The Last Harvest(71)

“So there’s hope for Ali.” I clear my throat. “You can save her.”

She lets out a gentle sigh, twisting her hair back into the knot. “You’re too good, Clay.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I think the Devil underestimated your resolve, but together, we can finish this.”

“How?”

“The exorcism. I’ll return on Saturday to assist the priests that evening at the breeding barn.”

“Shouldn’t they do it somewhere holy? A place of God?” I ask.

“We need to hit the Devil where he lives.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I say. “I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I had no right and I’m—”

“I’m sorry I gave you reason to doubt. This has been hard for me, too.”

I can’t even imagine how this might be affecting her. It’s probably like déjà vu with Mexico City. Losing her parents like that.

“What can I do to help?”

“There’s still time. You can watch over Ali, protect her.”

“But how can I protect her when I can’t even be around her without…”

“Without what?” she presses.

“When I’m around her … I feel like I can’t control myself,” I say, dragging my fingers through my hair. “And it’s only getting worse.”

“Then stop trying.”

“What?” My muscles tense. “How can you say that after everything I’ve told you?”

“She’s still Ali. The girl that you love. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. Something catastrophic is going on here. I will do my absolute best to save her, but we have no idea how this will end … how much time we have left on God’s good earth. Or if she’ll even make it out of the exorcism. You saw what happened to my parents. It’s a natural human instinct to want to be close to the ones we love. God won’t judge you for that.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Then promise me something,” she says, her tone determined and serious. “As soon as Ali’s free of this … clean … don’t waste another moment. If I bring her back to you, tell her you love her, that you can’t live without her. Give yourself to her before it’s too late.”

“I promise,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my neck at the thought.

I don’t know what to do here … give her a hug, a peck on the cheek. Instead, I reach out and squeeze her hand.

“Godspeed,” I say.

She looks up at me with a surprised smile. “Yes, exactly. Godspeed.”

I’m opening the door to leave when she says, “Oh, and Clay? About the game. Win. I don’t want to come back to find they’ve sent a lynch mob after you.”

*

WHEN I go back for my truck, the Preservation Society is dark and the cars are gone. I turn on my phone to find a text from Ali.

Did you get lost? Haha. That rye was strong! I waited, but had to go home. Big game tomorrow. Hope you’re in bed having sweet dreams … about me.;) Night

Miss Granger’s right. Ali has no idea what’s happening to her. In a way, I’m glad. I hope she never has to know the horror of what our ancestors have done to us.





47

THE HOUSE is dark, darker than it should be at nine. Noodle’s not at the door waiting for me, which is odd.

As I slip off my boots, I hear whispering coming from the living room.

“Noodle?” I call out.

The whispering stops. There’s a long, uneasy pause.

“Hello,” I call again.

“She’s not here,” Mom answers in a low monotone.

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

I’m almost afraid to peek my head in the living room, afraid of what I might find. But Mom’s just sitting on the sofa, never once taking her eyes off the wall above the mantel … off the flies. They’re back and they’ve somehow doubled in number, as if out of spite.

“She said she was helping you.”

“Helping me?” I rack my brain, trying to figure out what she means, but Mom’s already glossed over.

“Noodle?” I call out as I go in the kitchen. It looks like all the food from the cabinet has been emptied onto the table next to the casserole dish. Potpie night.

Damn it. I forgot the groceries.

And then I remember last night. While we were eating pancakes, I told her she could help me with the harvest after school.

“The wheat,” I whisper, acid rising in my throat.

Racing out the door, I push through the crops, the cold air smacking against my lungs.

The combine. What if she tried to do it by herself … what if she hurt herself, or couldn’t figure out how to stop it and went all the way to Harmon Lake?

“Noodle,” I call out in a panic as the untilled wheat lashes against my arms.

There’s a momentary break in the cloud cover, the moon revealing the top of the combine about a hundred feet to the west. My legs pump harder.

When I reach the combine, the windows are all fogged up. I jerk the door open to find Noodle, curled up in the seat, clutching her fairy wand.

“I knew you’d come.” She rubs her eyes groggily.