Page 13 of A Love of Wrath and Rapture

“I’m trying to tell you that I wasn’t doing anything at all,” I say, feeling that perhaps if I rephrase the same thing a slightly different way, it might somehow convince them. “You’re saying I had inside knowledge I shouldn’t have had? But I couldn’t have known anything more than what you’ve told us in fairy tales and urban legends. The rest of it was me goofing around.”

I’m relieved when they don’t interject, and I think I see them deliberating over my words.

It’s just a misunderstanding.

This isn’t a big deal.

Their murmurs hang heavy on the air among the crackling of flames. Conspicuously, Tully hasn’t said anything this entire session, her head pressed down on her hands in contemplation.

As their faces grow less severe, I begin to feel a weight lifting off of me. Relief coasts over me, and the goosebumps on my arms fade, my breath relaxing.

“We’ve reached a decision,” Harold says.

I smile, glad that Harold will be delivering the good news rather than one of the more severe members of the council.

“And what have you decided?”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Harold says harshly, staring at me with increased coldness.

I can feel the floor falling out from beneath me. I feel myself sinking, helpless to watch myself in my own skin.

“While you might have felt your offense pardonable, and while you might have thought that despite all of our warnings, and all the stories we’ve told you since childhood, the summoning ritual was nothing more than a prank…”

Harold stops for breath, picking up a spare sheet of parchment and reading from it for a moment.

“And while I’m deeply, deeply sorry that it’s come to this,” he continues. “We feel that your indifferent attitude to our customs, and your cruel treatment of your peers, is cause for alarm and needs to be addressed.”

I shake my head chuckling, looking from one member of the council to the next. Their faces are all now hard as stone. Gone is the hospitality I received earlier.

“And how do you plan on addressing that?” I ask, terrified by the answer I might receive.

A sick smile crosses Jeremiah’s face. The other elders look at him, as though they’ve rehearsed this.

“Evangeline, you’re to be cast out of the village immediately,” he says. “You are not allowed to return, under any circumstances, no matter how exceptional. Leave by sundown, or we will make you leave.”

6

EVANGELINE

The words resonate through my mind, replaying themselves. I’m not sure if I’m more filled with panic or overcome with denial.

Leave by sundown, or we will make you leave.

Their faces have grown cold and cruel, their eyes staring me down and dissecting me. I feel small in their gaze.

Hard to believe I once trusted them to lead me. They feel more like predators than overseers.

“What say you, Miss Evangeline?”

Jeremiah’s face is mutated with glee, his eyes small under the weight of his grin. I can see the satisfaction in his face, and wonder when he decided he hated me.

I look from one member to the other, wondering what the point is in even speaking.

And I realize that my vision has grown blurry, my eyes filling with tears. My lip quivers.

“Please don’t,” I beg. “This is all I know. If you take me out of this village, I’ll die!”

The words are overpowering to my lungs. I can barely speak through the sobbing.

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