The Last Harvest(69)

“Ready to become a woman … to receive his love.”

“Whose love?”

“Yours, Clay.” She wets her lips and pulls me down to lay beside her, kissing my ear, my neck. I try to lift my head and get up, but I can’t. It feels too good. I gaze up at the chandelier, hundreds of facets sparkling like our own universe.

And in the blink of an eye, she’s on top of me. I can’t stop staring at the strap of her camisole, teetering on the edge of her shoulder blade. One tiny move and it could slip right off. Or I could make it slip.

She follows my gaze and shrugs, letting the strap fall. “I think you’re ready, too.”

I try to keep my eyes focused on hers, but the pull of her bare breast is too strong to ignore. It reminds me of the vision I had when I saw her climbing out of the cow. I know I should feel disgusted by it, but I don’t. Instead, something primal rises inside of me. Sitting up, I grasp the back of her neck, kissing her deeply. That overwhelming feeling takes over every part of me. I run my hands down the curve of her waist, and she whispers, “Blessed is the seed.”

“What did you say?” A dark ripple of static rushes through me.

“I said, what more do you need.”

She starts kissing my neck again and I could so easily close my eyes and disappear into her skin, but that feeling of unease won’t leave me. I have the strangest sensation, like we’re being watched. My eyes settle on the photograph of our ancestors. I’m drawn to a girl around Jess’s age, holding a doll. “I know that doll,” I say as I untangle myself from Ali and make my way over to it. It looks like the same doll Noodle’s been dragging around since Dad’s funeral. I yank it off the wall to get a better look, accidentally dropping it to the hardwood floor.

As I’m leaning over trying to gather the shattered glass, I see a small tear in the photo, exposing something beneath … a glimpse of handwriting. I break out the rest of the glass, peeling back the photograph to reveal an old tattered document, with a torn edge, bearing the signatures of the founding families. It’s the missing page. The missing piece of the prophecy.

On this day, we form a covenant to protect, serve, and honor our lord. In exchange for these parcels of land we hereby pledge our sixth generation to usher in a new age. Once the seed has been selected, once the blood of the golden calf has been spilled, there will be ten sacrifices. Only the chosen one will be allowed to care for our lord.

“It’s true.” I inhale sharply. “All of it. They sold our souls for land,” I say to Ali, but it’s like she’s looking right through me. “Did you hear me?”

“We can talk about that later.” Ali kneels on the bench, her bare skin glistening in the candlelight. “Come back to me.”

Something’s off. Something’s very wrong … with her … with this place. “I … I need to get out of here.” I shove the piece of paper in my pocket and frantically start pressing on the paneled wall until the door pops open.

I can’t look back, I can’t hesitate, or I know I’ll never be able to leave this room. As I careen up the stairs, every cell in my body screams at me to go back, but I keep pressing forward.

As I stagger into the hallway, I hear whispering. I move toward the sound. It’s coming from Mr. Neely’s office. I place my hand on the doorknob, afraid to open it … afraid not to.

The whispering stops, but I hear the unmistakable susurration of breath. Pressing down on the cold brass handle, I nudge the door open.

The room is full of people dressed in long glittery gowns and tuxedos, martinis in hand. They’re all staring back at me, but no one moves a muscle. I’m wondering if they’re wax figures or mannequins, until one of them speaks.

“Do something, Ian,” a woman says through her teeth. It’s Mrs. Neely.

My eyes dart around the room. Mr. and Mrs. Miller are here, Mr. and Mrs. Doogan, Mr. and Mrs. Gillman, Dr. and Mrs. Perry … all the parents of the sixth generation are present—except for mine.

“What are you doing here? What’s going on?” I pant.

I look past them to a television screen set up on Ian’s desk. There’s a half-naked girl lying on a bench. It takes me a good minute to realize it’s Ali on the screen … in the secret room. I stare at each and every one of them in disbelief. These sick f*cks have been watching us the entire time. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I grasp onto the edge of the desk to keep my balance, when I notice what’s in front of the screen. On a swath of black velvet, there’s a branding iron. The symbol on the end is plain as day—the upside-down U with two dots above and below. The invitation. Were they planning on using that thing on me? Was Ali in on it? Or did they use her to lure me here? I grasp on to the handle.

“Clay, everything’s fine,” Mr. Neely says as he steps forward. “But I think you’ve lost your way. Let me show you back to Ali.”

“Stay away from me!” I swipe the metal rod in front of me.

Mr. Neely holds out his arm, motioning for the others to stay back.

I lash the iron through the air, again and again, as I work my way to the door.

Stumbling down the front steps, I drop the branding iron.

I jump to my feet, ready to fight, but they just stand there in the doorway, like I’m some kind of curiosity.

“But, Ian…” Mrs. Neely says.