Page 36 of Wanted

And will it really keep the mark from appearing?

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence as we all wait for Jeffrey to do as he was told.

And every second that ticks by, I can feel the Prophet staring at me, the icy bite of needles ever present.

As the needles dig and dig, I hysterically wonder if they’re trying to reach my soul.

And what they’ll see if they actually make it there…

Thankfully, before I can find out, the floorboards beneath my knees vibrate again.

Jeffrey comes rushing back into my line of sight with a golden goblet clutched in his hands.

“Approach,” the Prophet orders, and I swallow back a sigh of relief as the needles finally release me from their icy bite.

Bowing his head, Jeffrey approaches the Prophet and holds out the goblet.

“Give me your other hand,” the Prophet demands, the hint of a growl back as he slides a dagger out of his sleeve.

Stepping closer, Jeffrey does as commanded.

The Prophet’s fingers snatch up Jeffrey’s arm, then there’s a glint of light in all the darkness.

Jeffrey grunts and tries to yank his arm back, but the Prophet tugs it closer, until it’s hovering over the goblet.

Mercilessly, the Prophet grinds the dagger into Jeffrey’s wrist, causing dark red blood to spill forth.

My mouth suddenly begins to water and a strange desire to taste Jeffrey’s blood appears out of nowhere. Disturbed by the unnatural urge, I consider biting the inside of my own cheek when the scent slams into me.

It doesn’t smell like any blood I’ve ever smelled before. There’s no hint of copper, no smell of life.

Jeffrey’s blood smells…wrong. It smells old and rotten.

The scent of decay clogs up my nostrils, and I nearly retch in earnest as my stomach clenches with more cramps.

The Prophet holds Jeffrey’s arm over the goblet until it’s nearly overflowing. Then he snatches up the goblet and shoves Jeffrey’s bleeding hand away, done with him.

I watch Jeffrey pull his arm to his chest and rub at his wrist. Then, right before my eyes, his wound begins to heal, the skin stitching back together.

What magic is this?I wonder. A gift from God? Or something else…

“Come here, child,” the Prophet says, his icy attention sinking back into me.

Run, a little voice screams inside my head.

I would, but I’m trembling so hard I can’t get to my feet.

“Do as His Holiness says,” Sister Agatha hisses in warning.

Shaking my head back and forth, I scoot backwards a little on my knees.

The Prophet clicks his tongue, the sound like two hollow bones knocking together. “Poor thing is terrified of God’s grace.”

Dropping his arm, Jeffrey takes a menacing step toward me.

“Don’t hurt her,” the Prophet orders. “Help her closer, gently.”

Jeffrey looks at him in surprise. Then reluctantly moves to where I’m kneeling.

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