“What prophecy? From the Bible?”
“From something much older than the Bible.”
“Is that what you had in your room?”
She looks at me sharply. She knows I’ve been digging around in her things. “We’ve pieced it together over time. The original prophecy was torn into six sections.” She takes down a photocopy from the wall and hands it to me.
I trace the shape of the tear marks with my finger.
“It’s a pentagram. We’re missing the middle section. Six have been chosen as potential vessels for the Devil, from the sixth generation of this community. But only one will be chosen above the rest, leaving five to fall … to usher in a new age. The question is, which one will it be?” I watch her eyes skim the photographs.
“You think the six are the Preservation Society council members?”
There’s a photo pinned off to the side. A school photo of a kid with crooked teeth, crooked smile, and pale blue eyes.
“Is that—”
“Lee Wiggins, before the explosion.”
“Why is his photo up here?”
“It’s nothing,” she says as she takes the photo down. “Just a theory I was working on. He’s very disturbed.”
I stand next to her to study the documents. “So the others have the mark, too?”
“I believe so.”
I swallow hard. “Then why’s my photo up there? I don’t have it.”
“You’re special, Clay. You’re one of the eldest sons and daughters of the founding families, yet somehow, you’ve been able to resist.”
“The sixth generation,” I whisper, the words feel like they’re being scraped out of my throat with a dull knife.
“Does that mean something to you?”
“My father, before he died, he said it was the sixth generation and something about the seed. He also said, ‘I plead the blood.’”
“Do you know what that means?” she asks.
“I think it’s from the Bible.”
“It’s usually said when praying over someone tormented by demons,” she says as she studies me. “Did he say anything else before he passed? Anything at all.”
The memory of his final moments slip under my skin like cold liquid steel.
She knows I’m holding something back. But some things are best left buried.
Like Noodle said—we choose what we want to remember and I choose good.
Desperate to change the subject, I glance back at Ali. “Is the Devil inside of her? Is that what made her eat the cat?”
Miss Granger lets out a careful breath. “The things you see … the way you see them … aren’t always what they appear to be. The calf … the ritual with Ali climbing out of a dead cow … the cat—”
“But there was blood all over her mouth. You saw it.” I start pacing.
“I’m not saying she wasn’t bleeding, Clay.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Ali has a slight contusion on the inside of her lip, lining up with her bottom teeth, as if she’s been struck. She and Tyler were seen arguing at half-time. She grabbed his arm and he pulled away from her, accidentally striking her lip. And then she ran off.”
“So, wait … you’re telling me there was no cat?”
“You’ve been under a lot of strain.”
I exhale a shaky breath as I sink back into the chair. On the one hand, I’m relieved, but the thought of Tyler laying a finger on her makes my blood boil. “I’m gonna kill him.” I clench my hands into fists.
“Clay, listen to me.” She kneels in front of me. “I need you to focus. Keep your cool. We have more pressing matters right now.”
“I know it.” I bob my head. “I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. Your father wasn’t crazy. I think he was a prophet, just like you.”
I look up at her, letting out a strangled laugh. “Sure. Lock up your livestock, Midland, we’ve got a prophet on the loose!”
“I won’t let that happen to you. Your father had his own demons.”
Demons. Did she know about him? His extracurricular activities?
“I can help you through this. It’s a gift.”
“Whatever this is, it’s no gift.” I lean my pounding head in my hands. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. And what does that even mean … being a prophet?”
“It means you may have the foreknowledge of future events, though it may sometimes apply to past events of which there’s no memory and to present hidden things that cannot be known by the light of reason.”
“So, you’re telling me I’m seeing the future?” I dig my fingers into my skull, desperately trying to understand. “That someday Ali’s going to eat a live cat?”
“No.” She gently shakes her head. “I think it’s your subconscious telling you that something’s happening to Ali. Maybe you see a darkness lurking around her … a hunger. I’ve seen it come to people in different ways. She’s in danger, but she’s not lost yet. You can save her.”