Page 15 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Someone else cheered. Applause rang out. A woman called, “Amen!”
“Amen,” Phillip said, agreeing. He leaned on the podium, laughing under his breath. “You know, a portion of our flock didn’t think Gideon was a feasible mission, but no one in this room questioned. We knew Haven needed to expand. We knew God was directing us toward the mountains, toward freedom, toward resurgence. Like the Israelites, we made our way through turmoil and deceit and disbelief, and look around—seriously, look at this place. Is it what we’re used to? No. But are the faithful always comfy? Of course not. God’s love is huge,” he rasped, beating his chest with his palm. “And we are those who listen, those who challenge, those whoknow.”
People exclaimed. Amy clapped. Lincoln hummed, an inquisitive noise.
Cult, Tehlor thought.Crazy fuckin’ cult. She glanced at Lincoln. He tipped his head, as if to say,I know, and focused on the pastor.
“We’re here. We made it. And in our possession, in our faithful hands, we have something unfathomable. Something only the strong can carry,” Phillip said. His light eyes were flighty, landing here and there. He scrubbed a hand over his fair chin. “God is good,” he said. The room responded, repeating him in a deep chant. “And with the help of the Holy Spirit, we’ll honor him. Right?”
The room erupted. Tehlor folded her palm over Gunnhild, clutching her gently but firmly. The rat nibbled at the skin stretched between her thumb and index finger, attempting to chase away anxiety.
Pastor Phillip laughed again and held his arms open, “Right?”
The air was electric. Tehlor glimpsed the stirring of something chaotic, a palpable energy spiraling around the Haven congregation.
These weren’t people who’d come to expand.
They weren’t missionaries on the path to enlightenment.
As she smiled and clapped, studying body language, expressions, and excitement, she remembered the way starved ballerinas with fractured ankles and busted knees would claw at each other for status and opportunity. Like those dancers, the Haven loyalists had been charged and molded. Recreated to want. To hunger. To believe in the impossible.
Radical hope was a drug like no other. Tehlor knew that better than anyone. And it led to hysteria more often than not.
These are the outliers.She leaned closer to Lincoln, setting her shoulder against his.These are the extremists.
“I know,” he muttered.
“This weekend, we host our very own revival right here in this snowy, beautiful town. We heal,” Phillip said, chewing on the last word. “We mend. We let the spirit move through us, and we don’t question.” Another laugh. Another burst of applause and cheers. “We’re messengers, aren’t we? We’re warriors. And we’re here to make readyhishouse, spreadhismessage. God bless, everyone—seriously, thank you—God bless.”
Everyone stood. Tehlor did the same, standing close to Lincoln as the churchgoers clasped hands, hugged, and pawed at damp cheeks.Pussies. Tehlor wanted to cackle. She wanted to kick over a chair and yell,are you fuckin’ stupid, are you kidding me, you actually believe this bullshit?But she met Amy’s excited gaze and nodded instead.
“The pastor is the ringleader,” Lincoln said, feigning a smile as he leaned toward Tehlor. His mouth hovered above her ear. “He’s got the keys to the kingdom. I’ll introduce myself; you go make good with Barbie.”
“Go sit with the other wives and be quiet? Is that what—”
“Welcome to church life, witch-bitch.” He nudged her with his elbow and offered a teasing smile before making his way down the aisle toward the podium.
The room hummed with conversation. People gathered in groups or refilled their coffee cups and made small talk. Tehlor overheard someone mention the drive from Texas. Passed a group whispering about the miracles they’d witness at the revival. Smiled politely when someone waved to her. The Norse hawk tattooed on her throat itched. She wanted to hold the charm strung around her neck, a rendition of Mjölnir hidden beneath her blouse, but she kept her hands folded at her waistline and offered a patient smile as Amy turned toward her.
“Did you enjoy the service?” Amy asked. Her enthusiasm was difficult to match.
Still, Tehlor nodded and offered a fake gasp. “You’re blessed with an incredible pastor. Is he always so—”
“Moving? Yes, absolutely. The Lord gifted him with charisma.”
“Indeed,” Tehlor said, pressing the word through a tight smile. She caught movement to her left.
Rose Whitman appeared. She shot Tehlor a cordial smile and gave Amy a hug, sliding glances toward Phillip, Lincoln, and a few other men huddled near the podium. She held a practiced guise Tehlor was well-acquainted with—the pyramid-scheme persona most white women flaunted in Facebook Groups, except much,muchmore dangerous. Rose wasn’t selling leggings or essential oils. She was peddling faith. Whatever she said, lie or not, would be swallowed like a prescription.
“Thank you for allowing us to share space with you tonight,” Tehlor said to Rose.
She loosened her arms and made a valiant attempt at frailty. She’d been trained to hold her chin high, pull her shoulder blades together, and exude poise. But she hadn’t danced in a classical setting for long enough to sag a bit, slackening like a muscle unused to movement.
Rose tipped her head. Her eyes flashed from Tehlor’s boots to her face. “You’re welcome. How’s your heart?”
She let the question rest, considering her answer.Fullwould be too easy a lie to uncover.Hopeful, too cheesy. A sliver of the truth surfaced, and she said, “Open, I think.” She nodded as if she’d decided on something. “Yeah, tender, too.Willingisn’t exactly the right word, but it’s how I feel. I hope the expansion in Gideon goes well…” She sighed and made a show of gazing at Lincoln. “Haven could be good for us.”
“Havenwillbe good for you,” Rose said.
