Page 37 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Fenrir, Tehlor silently prayed,shackle my heart, turn my spine to steel.
The music faded. Pastor Phillip took the microphone and stepped up onto the makeshift stage. People clapped and cheered, whistled and hooted. Tehlor scanned the space, glancing around shoulders and between attendees. Lincoln stood with Daniel and a few other men to the left of the stage. He seemed tense, almost. On alert. She glanced at wild-eyed, smiling faces, hands clasped tightly in predetermined prayer, and searched for inconsistencies, nervousness, caution. But everyone appeared at the ready, happy to be directed, grateful for the opportunity to stand in Phillip’s presence. She startled when her eyes landed on Rose Whitman, standing opposite Lincoln on the other side of the small stage, staring back at her. Rose lifted her pointy chin. Her blonde hair was fastened into a tidy donut-bun, slick and perfect, and her unassuming off-white sweater-dress hugged the slight dent where her abdomen dove inward. She was the iconic Pastor’s Wife. Beautifully polished, thin and unassuming, poised and venomous.
As Phillip spoke, Rose stepped forward, making her way through the crowd. She took mindful, easy steps, tracking Tehlor like a puma. Her steady gaze never wavered. Not when she set her hand on a shoulder, squeezing past, and not when she skirted her palm along someone’s bicep, granting them a casual touch. Tehlor adjusted the strap on her purse, holding it tighter to her side.
Rose halted in front of Tehlor and said, “You made it.”
“We did, yeah. This is beautiful.” She opened her palm, signaling to the connected gazebos. Phillip preached about devotion, integrity, and commitment. Tehlor didn’t know whether to break away from his wife and focus on the sermon or keep her attention on Rose. “Thank you again for including us.”
“Are you ready to be reborn?” Rose tipped her head, letting her gaze fall to Tehlor’s boots. She gave her a thoughtful once-over.
“I am, yeah. Of course.”
“Good.” Rose smiled. She reached into the small clutch roped over her shoulder and withdrew a small, green cutting. “Did you know some people consider this to be the most fertile tree on the planet? Depictions of Eden show it everywhere, growing tall and wide, providing shade for animals.”
Tehlor focused on Rose, but Phillip’s voice echoed.Tonight, we face death! Tonight, we give ourselves to our almighty God! To he who made us in his image!Beside her, Amy cupped her hand around her mouth and whooped.
Rose slid the branch into Tehlor’s hot palm and continued. “Because if you planted that little thing, it’d grow roots and climb. Become entirely new. Even if its mother died, it would live.”
Tehlor thumbed at the oval leaves. She thought the branch was wax at first, something bought in the home décor section at Hobby Lobby. But it was wilting, weak, and real.
“But other people think the willow is a bad omen. That it teaches the value of consequence,” Rose said, folding her hand over Tehlor’s, coaxing her fingers to curl around the willow cutting.
Phillip kept shouting.Evil will not triumph tonight! The deceivers will turn thine own eyes toward heaven and be judged! Rejoice!
Rose scraped her pink-painted fingernail across Tehlor’s tattooed knuckles. “I think it’s both, don’t you? Life is nothing but a consequence until we make right with God. This—” She squeezed Tehlor’s fist. “—is nothing but a stem until you plant it.”
Tehlor pushed down the primal urge to call her magic to the surface. Anxiety pressed on her sternum. Her pulse ran rabbit-fast, and she could barely commit to a half-formed smile.
Since the first moment Rose Whitman had entered Moonstrike Nursery, Tehlor had sensed that something was inherentlyoff. A grainy, malignant, disruptive energy was finely stitched into her very being, and Tehlor knew now that what she’d confused for standard rich-bitch, Bible-banging behavior was actually a well-oiled engine, gathering power, pushing her toward an empire.
People like Rose Whitman were the subjects of high-caliber profiles in popular magazines. They ran for office, had offshore accounts, and played a mean game of poker. They influenced, leeched, and ruined.
I underestimated you.
“Amen,” Tehlor said and forced her faulty smile into a pretty grin. Magic buzzed in her wrists, elbows, ankles, deep in the pit of her, but she straightened her back and tucked the little willow behind her ear, then leaned in and kissed Rose on the cheek. “You’re a willow, Rose.Youprovide shelter.”
“And consequences,” she said, low and private. She set her hand on the center of Tehlor’s back and steered her toward the trough. “C’mon, acolyte. It’s time for the baptisms.”
Tehlor glanced over her shoulder, searching for familiarity.
Lincoln met her eyes, stoic and brave. His mouth made the shape of a single, terrifying command—don’trun.
Chapter eleven
“Baptismisablessing,”Phillip said.
The Haven congregation stood at attention, crowded around the shock tank. Among them, newcomers fidgeted nervously, giddy and itching for the miracle Pastor Phillip promised.
For days, Tehlor had researched revivals. She’d spent hours scouring YouTube, searching for video evidence and explanations. She’d watched long-winded documentaries on Hillsong, Peoples Temple, and the Branch Davidians, but she’d expectedmore. More expansion, more visionaries, more fresh blood. Surely Haven wanted to grow, right? She stared at the weird, steel trough branded with a fitness logo on its side. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Spread the good word; convert the nonbelievers—whatever. But this peculiar, strangled intimacy made her wonder about intent. Deliverables and sustainability.
A miracle was only defined by the people who witnessed it. The lack of new faces, the lack ofchildren, frightened her.
“As most of you know, we came into possession of something monumentally important. A piece of our history gathered at a time of great deceit and protected under the guise of community well-being.” Phillip nodded, opening his arm toward the parked cars lining the treeline.
Lincoln squeezed through the small crowd and placed his hand on Tehlor’s tailbone.
“This is it,” he whispered, masking the information with a kiss to her temple. “I have a feeling I know what they’re planning.”
