hear the priests’s robes swishing against the gleaming marble floors as they switch positions. I feel a hand slip between my knees and I practically jump out of my skin.

“It’s just me. Can you step apart, please,” Miss Granger’s voice soothes. My quad muscles flex under her touch.

I try not to think about her being so close to me, her warm fingers pressing into my skin, but my imagination is getting the better of me.

I open my eyes, hoping the scenery will squash this feeling building inside of me, but when I see her kneeling on the ground in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the black strap of that negligee peeking out beneath her blouse.

I clench my eyes shut again. Jesus. Not now, Clay. I try to think of something else—anything other than that black strap against her skin. The calf caught in the cutting blades. The cow ripped down the middle. The metal crucifix covered in blood. Ali with the cat clutched to her mouth. But it’s too late.

The room goes deathly still. It’s like we’re all holding our breath.

The priests splash the holy water across my chest. I take in a shuddering breath. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spirtus Sancti,” they say in unison.

Miss Granger drapes the robe over me. “It’s done.”

I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I head back behind the screen. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at any of them. As I put my clothes back on, I will my body to calm the hell down.

I take a few deep breaths before I step out from behind the screen and bolt for the exit. My head is spinning. I try to open the door, but it won’t budge.

Miss Granger comes up behind me. “Let me,” she says, as she unlatches the door.

I still can’t look her in the eyes.

The fresh air hits my lungs and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

“I have something for you.” She reaches out to pin a gold cross on my jacket.

“I don’t want it.” I try to pull away, but she hangs on to me.

“It’s not what you think. It’s a camera … a recording device.”

“What?” I stare down at it.

“See that tiny jewel in the center? That’s the lens. All you have to do is press the top of the cross and it will record whatever you’re seeing.”

“Why? What’s this for?”

“Tonight at the Harvest Festival. Wear a tie. We need you to document the marks on the others.”

“Wait … except for Ali and Tyler, I have no idea where their marks are. How do you expect me to do that? It’s not a pool party.”

“I have faith in you.” She steps in close, pinning it on my jacket. “You should know, Ali whispered your name last night before she woke up. She dreamt you saved her. Do whatever you have to do to get close to her. You’re the only one who can protect her now.”

Noodle slips her hand into mine and I flinch.

“Did I scare you?” She giggles.

“No … no, ’course not,” I stutter and force a smile.

“See you tonight,” Miss Granger says as she walks back up the steps and disappears inside the heavy chapel doors.

Noodle and I walk back to the truck, hand in hand. The sun doesn’t feel as bright as it did before, like there’s something hanging over us. Hanging over the world.

It feels like judgment day.





19

I CAN’T stop tugging at the navy-blue tie around my neck; it feels like a noose.

We haven’t dressed up like this in ages—not since Dad’s funeral. Mom keeps checking herself out in the rearview mirror, smearing her coral lips together. Noodle’s on Mom’s lap counting the number of stitches on the hem of her dress, while Jess is crammed against the passenger window, like she couldn’t get far enough away from me if she tried.

For the millionth time, I glance down to adjust the gold cross pin on my tie. I still can’t believe it’s a video camera. I feel like some kind of hillbilly James Bond.

“Watch it,” Jess snaps as the gravel on the shoulder of the road kicks up, smacking the side of my truck.

“Sorry,” I murmur, as I swerve back into my lane.

I try not to make a big deal out of it, but I’m stunned at how Jess looks. Her dress is a little short for her now, but she looks nice. Normal. There’s none of that crap on her face. She even took off the black nail polish and brushed her hair out of its usual rat’s nest. She’s always had such nice hair, not a towhead like Noodle, or like I was before mine turned dark blond. Jess’s hair’s the color of roasted chestnuts. She just came out that way.