“New Zion,” Sister Ruth announced, no emotion in her voice.

I swallowed hard as I cast my gaze over as much of the sacred lands as possible. The plane began to turn, offering me a full view of the great commune. “It is so big,” I whispered, my eyes widening.

“Bigger than I could ever have imagined,” said Sister Ruth.

My hands began to shake on my lap. New Zion was huge. Our home in Puerto Rico comprised no more than ten acres. New Zion was vast . . . and it was completely secluded, out of the sight of prying eyes.

The perfect place for our people to exist well away from the outside world.

“Brother Stephen, do you want to see?” Sister Ruth asked. He kept his eyes forward and shook his head.

His lips were pursed and his eyes were narrowed. I looked back out of the window; the ground was approaching quickly. I guessed we were only minutes from landing.

I sat back in my seat and clasped my hands tightly together on my lap.

You can do this. You must.

The wheels of the plane suddenly hit the ground. The engines screamed as we began to slow.

We were here.

The gravel road crunched beneath the plane’s heavy tires, the sound filling the small cabin. I focused on keeping my fear at bay, but it seemed impossible. “I am scared,” I whispered. I shook my head, hating that I could not push that weakness away.

I felt Brother Stephen tense—I knew he felt guilty that I was here, in this position. Sister Ruth placed her hand on my shoulder and began straightening my veil and hair.

I watched her as she made sure I looked perfect—just what the prophet wanted. She sat back. “You really are beautiful, Harmony. He will not dispute Brother Ezrah’s claim, I am sure.”

I nodded, but all I felt was repulsion.

In Puerto Rico, I was never made to feel evil or devil-tainted by my guardians and our friends. And I knew that was not the norm. The scriptures we adhered to enforced the people’s fear of those branded a Cursed. Passage upon passage was written about the Cursed Sisters of Eve and their demonic allure. How they tempt innocent souls into their traps. Even worse were the chapters in Prophet David’s writings of how to rid them of that sin.

The physical tortures . . . the celestial joinings from the age of eight . . .

Cold shivers raced through my blood.

I knew here in New Zion I would be feared just as much as if the devil walked among our lands. I would be detested. Only when I married the prophet would I be given any mark of respect. If the prophet had thought this veil would protect me from the people’s judgment, he would be very much mistaken.

I would only stand out more.

The pilot entered the cabin and opened the plane doors. Humid air drifted in from outside. I heard the sound of vehicles rushing toward the plane. We had a few vehicles in Puerto Rico, but when I saw these ones stopping by the plane, I could see they were much bigger.

My pulse was hammering in my neck as the pilot let down the stairs. I heard the low murmur of voices, then footsteps jogging up to the cabin. A man appeared at the top, dressed all in black, holding a gun across his front. His assessing eyes roved over the small cabin, until they landed on me. I felt Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen tense.

The man, who I guessed was a disciple guard, smiled in my direction. His smile instantly made me feel as if I needed to bathe. His eyes lit up with excitement.

The guard quickly dropped his smile and addressed the people behind us. “I am Brother James. The front row will be leaving last. Everyone else must leave now. You will be taken to your new quarters and assigned your duties.”

The people did not need to be asked twice. They gathered their belongings and quickly disembarked. Our commune’s own disciple guards, Solomon and Samson, spoke to Brother James, and he issued them separate orders. They fit in perfectly next to the New Zion guards. They appeared physically menacing and lethal—exactly how the old prophet liked his harshest disciplinarians to look. Looking at Brother James, I was convinced that Prophet Cain was no different.

I stayed completely still, until the plane was empty. The guard flicked his chin. “Follow me.”

I stood on trembling legs and straightened my dress. Brother Stephen led the way, dressed in his best tunic, his black hair cropped and smart. I followed. Sister Ruth, dressed in her finest long gray dress and white headdress, brought up the rear.

The air became stickier and hotter the closer we got to the door. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw a large black vehicle at the bottom. Four guards waited in front of it . . . all with their eyes fixed on me.

I ducked my head and made my way down the stairs.

When I reached the hot asphalt, I glanced up at the guards. “It is true, there is another Cursed,” one said, excitement flashing across his face. “The prophecy will be realized.”

I could feel the building excitement pulsing from the men in waves. Brother James gestured for the other men to move aside. He opened the door of the vehicle and ordered, “Get in.”

Brother Stephen, Sister Ruth and I climbed in. Brother James got into the driver’s seat. I turned my attention to the window to escape the scrutiny of the guard, who was staring at me in the mirror.

We traveled down a gravel road, lush green trees blurring past. Everyone in the vehicle was silent. It seemed as if we had been in it for an eternity before we stopped outside a block of stone buildings.

We were led into a small stone building set to the left of a longer gray one. As we entered, two men, dressed in black, rose from their seats behind a table. Immediately, their eyes focused on me.

My stomach lurched when I recognized that they were in charge. They were the men closest to the prophet. The darker of the two stepped forward and spoke to Brother Stephen. “You are the brother who lived with her?”

“Yes, sir,” Brother Stephen replied. “And so did Sister Ruth.”

The guard raised his eyebrows. “But neither of you declared that you had a Cursed in your commune? You kept it from the prophet? You ignored a direct order to turn over any potential devil-whores to New Zion for inspection?”

“We did not suspect Sister Harmony of being a Cursed,” Brother Stephen explained.

The guard pushed past Brother Stephen and unclipped the veil from my face. The humid air kissed my bare cheeks, and I felt them pale as the disciple guard’s eyes drank me in. He pushed the headdress from my hair, the blond, waist-length strands cascading down my back. The guard stepped away, his head tilted to the side.