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In the last hour, I lost two bodyguards. My dog. My faith in Cam.
My faith in myself.
So much of my training has been about preparing me to fight off dark forces that want me to transgress.
I have failed.
Jason and Malcolm are dead because of me. My body betrays me as I fight the urge to give in to Cam. The tattoo shows the true mark and he says all the right words, but how can he be my king? My husband? My destiny, when he tells me everyone I know and love is a liar?
A car honks, tires screeching, and far behind me, I hear a man’s shout. Daring not to stop, I race through the rows of cars in the big parking lot, finally reaching concrete, the church doors large and scary.
Imposing.
I am unworthy.
I reach for the handle and ricochet back, shocked to find it locked.
Panic surges through me as I look back over my shoulder. Cam is at the edge of the gas station’s lot, holding Winnie, surrounded by five people talking to him.
I hide behind a pillar, hoping he didn’t see me.
And then I see the buzzer.
Moving carefully, I press it, the button glowing red as I do. My body fills with a tingly relief as I realize one of our symbols, an ancient rune, is sketched onto the button.
I am home.
I am safe.
I am free.
“Yes?” says a disembodied voice from a speaker above me.
“I – I am here to see Makiah Rooney.”
“Pastor Rooney is a very busy man,” the woman says back in a cold, tight voice. “He only meets people by appointment.”
“This is an emergency,” I say in a rush. Cam is gone from his spot, and I have minutes – if I’m lucky. My mind scrambles to find the right words. “Could – could you please tell him… tell him… tell him his vow. He vowed to protect me.”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Not a joke. My name is Paigelynn. Just – just tell him Paigelynn is here.”
Silence.
“Hello? Hello?” I plead.
Suddenly, the door clicks twice.
“Come in,” says a voice I know well, low and male, smooth like silk and velvet, sweet caramel and salvation. “Paigelynn.”
Fumbling for the handle, I enter, careful to look back as I turn. No sign of Cam. Makiah is part of the prophecy, for that is part of our power. The Mother explained to me long, long ago that in the mainstream world, Makiah offers us protection. People are drawn to him, and he has a spiritual connection with the higher power of all creation.
The entryway is ice-cold. So cold, I shiver, though I’m hot and sweaty from running so fast. My hands fly to my upper arms, and I hug myself as a door in the distance flies open, a man with long legs and an intense stare covering the distance as if he rolls on air.
“Please,” he says, waving me forward, “come into my private offices. Immediately. We need discretion.” For as commanding as his voice is, the words are spoken in a quiet, shrouded tone, one that is both soothing and menacing. Intuitively, he understands the gravity of the moment.
I follow him, grateful to be rescued.
