Page 7

As I weaved through the crowd, I scanned the distance for a stage: some place where Rubin would be spreading the good word. If he set eyes on me, the Freaks would have no choice but to come out and play.

Instead, what I found was an empty gazebo and scattered groups of sycophants, chattering enthusiastically about how close they’d gotten to touching the Messenger.

Frowning, I caught the eye of one of the few women in the crowd: a mousy blonde who clung to the arm of a man in a thick blue flannel. “Excuse me, when does the sermon start?”

She must not have been used to talking to strangers. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, her grip on her husband tightening. “Um… umm….”

Only once her knuckles had whitened completely did her husband look away from his conversation, waving me off dismissively. “Messenger’s long gone.”

Disappointment and relief swirled in my chest like muddy water. I wanted nothing to do with the creep. But god, would it have made for a good scare.

“Thanks,” I murmured, lifting my hand in a wave as I headed deeper into the crowd.

But as I walked away, I could feel eyes burning into the back of my skull. I turned to see the woman, still staring me down as she whispered to her husband. His sluggish gaze lifted to follow me, and something like recognition lit behind his eyes.

Fucking weirdos.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my neck, hoping I might lose them if I just walked deeper into the throng.

It was like the crowd didn’t notice me at all. All around me, Rubin’s cronies — Witnesses, as they liked to call themselves — were still rehashing the points he’d raised in homily.

I’d heard it all a million times: that man was sculpted in God's image before women were made to be his companion, that men were to provide while women were to nourish, that indulging homosexual urges was one of the greatest sins against God's design. And most of all, the sick temptation of modern technology would lead us all to damnation.

It was straight out of the playbook Heirs of Promise had raised us on.

Can’t even be bothered to come up with his own idea for a cult.

But what was most disturbing was what the women in the crowd had to say.

“What is more feminine than total dependence?” A mother whispered to her teenage daughter. “How else is a provider to know that a woman is wholly invested in the marriage?”

My skin crawled as I watched the confusion flicker in the young girl’s eyes. It was like seeing a mirror of myself. I wanted to walk over, to tell her how wrong that was, that the sinking feeling in her gut wasn’t lying to her.

And then what? Incite the wrath of this massive crowd? Get accosted for corrupting the youth.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

I turned on my heels. Heat crept up my neck as my throat tightened. I could hardly make it two steps until…

“Watch where you’re going!” A bearded man twice my height glared down at me, rage curling his lip into a snarl.

“Sorry, I —”

Before the reflexive apology fully left my lips, his face crumpled into shock and awe. “Holy shit. I’m — I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

He grabbed my shoulders, then squeezed my hands as he tried to collect himself. His hands shook, palms sweaty as they wrapped around mine. “You’re the prophet’s wife. I am so sorry, if I had known, I⁠—”

“The what?” My voice pitched up, drawing the attention of several nearby Witnesses.

But no explanation was offered: just cries and gasps as more of the crowd turned to face me. Suddenly, what had been several, far flung groups of acolytes chatting became one massive circle, closing in around me with increasing fervor.

The man had yet to let go of my palms. I twisted, trying to pull away, but he just held on tighter as tears sprang to his eyes. “Say it’s true. Tell me you finally see the way. I can bring you to the Messenger, I can⁠—”

“Let go of me,” I bleated, searching his eyes for some semblance of logic. “Please, I just...”

“Ma’am, please, give us your blessing!” A woman cried out from the edge of the circle.