As Malachi grew, she developed strange powers. When she was six years old, her mother mentioned her hope of conceiving another child. Malachi screamed until Ruth’s ears bled. After that, Ruth was afflicted with prolonged, heavy bleeding of a womanly nature. She often read aloud the Biblical tale of the bleeding woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ robe and was healed. But Ruth was not blessed with another child, nor was her hemorrhaging resolved.
Still, every day, she prayed that the Lord would heal her.
Moreover, she prayed that the Lord would forgive her for bringing to life an abomination.
FOUR
Natalie Colter
ONE MONTH AND NINE DAYS UNTIL THE CLAIMING
I did my best to forget about the Malachian mark. But I couldn’t forget about Grandma Kerry on graduation day. When she’d fallen ill, I’d realized she wouldn’t live long enough to attend this ceremony, or any special occasions beyond. That didn’t make it easier.
While I contended with the stubborn zipper on my graduation gown, Mom sped like a stunt driver toward the limestone courthouse at the center of historic downtown. Dad braced himself, slamming nonexistent brakes from the passenger seat as Victorian and Craftsman homes streaked past.
Downtown San Solano was the kind of place outsiders would call “quaint” and “charming” if they hadn’t already found other words to describe our town—namely, “creepy” and “cursed.” Venerable oaks provided verdant shade, and pretty, old churches of sundry denominations postured on almost every corner. The town square had a bakery, an art gallery, a hardware store owned by the twins’ family, and a beloved diner with self-serve coffee that tasted like brake fluid. As one of the oldest settlements in the state, San Solano played host to countless historical landmarks, one being the intersection of the El Camino Real de los Tejas trail with the ruins of an eighteenth-century Spanish mission.
And the most famous landmark? On a quiet, shady street, Calvary Baptist Church loomed large over the town’s reputation, the cross atop its gothic tower casting a long shadow on the jade lawn. The cabin in the clearing where Malachi supposedly performed dark magic was ominous in its own right, but it was tucked away in the woods, down a dead-end road on the outskirts of town. The church where the deaths occurred presided over our daily lives and refused to be forgotten.
We were nearly late to the ceremony, and I found my place in line right as the graduates began filing into rows of white chairs. Every paper program had already been repurposed into a fan; San Solano High insisted on holding graduation outdoors come hell or high water. When my row stood and shuffled forward to wait by the stage, I searched for Levi amid the sea of oscillating programs. A few of his close friends were graduating, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come. Before I could spot him, I found Lindsey in the back row, gray circles hanging under her eyes. I cocked my head, wordlessly checking on her. She smiled and waved.
My name thudded over the sound system, surprising me. I crossed the stage and filed back to my seat with my diploma in hand.
After the ceremony I found Lindsey’s family immediately. Abuela Sofia showered me with hugs and kisses. Lindsey’s mom, Camila, tucked a strand of Lindsey’s long hair behind her ear, doting on her in Spanish. Even after three years of classes, I could only catch a few phrases.
Camila glanced at me and then asked Lindsey a question. Lindsey responded sternly, “Todavía no, pero ya pronto.”
Not yet, but soon.
Before I could puzzle over Lindsey’s answer to the question I hadn’t understood, I noticed a jagged trio of cuts slashing across her outer forearm. A nasty, purple-black bruise spilled around each mark like blotted ink.
“What is that?” I demanded.
Her eyes widened. “You can see that?”
“It’s kind of hard to miss.”
Lindsey scowled at the wound. “Um…I thought I covered it with makeup.”
“Makeup? You’d need latex prosthetic skin. What happened?”
She shrugged back into her gown, covering the marks. “Um…my cousin Juliana’s Yorkipoo scratched me.”
“That was from a Yorkipoo?”
“I think she had a violent reaction to my nondesigner jeans.” Lindsey laughed too loudly at her own joke, told at the expense of her wealthy “influencer” cousin from Los Angeles. “You should watch out. She’s carrying the little demon around in her purse.”
Nerves and humor? That combination only meant one thing when it came to Lindsey Maria Valenzuela: she was lying.
But I didn’t have time to call her out. I saw my dad’s square face and broad smile in the crowd. Mom swooped in and went full paparazzi. My cheeks were cramping by the time I managed to steal a moment alone with Lindsey and the twins to tell them about the talismans in my yard the day before.
“And Lindsey thought I had a morbid sense of humor,” Abbie said when I finished.
Lindsey didn’t retort. Her sun-kissed brown face went ashen.
“I bet it was Grayson’s idea,” Faith said, glowering at a mop of sun-bleached hair in the crowd.
“Did…did anything else happen?” Lindsey asked me.
I swallowed a sudden bout of nausea. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about the mark under my grandma’s bed. “No,” I replied.
Lindsey nodded, satisfied.
“We have to get revenge on those idiots,” Abbie whispered.
“We should forge unacceptance letters from their colleges,” Faith suggested, giddy. “We’ll say there was a mistake with their applications and that they’ve been put on a waiting list.”
“Or we could kidnap them and take them to a ritual,” Abbie said, a dangerous spark in her eyes.
“I just want to relax this summer, so count me out,” Lindsey said.
Abbie blew her a raspberry. “Ya boring, Lindsey.”
“At least I don’t have to stage a fake animal sacrifice to have fun. I’ve got to go hang out with my cousins or they’ll be pissed that they came all this way. Heads up, Juliana is coming to the lake with us tomorrow.”
Abbie groaned. “She’s so rude!”
“She thinks you’re rude,” Faith countered. The three of them wandered off, bickering, and my eyes immediately drew to Levi. A six-foot-two, handsome redhead would be hard for anyone to miss, even in a crowd. Our eyes met from a distance and my nerves jittered like a june bug hitting a porch light.
A slim approaching figure with shoulder-length brunette hair intercepted my gaze: Kate Wilder. Her sage-green eyes met mine and she flashed a smile that emanated more Southern charm than a debutante ball.
Kate’s four-year-old daughter, Avery, released her mother’s hand to squeeze my waist. I staggered with her weight and grinned. She had green eyes like Kate’s, magnified by flexible prescription glasses.
“We couldn’t be prouder of you, Nat,” Kate said, her drawl thick enough to shame maple syrup. “You’re off to bigger places and better things.”
“But I still have a whole summer with this little wildling.” I tousled Avery’s curly cowlick until she lost interest in me and crouched to inspect a ladybug.
“Speaking of that, what would you think of cutting your hours, with a raise to make up for it?” Kate asked. “It’s your last summer here and you’re already helping out with the Heritage Festival.”