“I don’t know about this.”
“Clay, please.” Miss Granger looks up at me. “It won’t take long.” She presses a robe into my hands and leads me to a flimsy screen on the left side of the altar.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say as I duck behind the screen and take off my shirt and pants. I put on the robe. It’s not soft like those ones you see in fancy hotel commercials. It’s thin and scratchy and smells weird.
I step out from behind the screen. Miss Granger blocks my path. “Socks and underwear, too.”
“Seriously?”
She looks at me pleadingly. “Ali needs you … I need you.”
With a deep sigh, I maneuver out of my boxers from under the robe and pull off my socks.
She brings me to the center of the cathedral, where the light’s streaming in through the stained glass.
The priests step down from the altar, carrying small silver bowls, forming a circle around me.
“Time to disrobe,” Miss Granger says.
“What? No way.” I cross my arms across my chest awkwardly.
“Clay, they have to check you first … make sure you don’t bear the mark.”
“Well, I can assure you I don’t have it. I take a shower every day … sometimes twice a day—”
“I believe you, but it’s the only way.” Miss Granger places her hand on my arm. “Keep your eyes closed if that helps. Think pleasant thoughts. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I let out a deep sigh, close my eyes, and untie the robe, letting it drop to the ground.
“Hold your arms out, please,” Miss Granger instructs gently.
I do as I’m told and try to hold still, but my insides are trembling. I can feel her warm touch on my wrist. I can feel her breath on my skin, running from my fingers all the way up to my left shoulder. “Clear,” she whispers.
The priests chant a prayer. Something cold and wet splashes on my skin. I suck in a startled breath.
“It’s just holy water,” she whispers. “To protect you.”
They do the same thing with my right arm.
Miss Granger then steps behind me, running her fingers across my shoulder blades, down my spine; my skin prickles up in goose bumps. But it’s not just from the cold or the shock of water on my skin … it’s her touch, and that’s the last thing I want to feel in this moment. Miss Granger is a beautiful woman, but she’s still my guidance counselor. The holy water splashes across my back.
Miss Granger moves in front of me. I hear the priests’s robes swishing against the gleaming marble floors as they switch positions. I feel a hand slip between my knees and I practically jump out of my skin.
“It’s just me. Can you step apart, please,” Miss Granger’s voice soothes. My quad muscles flex under her touch.
I try not to think about her being so close to me, her warm fingers pressing into my skin, but my imagination is getting the better of me.
I open my eyes, hoping the scenery will squash this feeling building inside of me, but when I see her kneeling on the ground in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the black strap of that negligee peeking out beneath her blouse.
I clench my eyes shut again. Jesus. Not now, Clay. I try to think of something else—anything other than that black strap against her skin. The calf caught in the cutting blades. The cow ripped down the middle. The metal crucifix covered in blood. Ali with the cat clutched to her mouth. But it’s too late.
The room goes deathly still. It’s like we’re all holding our breath.
The priests splash the holy water across my chest. I take in a shuddering breath. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spirtus Sancti,” they say in unison.
Miss Granger drapes the robe over me. “It’s done.”
I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I head back behind the screen. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at any of them. As I put my clothes back on, I will my body to calm the hell down.
I take a few deep breaths before I step out from behind the screen and bolt for the exit. My head is spinning. I try to open the door, but it won’t budge.
Miss Granger comes up behind me. “Let me,” she says, as she unlatches the door.
I still can’t look her in the eyes.
The fresh air hits my lungs and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
“I have something for you.” She reaches out to pin a gold cross on my jacket.
“I don’t want it.” I try to pull away, but she hangs on to me.
“It’s not what you think. It’s a camera … a recording device.”
“What?” I stare down at it.
“See that tiny jewel in the center? That’s the lens. All you have to do is press the top of the cross and it will record whatever you’re seeing.”
“Why? What’s this for?”
“Tonight at the Harvest Festival. Wear a tie. We need you to document the marks on the others.”