Training the next day comes with a new set of lessons. Ones that—even though I knew what the Cloister was—never occurred to me.

“Some men—” The Spinner walks back and forth in front of the group, a plastic sheet crackling under her feet. Her hands are clasped behind her back, the knuckles turning white. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s nervous, perhaps uncomfortable. She clears her throat. “Some men prefer what is referred to as ‘water sports.’”

Half the maidens groan; the other half has no idea what she means. Now the plastic sheet makes sense. Jesus.

“In particular, the current governor of Tennessee, who is married to one of our former Maidens, is very much into this particular practice. It’s far more common among powerful men than you’d think.” She can’t seem to stop clearing her throat. “So, this is something that we need to add to our curriculum.”

“You want us to get peed on?” Susannah blurts.

“Susannah!” The Spinner stomps her foot on the plastic-covered wood floor, which makes only a dull thump noise. “You need to be in perfect obedience to your husband at all times. If this is what he requires, you must do it.”

“But what if I don’t?” Susannah adds sass to her tone.

I look around and, thankfully, the Head Spinner isn’t in the room. If she were, Susannah would already be yanked up and taking a beating.

The teaching Spinner turns red, her round cheeks seeming to expand. “If you aren’t in perfect obedience to your husband, you will get cancer, you will lose your ability to bear children, you will get fat, and your children will sicken and die. Any number of horrible outcomes can be thwarted if you are in perfect obedience to your husband.” She shakes her head in an attempt at motherly disapproval. “Being in harmony with your husband and obeying him in all things are the keys to living a happy, healthy life. And, as the Prophet teaches, the only way to enter His heavenly Kingdom.”

Susannah opens her mouth to speak again, but Sarah pinches her.

The Spinner, emboldened, continues, “Now. We are going to have a demonstration. Do I have two volunteers?”

No one says a word or so much as blinks.

The Spinner scowls and points to me. “Delilah, let’s have you. And Eve, you too.”

My stomach turns—though I’d thought there was nothing left in it after this morning’s colonic. I try the first thing that comes to mind. “I can’t. I don’t have to pee right now.”

The Spinner smiles. “Then you can be the receiver.”

Shit.

Eve stands and walks over to the Spinner. She’s already lost weight. And she has two black eyes instead of one now.

I don’t want to do this. But I have no choice. This Spinner is only forgiving to a degree, and Susannah’s backtalk has already pushed her closer to the boiling point. As if to demonstrate my thought, the Spinner reaches for her black baton.

“Okay.” I rise and walk over.

“Good.” Her fingers stop their flirtation with the weapon. “Delilah, lie on the floor. I want you on your back. We’ve found that men who enjoy this type of thing often like to be the receiver rather than the giver. This means that each of you need to be able to go on command. Eve, this will be your turn.”

I sink onto the piece of clear plastic and lie down, my gut churning and my gorge already threatening to rise.

“Now, Eve, I want you to stand over her. Straddle her, feet on either side of her elbows.”

I close my eyes as Eve follows the instructions, her shadow falling across my face as she stands over me.

The plastic crackles as the Spinner steps back. “Whenever you’re ready, just let it go. Now, girls, keep in mind that sometimes, they would like you to do this in their mouths or perhaps directly onto their genitals. God created each man different, but we are bound to obey them in accordance with Scripture…”

She continues prattling on about pleasing men as I wait for the warm humiliation to fall on my chest. My throat tries to rebel and force me to gag, but I don’t. I lie still, hoping Eve is dehydrated.

After a few more minutes where the Spinner has to have said “perfect obedience” a dozen times, she snaps her attention back to us. “Eve!”

“I-I can’t.”

I open my eyes.

Eve shrugs. “I thought I could go, but I can’t.”

“You must.” The Spinner reaches for her baton, pulling it from her belt with wicked efficiency.

“I can’t.” Eve’s voice fades to a whimper.

“Eve, it’s okay.” I can’t believe what I’m saying, but I say it anyway. “Really. Just do it. I can take it.”

Her eyes water as she looks down at me. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Eve.” The Spinner steps closer, her baton at the ready. “Do it.”

“I’ll do it.” One of the other Maidens, Mary, speaks up. I’ve never spoken to her, never had a reason to.

But when she stands, her red hair flowing over her shoulders and a placid smile on her face, I recoil.

“If the Prophet requires us to perform these tasks to walk more closely with the Lord, then I am happy to do it.”

“Jeez,” Sarah says under her breath.

“I’ll deal with you later.” The Spinner pushes Eve away from me and motions for Mary to come over.

Mary stands above me, taking Eve’s position. I try to look into her eyes, but she stares straight ahead, not the least bit concerned that she’s naked, I’m naked, and she’s about to pee all over me.

“Good, now do what the Prophet has commanded.”

“With pleasure.” Mary smiles, and I realize she isn’t acting. She’s a true believer.

I clench my eyes shut, but hear my name on a familiar tongue.

“Delilah!” The Head Spinner calls.

“Wait.” The teaching Spinner puts a hand on Mary. “What can I do for you, Grace?”

“I need to see Delilah.” Her tone could cut ice. “Now.”

The Spinner sighs heavily, then snaps her fingers. “Mary, move. Up, Delilah.”

Mary steps away, and I scramble to my feet. For the first time since I’ve been here, I feel the urge to thank the Head Spinner. That urge dies when I see the tempest raging in her eyes.

I grab my dress from the hooks by the door and pull it on.

“Come.” She’s already walking away as my head emerges through the fabric.

I hurry to keep up with her rapid pace. We pass the dining hall, the kitchen, and then she turns down a corridor I’ve never visited. At a set of double doors, she enters a code on a digital keypad. The doors swing open silently. Her swishing black skirt almost brushes the shining wood floors as we pass some closed doors, then come to the end of the hallway.

She enters another key code and opens a heavy wooden door. Pushing inside, she walks around a dark mahogany desk and sits down in a plush leather chair.

“Close the door and sit.” She leans back and threads her fingers together.

I close the door and try not to gawk at the nice furniture, thickly-paneled walls, chic lighting, and the elaborate video display at her back. A dozen screens show various views of the Cloister; some of them frozen on one view, while a handful of the screens cycle through live images of the dormitory rooms. I notice my room is on a stationery screen in the very center.

“I said sit.”

Her voice spurs me to the nearest chair. She stays silent for an increasingly uncomfortable length of time. I don’t meet her gaze, mainly because I assume she’d take it as impertinence. From the way she’d pulled me out of training, I can already guess I’m in trouble. Again. My stomach churns and pressure rises in my throat. Being here like this is a million times worse than the one time I was called to the principal’s office in high school. Likely because in high school, they weren’t allowed to tie you to a torture cross and leave scars.

I fidget in my chair and want to look at the screens again, maybe get an idea of where all the cameras are so I can pass that information to Sarah. She’s hell-bent on escape, and I’ll help her if I can. Maybe she can start over out there, be free from this place.

“I can’t figure it out.” Her voice cuts through my thoughts of freedom with the sharp, metallic clang of incarceration.

I glance up. “What is that, ma’am?”

She peers at my face, searching each curve and line, before finally focusing on my eyes. “Why you?”

I assume she’ll explain, likely with painful detail, so I stay silent. After a few moments, she opens her desk drawer and pulls out something shiny, then sets it on the mahogany surface. “What happened here?”

Leaning forward, I see it’s a shard from my mirror, the blood no longer crimson but a dried brown. “I … don’t know.”

Her eyes narrow. “What did you say to Adam to make him do this?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t make him do anythi—”

“Liar!” The word lashes out like a whip.

I jump at her sudden fury, but hate myself for doing it.

“Tell me the truth.” She taps a short fingernail on the shard. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I touched him. I saw him. I felt how broken he was.

Her lips thin even more, growing paler. I realize she must have been beautiful only a few years earlier. Could still be beautiful now, except for the twisted heart that shudders along inside her.

“Allow me to disabuse you of any notions you may have about Adam.” She rises and pulls her baton free.

“I don’t have any notions.” I keep my back straight, though fear turns my thoughts to a TV screen full of snow.

“Wrong. You’re lying again.” She walks around the desk and points to its smooth, perfect surface. “Put your hand here.”

I don’t move. “Adam said if you punished me for—”

A burst of sparks explodes in my vision, and I’m not sure what happened. I slump back in my chair and put one hand to my aching ear. My fingers come away wet. She hit me there, busting my ear open.

“Hand on the desk, Delilah, or the next time I’ll break your nose.”

Shaking, I put my hand on her desk, the smooth surface cold against my bloodied fingers.

She uses her baton to separate my pinkie finger from the rest. “What happened between you? I want every word he said to you.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Liar!”

I flinch as she raises the baton.

“One more chance to tell me the truth.”

Tears leak down my cheeks even though I try not to cry. I shake my head.

Crack. I scream as she brings the baton down hard. Yanking my hand away, agony radiates from my knuckle throughout my hand and up my arm. I can’t look at my finger. I don’t have to; I know it’s broken.

She hurries around her desk and fiddles with a remote beneath the TV screens. I can barely see her through the tears that well.

“This,” she hisses. “Tell me about this!” She points her baton at the screen where the camera in my room captured a slice of my back against the bathroom doorjamb, Adam’s hand barely visible on my ass. “You think I don’t know what sort of harlot you are? Is that it?” She hurries back around the desk. “Put your hand out.”

I shake my head and cross my arms over my stomach, tucking my injured hand away from her.

“I said, put your hand out!” She yanks at my elbow, trying to drag my arm free.

I lean away from her and duck my head as she digs her nails into me, a wild animal looking for my tenderest parts.

A bell rings.

Thunk. The baton lands on my shoulder, and the pain surprises me into an even louder scream. She must’ve swung with every bit of strength she had.

My mind short circuits, my mission erased, and I’m left with the bare need to survive. Escape. I have to escape. I’ll take the baton from her and run for it. I steel myself for the assault. Georgia. I snap back to myself. I can’t run. I won’t.

A bell rings again.

She backs away, her animal fury receding.

I peek at her through my hair. She smooths her skirt and tucks a stray hair back into her black habit. Taking a deep breath, she adopts a placid expression, then presses a button under the edge of her desk.

The air in the room shifts and a slight creak from the door opening keys me up to run.

“I heard screams.” Abigail’s voice comes from behind me. “Wanted to make sure everything is all right.”

“We’re fine.” The edge to the Head Spinner’s voice cuts me down even further. “You shouldn’t have interrupted.”

I turn and catch Abigail’s gaze, silently pleading with her to get me out of here.

She folds her hands in front of her skirt. “I think she’s had enough.”

“You don’t tell me when anyone has had enough. I make that decision.”

I crumble inside and wait for Abigail to obey. To my amazement, she doesn’t budge.

“The Prophet has his limits. Even for you. He has twelve girls to help him do God’s will. If you take one away or make her unable to fulfill his wishes, he won’t appreciate it.”

“Don’t you threaten me with the Prophet.” Her eyes narrow and she runs her baton along her palm. “He put me in charge. I’m Head Spinner. You are nothing but a used up old hag. The Prophet was too kind to turn you away, so he sent you here, to be a burden on the rest of us. I have half a mind to ask him to send you somewhere else. Maybe the Rectory.”

“Oh, you could send me there.” Abigail steps closer, and I’m distinctly aware of danger on all sides. “You surely could. But when I got out, I’d come right back here to you. And there would be nothing on heaven or earth that could stop me from repaying you in kind.” She moves closer, her voice steady. “Now, you either let that girl come with me, and we forget this foolishness, or I inform the Prophet about your late-night jaunts.”

The Head Spinners gasps. “What?”

“You heard me.” Abigail reaches me and places a hand on my shoulder.

I whimper from the ache but don’t dare complain.

“Get on up, Delilah. We’re going.”

Grace braces herself with one hand on the desk. “How did you know about—”

“There’s plenty I know.” Abigail helps me up. “Plenty. And a trip to the Rectory would be the quickest way to loosen my tongue.”

I edge away from Grace, refusing to turn my back on her. She switches her focus from Abigail to me, and I can feel the fury oozing from her like crude from a ruptured tanker. This isn’t over. She doesn’t have to say the words—I can feel them deep in my gut.

Once we’ve made it to the hallway, Abigail pulls the door closed. I’m finally able to breathe again. If I’d gone another moment with Grace, I’d have made a mistake. Tried to escape. But that’s what animals do when they’re caught in a snare.

Abigail hurries me out into the main corridor and toward the dorms. Everyone else is still in the training room. A strangled laugh erupts from my throat.

Abigail arches a brow at me.

“It’s just.” I wince as my finger twinges. “I thought ‘at least I didn’t get pissed on.’”

“You’d have been better off. What did she do other than the ear and the finger?” She pushes me through to the dormitory and then into my bedroom.

“She hit me in the shoulder, but I think it’s just bruised.”

“Sit and strip.” She points to my bed, then disappears out my door.

I sink down and glance up at the camera. She’s watching. I can feel it. At least there’s no sound. That’s one thing I discovered in her office of horrors. None of the live feeds had audio. With effort, I pull my dress over my head, being as careful as possible not to aggravate my finger. It’s already swollen to twice its size, the skin tight like a sausage casing. I rock back and forth—anything to distract from the mounting pain in my hand.

Abigail returns with a black bag and hastens to the bed. “Let me see the finger first.”

I hold it out. “It doesn’t look crooked. Maybe she didn’t break it?”

A strand of iron-gray hair falls against her temple. “It’s broken all right. And she managed to bust the blood vessels under your nail.” She digs in her bag and retrieves a needle.

“What are you going to—”

She guides my hand to the nightstand and flattens it. It’s so similar to what Grace did that I gag. “Hold still.” Pressing the needle to the base of my fingernail, right above the cuticle, she applies pressure.

I can take it at first, but as she pushes harder, the pain switches to white hot agony.

“Almost got it.” She grips my wrist, holding me steady.

“Please, it hurts.” Tears stream down my face.

“There.” She pulls the needle away and blood spurts in a thin jet, marring the bedspread and leaking down the sides of my finger.

I stay still and let out my breath. It’s working. The pressure is still agonizing but somehow more bearable.

“You don’t want to lose the fingernail.” She sits back and digs in the black leather bag again. “The Prophet wouldn’t like that. It’d grow back, but you’d have to wear gloves until it did. That would lead to questions, and could even get you sent to the Chapel before you’ve had a chance to prove yourself.”

“What’s the Chapel?”

She stuffs some gauze around my finger to soak up the blood that’s still running from the tiny hole in my nail. “Never you mind about that.” Laboring to her feet, she leans over and peruses my shoulder. “Going to have a mighty bruise here.” Her warm fingertips probe the area. “But nothing broken.” She pushes my hair behind my ear. “The ear bled something terrible, but it’s not that bad. Won’t even need a stitch. Once the finger is bled out, I’ll do you up a splint.” She sets about to cleaning my ear.

In the silence between us, something grows inside me. Nerve. The need to push, and more importantly, to know what was going on. But I have to play it just right.

I keep my voice soft. “I still don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” She dabs alcohol on my ear, and I grit my teeth. “Well,” she huffs, “Other than getting Adam as your Protector. That’s where you went wrong, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” I press down on my injured fingertip, oddly gratified when more blood oozes free. I cast my line out a little further and wriggle the bait. “I didn’t know they were together.”

“Together? No.” She shakes her head. “Spinners aren’t allowed to be in a relationship with anyone other than our mighty Prophet. And why would you want to be?” She dabs at my ear. “Other men are fallen. The Prophet is the only man I ever desire to be in perfect obedience to.”

I shrug. “It just seemed like, from her questions, maybe she was jealous? But I guess that can’t be it.”

“That’s it, all right.” She returns to my finger, cleaning up the blood and peering at the knuckle. “I’ll clean it a little more, then do the splint.” She walks me to the bathroom and runs my finger under the tap. The cold water is a revelation and a hell, all at the same time. Once the blood has slowed to an intermittent trickle, she leads me back to the bed and has me hold my finger out as best I can while she wraps it with gauze. “Fingers heal fast. That’s the good news.”

I need to get her back on topic. On Grace or Adam, or anything that will clue me in about what’s really going on.

“I don’t think I said thank you.” I hiss as the gauze touches my knuckle. “So, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

“More of this.” She scowls at my broken finger. “That’s what. Grace gets out of control when it comes to Adam. She can’t see straight. So much of the time she—” She stops herself and shakes her head, as if an internal scolding is going on, then continues her work in silence.

“I won’t repeat any of what I heard, you know.” I stare down at her gray hair as she wraps the splint. “Not a word.”

“You shouldn’t have heard any of that.”

“I suppose a lot of things go on here that I don’t know about.” I teeter out onto a limb. “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of stuff over the years. Lots of Maidens.”

She chuckles. “I’ve seen them all. Remember each one. Well, most of them. Some from the earlier years are getting fuzzy in my old brain, I’ll admit.”

A sizzle of excitement rushes through me. Georgia. She must remember Georgia. Her sparkle had always been unforgettable. But how to ask?

“Did you have any favorites?”

“Favorite Maidens?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like to play favorites.” She finishes with the splint.

“Surely, some of the girls must make a lasting impression?”

She glances up, a furrow forming between her bushy gray brows. “What do you mean?”

Shit. I have to back off, even though it hurts me far deeper than anything Grace did to me. I shake my head and twitter, “Oh, I’m just talking to try and get my mind off the pain.”

“I don’t blame you. Grace really did a number on this finger.” She stuffs her supplies back into her bag. “She just needs to let him go. That’s all there is to it. That’s when this madness will stop.” She gestures to my hand as she rises.

My mind shorts out, then returns to focus in on her words. “Wait, so Grace and Adam were together?”

“Together? No.” She hefts the black bag up to her thick shoulder. “She was his first Maiden.”