Clare’s heart surged, then skipped a beat as a shot rang out.
A dark spot appeared on Eric’s chest that quickly began to spread in a stain down the front of his shirt. He glanced down, blinking at the hole boiling blood, then looked back up at Clare.
She couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body was locked tight. Slowly her eyes tracked to the right, where Margaret Parson stood holding a large revolver in a two-handed grip. She fired a second time, the gun bucking up, flame shooting from the muzzle.
Eric shook with the slug’s impact and he sat down, the pistol falling from his hands as a second blood blossom appeared on the lower right of his abdomen.
“No! Nonononono,” Clare wheezed. She rocked forward and tipped to the side, losing sight of him. But she couldn’t look anymore because her eyes were squeezed shut, and if she couldn’t see him it hadn’t happened, if she couldn’t see it wasn’t true.
Clare sobbed into the dirt, the rough ground jabbing at her tear-soaked face. She didn’t know how much time passed. Didn’t care. Eric was gone.
Hands grasped her shoulders and she tried resisting their touch, but they were insistent and brought her upright against the tree again. Abigail looked into her eyes, still holding her. “It’s time, Clare.”
Parson stood in front of the fire, framed by his family. They blocked her view of Eric’s body. Clare looked at Margaret, at all of them, sending as much hatred as she could through her gaze. “You’re all damned. If there’s a hell, you’ll burn in it. And I’ll be glad.”
“Your bitterness is temporary,” Rainier said, kneeling close once again. “You’ll have all of eternity to give your apologies. You’re a part of the circle bringing the light, and only unto death will you learn the truth.”
“You’re insane,” Clare said. “All of you.”
Abigail shrank back with the fierceness of her voice, but Rainier only shook his head. “Clare. Always the doubting Thomas. And just as the apostle Thomas required proof, so do you.” He leaned closer to her and she shrank away, but still his whispered words were clear. Clare listened, first incredulous, then mortified, and at last reeling internally—her mind like the firestorm that had scorched the ground she sat on now.
“You’re lying,” she managed.
Rainier brought the cup into view once again. “I am the way and the truth and the life.” He held out the cup to her, pushing it closer, and closer.
With a final pull, Clare yanked the knot free her fingers had continued working on since Abigail sat her upright again. The binding came loose and she brought her hands around and up, jamming the poison-filled cup into Rainier’s face.
He released a strangled squawk of surprise and fell back. Abigail reached for her and Clare raked her nails down the other woman’s face, shoving her away even as she gained her feet.
For the second time in her life, Clare turned her back on fire and fled into the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The woods met her as before, silent and welcoming.
This time Clare knew she was pursued by something more than horrific memories and ran full out, swiping blindly at branches and sticks attempting to block her progress.
Someone was coming after her, footsteps pounding out of sync with her own in the detritus. Whether it was Rainier or Abigail or someone else, she didn’t know. Had the poison been enough to disable Rainier? How far would they chase her? That question was answered easily enough as she thought about the lengths they’d gone to bring her back into striking distance, back into the circle.
A deadfall appeared before her and she slid beneath it rather than try climbing through its jutting branches. Something jabbed at her shoulder and she felt her skin tear. As she rose and hurried on she caught a hint of movement in the shadows behind her.
Clare angled right, aiming as well as she could in the direction of the Refuge’s access road. But would they be waiting there already? Would they have it blocked off and grab her as soon as she stepped out in the open? If so, they’d bring her back to the clearing beside the fire and make her drink a cup of that poison, and if what Rainier had told her was true she couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that because—
Stop it. He’s insane. They all are. He was lying to get her to do what he wanted. That was all they cared about, fulfilling the prophecy that should’ve died with her father.
In the distance came a shout, a man’s voice there and gone in the night before the report of a gun. Then another. What was happening back at the clearing? Another person cried out, a woman’s voice, high and keening, either in pain or sorrow.
The small ravine came out of nowhere. Clare had half a second to register she was going to fall, then she was dropping. Only three feet, but it was enough to slam the air from her and double her vision for a moment. The woods tilted, then leveled.
Hurried footsteps. She had to get up, had to move before—
“Stop running, Clare. You’re always running,” Abigail said. The other woman stood on the edge of the small drop looking down at her. “Aren’t you tired?”
Clare was lightheaded and nauseous, but she managed to speak. “Fuck you.”
Abigail stepped down beside her and Clare recoiled. Her cheek where Clare had scratched her was a mask of blood. “I’m helping you up.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“You don’t understand because you don’t believe, Clare. You never accepted what you perceived. Don’t you remember how the stars went away when we sang? The Ferryman did that. It was an offering of our faith and he accepted it.”
Clare groped in the darkness and found a solid length of wood buried in the long grass. She brought it up and half-heartedly swung it at her sister. Abigail leaned back, easily dodging it. “Leave me alone.”
“We can’t, Clare. Don’t you see that?” Rainier appeared out of the darkness, his voice the only thing giving identity to the darker shade beyond Abigail. “You, Abigail, and young Hector close the circle. You’re the last of Simon’s blood.”
Another cry came from the direction of the Refuge. “What’s happening back there?” Clare asked, trying to gauge which direction to move in.
“They’re fulfilling the sacrifice,” Rainier said, stepping closer. Something long and curved glinted in his hand. “And time is against us.” She could see only the vague outlines of his eyes, could feel the weight of his gaze. “I know you think I’m cruel and mad, but the madness is the outside world. One where greed and faithlessness have infected people like the diseases they are. It’s become unclean and unfit for believers like us. There is no hope of saving them, there is only our purpose. The end will come no matter what, Clare. I assure you of that.” He held out the thing in his hand and now she could see the knife’s thick blade and ornate handle. “There is nothing for you in this world.”
The last expression on Eric’s face filled her mind. How he’d looked down at his lifeblood pouring out as if he couldn’t believe it was happening.
Clare gritted her teeth and brought back the piece of wood, and was blinded.
“Drop the knife!” The owner’s voice stood a dozen feet away, hidden behind a high-intensity beam of light, but she recognized it immediately. “Drop it, or I will shoot you,” Adam said, taking a step forward.