Struck (30 page)

I nodded, but my brow was furrowed. “The Seekers have hope for our world,” I said. “And hope is … bad?”

Deep inside me, I could feel Old Mia tossing and turning, restless.

Prophet’s smile was kind and fatherly below his empty eyes. “No, hope is not bad, Mia. In this instance, it is merely false. It is lost. The offense would be to disobey God’s will and entertain such false hope.”

“Oh.”

“If God meant the Seekers to have the power to challenge His will, He would have bestowed it upon them, as He did us. Our power, our
gift
, comes from God and is therefore divine. The Seekers in their arrogance deny God, but aim to possess those who are gifted with God’s Light. They endeavor to seize control of that power, to turn those who lack faith against the God who gifted them.”

“They lie,” Iris said, piercing me with her sharp gaze.

“Yes, they do,” Prophet said. “So you see, we do not insult God’s gift by calling it by the name our enemy uses. They can have their Spark.” He smiled. “We have the Light.”

His hands found my face, thumbs pressing against my temples, and it was like sunrise inside my mind. I couldn’t help but gasp. I felt myself opening to that light, like a flower waking in the morning. Connected to him, I could sense other energy around me, the light of the Apostles. I could connect to them in this way, I realized, because we were the same. Here was where I belonged, among people whose energy complemented mine.

Still, there was no light that felt the way Jeremy’s did. He and I had connected in a different way.

Don’t think about Jeremy
, a voice inside me warned. I turned off thoughts of Jeremy and focused on what Prophet was saying.

“You are the one we’ve been waiting for. The one God said would come. You are the missing piece of the plan, the last link we needed to complete the circle that will bring God’s storm.”

The last link in the circle? I wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but that was okay. I didn’t need to understand. I only needed to do what Prophet wanted.

Prophet lowered his hands, and the light dimmed in my mind, but not in my soul and my heart.

But there were places in me, still, where darkness waited behind locked doors … and for the time being I would keep it that way until I found out what Jeremy was up to.

“Now,” Prophet said, “let us enjoy this bounteous meal. We need our strength for what’s to come. Tonight we see God’s plan through to the end.” He placed both of his palms down on the table. “Tonight we bring the storm of God’s wrath to this city.”

At his words, my heart-fire flared to life.

The Fire of God is in me
, I thought.
The Light of God
.

And finally I understood.

The storm I’d been waiting for … it was not beyond the horizon.

The storm was in me.

35

BREAKFAST WAS A
feast, with steaming platters of eggs and potatoes, toast soaked in butter, melon slices and strawberries, fresh-squeezed orange juice and thick, cold milk, and tiny Belgian waffles with maple syrup and whipped cream.

I felt guilty eating such a decadent breakfast while outside Prophet’s door there were people starving. Still, I ate like it was my last meal. I couldn’t help myself. The anxiety that had been twisting my stomach into knots had finally subsided. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in a month.

One by one, the Apostles went around the table and introduced themselves. I’d never been good with names, and I forgot most of them as soon as they were said. The twins, Iris and Ivan, were the only Apostles whose names stuck.

“I saw you,” I told them, “at the Rove the other night, when the fight broke out. Why don’t any of you have bruises or cuts? Did you heal them, Prophet, the way you did for the Dealer?”

“The Dealer?” he asked.

Heat rose in my cheeks and I looked at my plate, ashamed that I knew such a person. “The guy you healed last night, the one with the burns.”

“Is that what ailed him?” Prophet asked in a mildly curious tone. “I didn’t notice. But, no, I did not heal my Apostles’ wounds. There’s no need.”

Iris sneered at me. “When is the last time you had a simple bruise or a cut that took more than a day to heal?”

I remembered what Mr. Kale had said, that one of the advantages of having the Spark—the
Light
, I had to remember that—was the ability to heal rapidly. At the time I’d dismissed this claim, but now that I thought about it, the only times I recalled being injured were after a lightning strike. But even then the severe burns I sometimes sustained healed completely within a few days, and the only scars I was ever left with were the lightning scars. Even my hair seemed to grow back more quickly than normal.

“It’s part of God’s gift to us,” Ivan said, and I accepted this simple answer.

The Apostles were friendly enough, except for Iris. None of them welcomed me with open arms, and I could tell they were suspicious of me. They gave off a vibe of protectiveness, like they thought I might steal something. And there was some envy mixed in, as well. I didn’t begrudge them their right to a little jealousy. I was the missing ingredient, after all. I was the one Prophet needed to make God’s storm, to carry out the plan, though I still wasn’t clear on what that plan was.

As the introductions went around, I sensed Jeremy’s furtive glances. It seemed I could still feel the heat of him from across the table, and the desire to be next to him, to touch him. These feelings were wrong. Old Mia could feel
whatever way she wanted about him, but New Mia should have her baser desires, her hot blood, under control.

“And, of course, you know Jeremiah,” Prophet said, beaming at his adopted son.

I could no longer avoid looking at Jeremy. I turned my eyes to his, feeling a sort of giddy nausea in my stomach.

You didn’t even know his name
, I thought.
There’s nothing between you. Nothing real
.

I nodded, lowering my eyes and playing with my fork.

“Jeremiah has been a great help to me,” Prophet said. “Where God speaks to me, he shows Jeremiah images of what’s to come. I’m sure he told you of the revelations he’s had of you for so many years. I sent him to find you.”

My hand jerked and my fork scraped across my plate. I searched Jeremy’s face. His normally angry eyes, now so serene, looked like they belonged to a different person. Was it true? Had he only come looking for me because Prophet told him to? Had Prophet told him to kill me?

No. Prophet needed me to carry out the plan. He wouldn’t have ordered my murder.

I cleared my throat and glanced around at the other Apostles. “So, you have gifts, like … like Jeremiah has?”

“And like you have, Mia,” Prophet said. “And a very powerful gift it is. The ability to hold God’s Light inside yourself. To release it when you need it. Of course, you have not yet learned to control your gift. That is why it is so important you came to me. Each of my children has received a gift through God’s Light, but you are special.”

If Iris’s gaze had been cool before, now it was downright Siberian.

I avoided her eyes and smiled, but the smile felt forced. A gift? Was that really what I had? The only thing I’d ever done with lightning was hurt people. Well, that wasn’t true. I had hurt Janna, but then I had helped her.

“Father,” Jeremy said, “tell Mia and her mother how God gifted
you
.”

I glanced at Mom, took in the expression of admiration on her face as she waited for Prophet’s response.

Prophet placed his hand over Mom’s and leaned toward her until their foreheads touched. Then he lifted his other hand to her cheek and cupped her face as he kissed her lightly.

“This good woman already knows everything she needs to know about me,” he said when he broke the kiss. “But, very well.” Prophet took Mom’s hand and held it as he turned to me once again. “God saw fit to gift me threefold, Mia. The first time I was struck, He took my sight, but He gave me the ability to hear His holy word. The second time I was struck, He put the power in my hands to spread His word among the lost and the unrighteous and have it be believed. The third time I was struck, He gifted me again, with the power to link my Light with that of my Apostles, one to another. To connect us, so there is nothing we cannot accomplish. So that we can combine our unique powers to create God’s storm.” His clouded eyes drew me in. “And I’ve passed that gift on to you, Mia. I’ve awakened you and opened you to us. Now you can share your power with all of us.”

Prophet squeezed Mom’s hand, and she breathed in and sighed out contentedly. “Now God has granted me a fourth gift in you, Sarah Price.”

I looked at Jeremy, or Jeremiah, or whatever he wanted to call himself. I wondered what he wanted me to take from Prophet’s words. I wondered if he could sense Old Mia’s quiet rage, deep below the surface.

After breakfast, I excused myself and returned to my room. I went out onto the balcony to think, even though thinking was … uncomfortable. There were so many things I shouldn’t think, and every time one of those forbidden thoughts tried to find its way into my mind I felt wrong, like I was betraying Prophet. But they kept trying to get in: thoughts of Mom and Prophet and how he had kissed her. Of Parker as my enemy. Of Jeremy, and how naked he looked with his hair tucked behind his ears and without his glasses, without his disguise. I wanted the other Jeremy back. But that was bad! Jeremiah, the one in white without his Clark Kent glasses, was a traitor to Prophet and his cause. The other Jeremy was a mysterious boy who could have made things so much easier by killing me, but couldn’t go through with it. A boy who watched over me, who tried to protect me from a future I didn’t want, whose touch awakened things in me that were bad, bad, bad.

I leaned against the balcony railing and let my head fall into my hands. The air gusting off the ocean made my skin tingle with warning, even though I knew now that there was no storm waiting behind the horizon. The storm inside me wanted out. I had a purpose, and it was nearly time to fulfill it. That was God’s plan, to tear apart the world like it was no more than a botched drawing on paper, easily tossed aside so we could start again with a fresh sheet.

If Prophet was to be believed—and of course he was—then that was God’s will.

So why did I feel like this was all wrong?

“Mia?”

I spun around. “Mom.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, coming up beside me and winding her thin arm around me.

“It’s okay.” I could feel her ribs from the weight she’d lost, and I didn’t find the comfort in her that I used to. She was not as substantial as she once was. “Mom, what do you think about all this?”

“All this?”

“Yeah, the … the weird stuff. The Light and the storm and everything else Prophet talked about.”

“What do I think …?” Mom said, drawing the words out. She sounded the way she had when she was taking her meds. Drugged. Sedated. Far away.

I pulled back so I could look at her face.

“I think,” Mom said finally, “that God works in mysterious ways, and that He speaks to Rance”—she smiled and put her hand over her mouth like she’d let some secret slip—“to
Prophet
, and that Prophet understands God’s will. We have to defer to him if we want to walk in God’s Light.”

“What about Parker?” I asked her. “Aren’t you worried that Prophet won’t let you love him anymore now that he’s our enemy?”

Deep furrows appeared in her brow, and the concern in her eyes was finally real. “I will always love Parker.”

Relief flooded through me. “You will?”

“Of course.” The frown line between her eyes deepened.
“I don’t want to think about Parker. It’s too confusing.” She turned to me and held me by the shoulders. “Mia, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to talk about what was wrong. What was wrong was in my head. In Old Mia’s head.

I changed the subject. “What’s going on with you and Prophet? You seem … close.”

“I’m in love with him,” Mom said simply.

I took one quick step back, and her arms fell. “But you’ve only known him a day.”

A flicker of discontent crossed her face, and then: “Don’t
you
love Prophet?” the question came out like a shove.

“Yes, I love him,” I answered quickly. “He’s Prophet. He’s
the
Prophet. He’s God’s messenger.”

“He’s more than that.” She raised her hand and her fingers found the lines of scar tissue on her face. “He only sees the good in me. None of the ugliness.”

I thought of the lightning scars covering my body and nodded. “That sounds nice.”

“He says he wants me with him all the time. He doesn’t want me to leave his side, not ever. I had to slip away to see you while he was talking to his Apostles.” She frowned a little. “I wonder if he’s realized I’m gone. I should get back to him now. He wants me with him all the time.”

“You said that already.” I watched her force her mouth back into a smile.

“I did, didn’t I? I’m just so excited about tonight. This is happening so quickly.”

“You mean the storm?”

She shook her head, and her smile turned secretive. “Prophet is a wonderful man.”

I opened my mouth to agree with her, but nothing came out. I was saved by a knock on the door.

What was happening to New Mia? I needed another blessing, I decided. I needed Prophet to set my mind straight.

I wondered if there was any way to put Old Mia in a coma. Permanently.

Hesitantly, Jeremy—Jeremiah—pushed open the door. He didn’t look at me, but at my Mom. “Ms. Price,” he said, “my father requests that you return to him now.”

Mom glanced at me. “He wants me with him all the time,” she repeated again. Then she hurried out the door, leaving Jeremy and me alone.

Jeremy closed the door behind him.

And locked it.

“We have to talk,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I said. “You’re a traitor.”

The anger was back where it belonged, in Jeremy’s eyes. He crossed the room to me, stood so we were chest to chest. My body lit up with his proximity. Jeremy grabbed the back of my head, fingers disappearing into my hair. His touch was rough. But it was gentle. It was contradictory.