Page 47 of A Silence So Divine

At this point, my heart is pounding painfully in my chest, and no amount of air seems to satisfy the ache in my lungs. Each word is a bludgeon. What is he suggesting? Jaws have begun to drop in the room, and most men are up from their chairs. Two have taken steps toward me for a closer look. The others are inching closer to the exit. Are they afraid?

Still, Cecil does not look at me.

“You’re not serious.” Curran spits, but the inflection at the end of the sentence makes it sound like a question. Cecil merely grins, and I couldn’t be more horrified.

“I am. I found her this morning, attacking one of our men. As soon as she opened that pretty little mouth, I was unconscious,” he finally spares me a glance. I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t. “By the time I woke, she was gone and he lay in a pool of his own blood. I’d never seen anything like it.”

The fear of what might become of me has me choking back sobs. They know I killed a man. My lips have curled past my teeth. Copper spreads along my tongue.

Lies slipped into his story here and there, but it can’t have been for my benefit. They’re aware of the worst of it, and I can’t fathom a way out of this. Maybe he only lied to save his own skin.

The betrayal turns me inside out.

Curran is busy warring with himself. The slack of his jaw gives him away.

“And what? You not only expect me to believe that you found the first Reaper in decades,” Curran spits, the skin of his neck growing red splotches. “But you also want to keep her alive? You’ve got a sick sense of humor, Bastien.”

Cecil’s jaw ticks slightly, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets before beginning to speak again.

“Think of thepower,Reverend. If we were to train her—”

“Oh! Now she’s trainable?” Curran barks out a laugh.

“IfItrain her successfully,” Cecil amends, speaking through clenched teeth. “She could bring down targets without ever touching them. Not to mention, she looks completely harmless. No one would suspect her.”

Everyone is silent, deeply contemplating the possibilities.

This whole time, I’ve been deciding whether Cecil is friend or foe. Now I have my answer.

The calculating gaze of the reverend shifts onto me, his stare so penetrating that I’d think he’s attempting to seethroughme. His eyes lower to my chest, and heat rises on my cheeks all over again. I wish I could disappear entirely.

Finally, Curran sniffs, breaking the tense silence.

“Alright then, prove it.”

At first, I think he’s telling me, but then he inclines his head towards Cecil. Marching to the first row of pews, he seats himself and exhales loudly.

There’s a flicker in Cecil’s eye, a quiver of his brow. He wasn’t prepared for that response. My panic sets in even further. Every time I think I know who has the upper hand in this situation, it shifts again. At the very least, I know that I’m at the mercy of every man in this room. And I’m not sure which “mercy” I would prefer.

“Of course, sir. How would you have me do that?” Cecil finally asks, his tone uncharacteristically submissive.

Curran crosses his arms across his chest, lounging back. With a cock of his head, he studies me, a smile tugging at his mouth. My eyes must be as big as saucers, my lips bloody. Something tells me he enjoys my fear.

“Well she’s the harbinger of death, is she not? Let’s put that to the test,” he responds, flicking his fingers at the man that sliced my shirt open. “Go fetch a guest.”

Cecil hastily takes a step forward, one of his hands shooting out in front of him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir. Her power could easily kill anyone in this room.”

Curran tsks, rolling his eyes.

“If she’s to be your pet, shouldn’t you be able to control her? Surely you’re able to silence a little thing like that.” There’s an undertone of mocking. He doesn’t believe that I’m capable of what Cecil says.

No other words are spoken, and we wait.

Two figures step in much too soon. One is the man from before, Percy, and he is tugging along a boy no older than fourteen. The boy stumbles over his own feet, attempting to stay upright. His eyes are huge and brown, but completely unseeing. They fidget over and over, like they’re attached to a metronome in his mind.

What could they possibly want with him?

After a struggle, the boy is standing a few feet to my right on the podium. From this distance, I hear his sharp inhales and hurried mumbles. The words are too hushed to make out, but the repetition reminds me of prayer.