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“Von Keller had the most peculiar notions about the patients,” Father Crawford said slowly. “He told me once, he wondered if suffering drew out latent abilities. You see the war … afterward it changed so many souls. I thought it nonsense at first. But as I watched his work, I began to wonder if there was something to his theory. Félix. Djhan. Étienne. All born here in this village. All three with the most extraordinary afflictions.”

I took another step backward, keeping the girl safely between me and the wall. This man was utterly, raving mad. “What do you want with Manon?”

He tutted condescendingly, looking me over with the measured calculation of a predator. “She is living breathing proof to von Keller’s theory. The girl was just an unfortunate displaced soul. Then the most marvelous thing happened.”

The muscle in my jaw ached as I gritted my teeth, wanting him to finish and yet needing to know more. Needing to understand how I’d been so horribly wrong about what was happening here. Von Keller and the patients, they’d been working in tandem. Trying to protect the child. Not from a doctor, as I first supposed, but from this priest.

“As the war raged on, little Manon began to walk. To talk. The sisters doted upon her so. A small ounce of joy in a world of war.”

Were it not for her small hand in my own, I might not have even recalled she was there. Manon had gotten very good at hiding. Remaining silent. Unseen.

Father Crawford’s steely gaze settled upon me. “But when your mother arrived, she revealed the girl for what she was.”

The hairs on the back of my neck pricked.

“A miracle…” He breathed out. “The girl is a gift from God.”

Manon stiffened, her fear pulsed through me as loudly as my own. I did not know how we would get out of this. Not now. The room grew stifling from the heat of the stove burning out of control.

“She is a child.”

The priest let out a dark laugh. “Manon is a miracle.” The coals in the open-bellied stove settled, sending up sparks with a hellish hiss. I glanced around the room for a weapon. Anything to get us out of this. Von Keller’s wooden chemistry set was perched upon the shelf behind the old priest. It was open today, the vials glinting in the morning light. Not particularly useful in my escape.

“Do you have any idea what she’s capable of? What she’s done here? I simply needed people to let me spend time with her, to understand how the Lord could work such great things in such a tiny creature.”

Manon’s hand trembled within my own. The slow beat of her pulse beating against my palm. I had to protect her, not let those who had died to keep her safe from this man, to have done so in vain. Father Crawford had bought into von Keller’s theory of pain bringing upon latent abilities … then a second more sickening thought struck me. Manon’s mother had died in November. About the same time as the girl had disappeared. She’d suffered a great deal, the loss of her family before she ever drew breath. But to lose her mother? I knew keenly how exquisite that pain was.

“You killed her mother.” I breathed out.

“I had to test the theory to see if the pain would make her stronger yet. Besides, the mother had gotten in my way. Wouldn’t let me spend time with the girl. It was a necessary sacrifice.” He gave a slight shrug. “I mean the girl no harm, I want to reveal her power to the world for what she is. She is an angel of the Lord.”

My nostrils flared. The mother and child belonged together and this monster ripped that away. Rage simmered through me, an ocean of it surging beneath my skin. “She is a little girl. That is what she is. But you are a monster.”

His eyes flashed and I knew I was going to die here. Like Manon’s mother. Like my own was willing to do. All for the protection of a child. One that was not even my own. I’d always wanted to be more like my mother, less wild. Less unsteady. But perhaps in my last moments, my mother and I were not so different after all.

“I am merely an instrument of divine will. Come Manon. You don’t want me to hurt your new friend, do you?”

I squeezed Manon’s hand tighter, willing her to not reveal herself—to stay safely behind me. The girl remained stock-still, as if she sensed what I needed her to do.

Father Crawford took a step around the desk. I shielded Manon as best I could with my own body. I did not know what this man wanted, but I wasn’t about to let him have her. He’d have to come through me.

“You are just like our Eva. She feared the girl’s potential as well, tried to keep her from me. I’ve never seen such power. Such potential in one so young.”

Power? Power for what?

Shouts came from outside. Footsteps falling as the air around grew sharp with a familiar electricity. That wild, unpredictable nature I’d come to know as well as my own name.

Ruan.

But there were others with him. Perhaps I would not die today after all. I had to keep Father Crawford talking. Buy us a little more time, but the old priest was canny. He heard the voices too and rushed back to the shelf by the door, shoving it to the floor with a crash, barricading us in. Books tumbled down in an unceremonious heap. The chemistry set hit the floor, shattering and splashing the hem of the priest’s robes with the foul-smelling substances. Good God, he was likely to kill us all. Who knew what was in those vials? While I wasn’t a scientist, I certainly knew better than to mix substances without knowing damned well what they did.

The priest shoved the shelf harder to slow our rescuers. Making use of his distraction, I opened the window allowing the fresh cold air to surge in and combat the fumes. The opening wasn’t large enough for me to escape, but the girl stood a chance. We were a good story above the ground. It would hurt to fall, but it was survivable. I hoped.

“Go.” I whispered to Manon, shoving her closer to the window. “Get help. I’ll be fine.”

The stubborn little creature shook her head, giving me a meaningful look, one that reminded me an awful lot of Ruan. There were odd gold flecks in her eyes, flickering in the darkened room.

As I started to turn back to him, Father Crawford grabbed me by my hair, pulling me away from the girl. My eyes watered from the pain, but I would not give him the satisfaction of crying out. The scent of brandy was thick on his breath. Good God, he was drunk atop of it all. “Your meddling mother knew what Manon was and stole her from me. Manon Marchand was sent by God himself to cleanse this land. To save these people from their sins. Washing the stain of war from the soil. And those fools—all of them—kept standing in my way. Can you not see her for what she is? The child is a miracle!” He twisted his hand in my hair, forcing me to look at the girl’s stricken face.