The constant thump of hammers fills the morning air. The piles of pallets and firewood stand ready at the center of the clearing, and construction is almost finished on the pavilions on each side of the pyre.

Tony strides over, a steaming thermos in his hand. “Want some?”

“No thanks.” I keep my arms crossed and watch the finishing touches go up—crosses on the front of each pavilion, chairs and benches arranged in neat rows on the wooden floors, plenty of room for the Heavenly multitude. For a moment, I wonder if I can douse the whole place with gas so that they go up right along with the bonfire. Then again, despite their misplaced faith, most of the churchgoers don’t deserve that fate. I turn my gaze toward the most ornate of all the structures. Now, there’s a good spot to dump lighter fluid. The Prophet and all his top minions will be gathered there. I scowl. Delilah will be there, too. And Noah. And, if my father is feeling particularly cruel, my mother. It would seem like the perfect opportunity to strike, but my father will be surrounded by Protectors and goons. He won’t leave my mother unattended. If I go anywhere near her, things will get dicey.

“Sir?” Tony furrows his brow. He’s been talking, apparently.

“What?”

“I was just saying that everything is fixing to be ready. And I can make sure it’s all done. If you, you know, have more important things to do, then I can—”

“Trying to get rid of me, Tony?”

He takes a step back. “No-no, sir. I was just—”

“Calm down. I was kidding.”

He doesn’t calm. I find it gratifying that plenty of the Heavenly faithful seem to fear me far more than my father. “I’ll head out. Call me if there’s any trouble.”

“Will do.” He tries on a strained smile.

I turn and head back to my car, then drive the narrow lane toward the main buildings. I know the road by heart, could drive it blindfolded by this point. My thoughts return to Delilah. I won’t get to see her alone tonight. The Spinners will prepare each Maiden for the bonfire. They must look good for all the prospective buyers, after all. My grip tightens on the wheel as I think of Delilah being dangled in front of the predators coming to sample the Prophet’s wares.

The vain hope that I can keep her away from them can’t even flicker to life in my chest. She’s a part of my father’s game. Just like I am. We’re damned, all of us. The thought stings me like a thousand hornets burrowing into my skull.

I ease to a stop and finally pay attention to the landscape. No longer on the main road, I’ve turned off and driven to the one sunny spot on this entire cursed compound. A small rise, one you’d miss for the trees growing up around it.

I didn’t intend to come here.

Putting the car into park, I get out and walk through the undergrowth, my shoes scuffing the bed of pine needles as I climb. When I exit the woods, the sun warms the top of my head and the tall grass, gray with winter, brushes against my legs.

A small mound is the only sign that an angel lies buried beneath the Alabama dirt. I sink to my knees next to my Faith and close my eyes. Her sweet smile flashes through my mind—chubby cheeks, dark eyes, a patch of strawberry blonde hair on her head.

“Remember when you walked to me?” I can see her, unsure feet and a look of determination on her face. She wobbles back and forth, then takes a step and falls into my arms. Grace cheers and leans down to give Faith a kiss on her fuzzy crown.

The memory disintegrates. It fades, washing away, becoming nothing—just like my perfect Faith.

“She’s sick. She needs a doctor.” I cradle Faith close to my chest as she struggles to draw breath.

“You break my commandment and sully a Maiden, then want me to go against God’s will and let you take the bastard child to a doctor?” My father scowls.

“She’s sick!” I lower my voice when Faith starts to cry. “I have to get her to a doctor.”

“If she’s sick, it’s God’s will.”

“Grace.” I turn to her, our child in my arms. “We can’t keep her here. She’ll die.”

She looks at me, eyes wide, then back at my father. “I—”

“Grace, listen to me. If you take that child from the compound, your soul will rot in eternal torment for going against the will of God. Heavenly’s gates will be closed to you. You’ve already sinned against me by fornicating with Adam. Don’t make it worse.”

“Grace.” I try to wrench her attention away from him, but she wouldn’t look at me. At us.

“This is God’s will.” My father slams his hand onto his desk. “And you will not circumvent it!”

“Grace, please.”

“The Prophet is right.” She finally turns toward me, her eyes hard despite the tears running from them. “If Faith dies, then it’s His will.”

I take a few steps backwards. “I’m taking her. She’s not going to die here because of your crazy bullshit.”

My father waves a hand.

Something cracks against the back of my skull. I can’t see. Then I’m falling. Faith. Where is my Faith?

“I want to hold you.” A blast of chilly air whips through the woods, the trees groaning and swaying. “Like I did when you were first born, like I did when we would play peekaboo, or when I’d rock you to sleep. I held you when you were sick, too. I held you all the time, remember? I couldn’t bear to put you down. Not even at the end, when you closed your eyes and snuggled against me. Your sweet breaths growing slower and slower. You stopped struggling. Because your tiny body was so tired, sweet girl. And I knew I had to let you go.” I clench my eyes shut and remember the locked door, the room in the basement of my father’s house, my wails of agony that went unanswered.

I let the pain hit me again, the loss, the anger. “That was my father’s one kindness, letting me hold you as you drifted away, back to whatever sweet heaven you came from. I didn’t deserve you. And I failed you.” I press my hand to the grassy mound as the sun hides behind a cloud. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t cry. Not because I’m tough. When it comes to Faith, I’m not. But I save up all my pain, my loss, my anger, and I direct it into something so much darker. My vengeance is like a storm that forms slowly, the hot earth sending energy into the air as I boil and bubble and grow into a black anvil that will rain hell down on my enemies. My time is coming. “Our time, sweet angel. It’s almost here.”

Leaning down, I kiss the ground that’s covered my sleeping Faith for the past four years. I don’t have to tell her I love her. She’ll know when the Prophet’s blood covers my hands.