Claire’s eyes widened. An elegant-looking older woman, dressed in a long purple gown, had joined Jim J on the platform, her eyes glued to him. She had Claire’s eyes, but her mouth was thinner and pinched, like she pursed her lips a lot. Shiny silver hair fell just past her shoulders, carefully styled. Even though she was perfect-looking like the rest of them, with just a few wrinkles here and there, she had a mean look to her. Something in her eyes, and the critical look she gave the crowd.
“My mother,” Claire whispered to me, even though I knew. If I hadn’t recognized the name Meredith, her reaction would’ve told me. I just nodded, hoping that we’d find a chance to leave soon. I wanted to spare her pain.
“We’ll begin, as usual, with the Vision,” Jim J announced.
A masked man carried what looked like a massive silver wine glass to Jim J on a tray. He took a long drink, paused, then drained the rest of it in about a minute.
For a minute, Jim J just stared at the crowd with a blank expression. Then his mouth twisted into a weird little smile, and he exhaled loudly.
“I see through Odessa’s Eye—her gift to me,” he said, and in unison, the crowd repeated it. Claire made a face that told me how uneasy she felt.
“I see the Vessel—a woman with skin pale as snow and hair red as the dawn. I see her blood on fresh sparkling snow, her heart in my hand, as I conquer death and Ascend. This is Odessa’s Great Plan, her challenge for me: crush all who do not bend the knee to Her Sight, who escape and elude me. She has hidden away her power inside the Vessel—a sacrificial lamb, whose spilled blood brings the Ascension. The last of the failed Ainsley line.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The guy spoke with a passion that genuinely spooked me—the sound of total delusion spoken as fact. That he was obviously referring to Claire didn’t help.
I glanced over at her. Her cheeks had paled, and there was real fear in her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. I reached over and took her hand. Her cold, clammy fingers gripped mine tightly.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I reminded her. “Deep breaths, baby. Stay focused.”
Claire nodded and inhaled deeply. After a minute, she looked better, and her grip on my hand loosened.I hope coming here wasn’t a huge mistake.I could be putting her in even more danger than I realized.
“What does he mean?” she asked quietly, to herself as much as me. “I’m not the last of the Ainsley line.”
“You sure he even knows?” I replied doubtfully. “The guy’s mind is shot.”
Jim J rambled on for what felt like forever. The guy didn’t know when to shut the fuck up, but I got that he and Claire’s mother, Meredith, were an item. Judging by Claire’s expression, that little tidbit was as big a shock to her as it was to me. Her mother wasn’t just a member of this cult…she was literally in bed with its insane leader, who for some twisted reason was hellbent on killing her daughter.
Finally, Jim J introduced a group of ordinary-looking people to the crowd. They were dressed in the dirty, lived-in clothing of farmers and labourers, and none wore masks. They were separated from the crowd by a roped-off area and armed guards.
“Wastelanders!” Jim J crowed. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
The masked crowd booed.
“What is he doing?” Claire whispered urgently. “Why would they want Wastelanders here?”
Jim J gave the crowd a disapproving look. “Now, now, family. You know that we require support to realize the Vision.”
He cleared his throat and spoke directly to the group of normal people.
“Wastelanders, I bring you good news. From a Wasteland you have been elevated—selected for something greater. Work hard, and you will be given the opportunity to ascend into our ranks. Help us take on the sleeping giant that is Omega, and you will be rewarded. We share the spoils of Odessa’s holy war with our family.”
Jim J looked through the group.
“Ah, the bright-faced young man in the front,” Jim J said, gesturing towards the front of a smaller crowd, separated by a roped-off area and armed guards. “Come. Seek your fate.”
One of the masked guards shoved a terrified, golden-haired boy towards the platform, and I gritted my teeth. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old.
“Welcome, child,” Jim J said, and his grin made me feel sick.
The boy said something, but without the microphone, I didn’t hear it. An attendant handed Jim J a microphone.
“Speak up, son,” he said, holding it up to the boy’s lips.
At first, the kid didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t have, either. But after Jim J insisted, the boy said,
“I just want to go home.”
Jim J threw his head back and laughed.
