“Best behavior.” Grace walks down the line of Maidens, baton in her hand. “What does that mean to you?” She stops just ahead of me and tilts Eve’s chin up with her baton. “Answer, Maiden.”

“Only speak when spoken to.” Her small voice trembles. “Don’t embarrass the Prophet. And, um—”

“And,” Grace broaches.

“Protect my Maidenhood.”

“Correct.” Grace continues past me, her eyes red-rimmed. I could swear she’s been crying, but that doesn’t quite square with what I know about the Head Spinner. My fingers flex instinctively, the small one on my right hand aching where she broke it. Abigail hasn’t bothered to replace the splint since my time in the Rectory, but says it should heal straight on its own.

“Tonight, you must shine for the Prophet. I don’t feel that I need to explain what will happen to you if you don’t. But I will, anyway.” She stops next to Mary and runs her fingers along the silver necklace at the girl’s throat. “These trinkets will sting if you get out of line, but they’ll be nothing compared to the pain you’ll suffer in the Rectory.” She walks back down the row, slowly now, as if savoring every wince on our faces. “The few of you who’ve been there know what happens behind those walls.” She stops next to me, her gaze cold. “Did you enjoy your stay, Delilah?”

I shake my head and ignore the phantom drip of water on my forehead. “No,” my voice barely makes it past my lips.

“I didn’t think so.” She smiles. “But look at you now. Made holy in the sight of the Prophet.”

I’m wearing a revealing white dress, the top dipping low between my breasts, and the hem barely covering my ass. At least they gave us white thongs to wear beneath them. With no bras, our tops are practically see-through. Dressed alike and each of us with makeup and overdone hair, we look the farthest thing from holy. I suppose the white hooker heels we’re wearing lift us closer to heaven.

“Chastity,” she barks, her eyes still on me. “Bring the robes.”

Chastity emerges from the hallway, several white robes over her arm. More Spinners walk in, some with veils. They dress each of us, and I sigh with relief once I’m covered with the opaque fabric that buttons tightly at the neck and falls all the way to my ankles. The lacy veil gives me just enough vision and the fleeting feeling that I’m hidden. The clothes are uncomfortable, but at least I don’t feel so exposed.

“We’re ready.” Grace finally leaves my side and heads to the front of the line. “Let’s go.”

The bus ride through the compound is a blur as Eve huddles next to me, her wide eyes holding more fear than I’ve ever seen. Perhaps she’s mirroring me. The same worry that consumes her gnaws at my gut, too. A million questions flit through my mind about what’s going to happen tonight. But no one will answer them for me. Instead, I focus on the few things I can control. Getting to Chastity is at the top of my list. She knows about Georgia and may be the key to me finding the killer. I won’t be distracted from my primary mission again. Georgia is the only constant in my life—but that’s the way it’s always been.

“Girls!” My thoughts are derailed when the bus stops and Grace stands at the front. “Remember, best behavior.”

We nod, and she turns and steps off the bus. Chastity waves for the rest of us to follow.

“I don’t think I can.” Eve’s voice trembles at my ear. “I can’t. I can’t.”

I take Eve’s cold hand in mine, our touch hidden by the thick fabric of our robes. “You can.”

“No.” Tears roll down her cheeks, mascara streaking like the roots of a black tree.

The Maidens ahead of us stand and move down the aisle.

“Eve, you must.” I grip her hand tighter and pull her to her feet.

“I just want to go back to my room. Just leave me there.” Her pleading rips at my heart, but there’s nothing I can do.

“We have to move, Eve. I’ll stay close to you for as long as I can, but we can’t stay here.”

“No.” She yanks my hand with surprising strength. “I won’t.”

The aisle is cleared out, and we’re the only ones left. A Spinner stands at the front of the bus, her focus on us. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Eve, please,” I hiss.

“I can’t.” The fracture in her voice matches the one in her mind. Gone is the girl who tried to escape, who fought for her freedom.

“Eve—” I’m cut off by a vicious sting at my throat, and Eve yelps.

The Spinner at the head of the bus motions, one of the control fobs in her hand. “There’s more where that came from if you don’t get moving.”

I instinctively reach for the necklace, but it stings again. Clenching my eyes shut against the pain, I pull Eve along with me. She’s full-on crying now, her fear coming out in heaving sobs.

“Stop your whimpering.” The Spinner holds up the silver remote with several buttons, each one with a name beside it. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

I turn and face Eve. “We have to do this. Nothing bad will happen to us in front of the Heavenly crowd, okay? The Prophet just wants to show us off. That’s all. Nothing bad will happen, okay?”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head.

“Maiden.” The Spinner’s warning tone raises the hackles on my neck, but I ignore her and focus on Eve.

“You can.” I lift Eve’s veil, turn my sleeve inside out, and use it to wipe her face clean. “We’ll do it together. Come on. We have to go.” Once the mascara streaks are gone, I lead her down the steps and out into the cold night, fully expecting another stinging blast from the cross around my neck, but none comes. The Spinner is probably just glad to be rid of us.

“Let’s go.” I keep hold of Eve’s hand as we hurry to catch up to the line of Maidens. Our heels are loud on the black pavement, and we pass several cars parked along both sides of the narrow road. Glancing back, I find the Spinner at our backs, remote control still in hand. Of course.

We fall in line with the other Maidens, the Spinners surrounding us on all sides. We’re a white column, moving slowly forward, scraping along the earth toward whatever murky fate the Prophet has in mind. Despite what I told Eve, I have no delusions that this night will come without peril.

A few churchgoers give us a wide berth as they hurry up the slight rise and join the swollen crowd that surrounds an enormous stack of wood. I gaze upward, trying to find the top of it against the inky night sky, but my eye can’t capture the pinnacle.

“Eyes down,” a Spinner hisses at my side.

I drop my gaze earthward and listen to the conversations going on around us. Most of them are planning their Christmas dinners or talking about relatives coming to visit—leading normal lives. Others discuss their intentions to move onto the compound and avoid the vile sinners of the world. I’d like to inform them that they are the sinners, but I don’t want to think about the shock I’d receive if I did so.

We file upward until the ground evens out and we step off onto a damp, grassy path. Large white tents are set up around the outer perimeter of the clearing, and two firetrucks are parked amongst the trees. We keep walking to a wide wooden pavilion. Twelve white chairs are set up along the front, with several rows of benches behind them. Tables are arranged farther back, and hundreds of people are already seated while others move in orderly lines toward the open spots. Children play chase, darting through the throng, their laughter a discordant scratch on my ears. I can’t tell if the women are just dressed for the cold, but the long skirts and complete absence of pants tells me that it isn’t a coincidence. The Prophet’s teaching has filtered through all the faithful, and the women are falling in line on their own or, more likely, being forced to. The sheer number of them wearing sunglasses at night is a good indicator.

I should be shocked at how easy it is for the Prophet to control thousands of people with nothing more than words. But I’m not. After all, he controls me too.

We’re led to our chairs. The cold wood sends a shiver up my spine, the thick fabric of the robe doing nothing to stop the chill. Eve trembles beside me and keeps her head down, the veil hiding her from view. I peek up at the small stage set at the front of the pavilion. The Prophet’s perch, no doubt. Other pavilions decorated with Christmas swags circle the huge wooden tower, each of them already filled to capacity with congregants spilling out the sides. The Heavenly Police force creates a wide perimeter around the center, guiding wayward children away from the structure whenever they venture too close. Even the little girls seem to be wearing long dresses, no pants to fight the lurking cold of this starless night.

I tuck my hands into my sleeves and close my eyes. Georgia appears again. Whole this time, young and beautiful—the way she’ll always be in my memory.

Georgia flops down onto my bed and yelps.

“What?” I sit at my computer desk and try to write a paper on criminal psychology.

“How do you sleep on this?” She smacks the mattress.

I shrug. “I like it.”

She lays on her back, her gold hair spilling across my rumpled bedspread. “It’s torture.”

“It’s better than what I have at home.”

“Oh.” She reaches out and grabs my elbow, a look of sincere concern on her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say—”

“No, it’s okay.” I don’t like talking about what life is like back at my mom’s house. Not anymore. The drugs have made visits unbearable. She’d sold my bedroom set, so whenever I’d go for the weekend, I’d sleep on the same lumpy couch we’d had since I was five.

“Really.” She squeezes my arm. “You know I love you.”

“Of course.” I give up on my paper and plop down next to her, both of us staring at the water stains on the ceiling. “I’m just glad you came to visit.”

“Me too. Are you going with me to Heavenly in the morning?”

“Hell no.” I crinkle my nose at the thought.

“Why not?” She smacks my arm.

“I don’t believe in any of that. And the Prophet creeps me out.”

She smacks me harder. “You’re going to hell for that.”

I laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Don’t you think he’s handsome? A total silver fox.” Her voice goes dreamy. “And you can just tell he talks to God.”

“No one talks to God.”

“He does.”

“No, he probably just talks to himself. He definitely thinks he’s a god.”

She giggles. “Blasphemy.”

“Pfft. He’s just a man, like any other man. Don’t fall for that nonsense.”

“I’m not falling for anything.” She shrugs. “I believe. You have to have faith, you know?”

“I do have faith. In me. In you. And that’s about it.”

She sighs. “Well, as long as you believe in me, I guess that’s okay.”

“Thanks for the permission. And I’m beginning to suspect you only come visit me so you can see your silver fox prophet.”

“What?” She waves a delicate hand in the air, swatting the idea away like it’s a gnat. “Of course not! I also come so I can compare Alabama parties versus LSU parties.”

I snort. “You’re such a bitch.”

She laughs, the strength of it shaking the bed and loosening my tightly-bound soul. “I know. But you still love me.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, what’s the verdict? Which parties do you like better?”

“Alabama is fun and all, but I prefer LSU.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I think the booze is better somehow?”

“Bad girl.” I’m not much for parties. Really, I only go whenever Georgia is in town. Even then, I stick to the wall, religiously guarding my drink and hers the entire time while she dances and flirts.

“Not bad enough.” She sighs. “I still have the v-card.”

“You better still have it.” I elbow her. “That’s a definite phone call sort of thing.”

“I couldn’t just text you about it?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Texting is like breathing for you. You text me when you sneeze or when you see a butterfly or when you’re on the can. No—news like that deserves a phone call.”

“Having to call someone on the phone is enough of a deterrent that I’ll never want to lose my virginity. What about you?”

I wriggle away from her. “What about me? I’m not allergic to talking on the phone like you are.”

“You know what I mean.” She rolls over so she’s lying half on top of me, her Bath and Body Works scent as familiar as my own reflection. “Have you met the right guy yet?”

“Get off.” I playfully shove her aside, and we settle down next to each other again, the afternoon sun striping through my blinds. “And no. I don’t have time for guys. Double majoring in criminology and psychology doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“You have time for me.” She twines her pinky finger with mine.

“Always. That’s what sisters are for, right?”