The Last Harvest Read online

  Miss Granger moves in front of me. I hear the priests’s robes swishing against the gleaming marble floors as they switch positions. I feel a hand slip between my knees and I practically jump out of my skin.

  “It’s just me. Can you step apart, please,” Miss Granger’s voice soothes. My quad muscles flex under her touch.

  I try not to think about her being so close to me, her warm fingers pressing into my skin, but my imagination is getting the better of me.

  I open my eyes, hoping the scenery will squash this feeling building inside of me, but when I see her kneeling on the ground in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the black strap of that negligee peeking out beneath her blouse.

  I clench my eyes shut again. Jesus. Not now, Clay. I try to think of something else—anything other than that black strap against her skin. The calf caught in the cutting blades. The cow ripped down the middle. The metal crucifix covered in blood. Ali with the cat clutched to her mouth. But it’s too late.

  The room goes deathly still. It’s like we’re all holding our breath.

  The priests splash the holy water across my chest. I take in a shuddering breath. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spirtus Sancti,” they say in unison.

  Miss Granger drapes the robe over me. “It’s done.”

  I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I head back behind the screen. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at any of them. As I put my clothes back on, I will my body to calm the hell down.

  I take a few deep breaths before I step out from behind the screen and bolt for the exit. My head is spinning. I try to open the door, but it won’t budge.

  Miss Granger comes up behind me. “Let me,” she says, as she unlatches the door.

  I still can’t look her in the eyes.

  The fresh air hits my lungs and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

  “I have something for you.” She reaches out to pin a gold cross on my jacket.

  “I don’t want it.” I try to pull away, but she hangs on to me.

  “It’s not what you think. It’s a camera … a recording device.”

  “What?” I stare down at it.

  “See that tiny jewel in the center? That’s the lens. All you have to do is press the top of the cross and it will record whatever you’re seeing.”

  “Why? What’s this for?”

  “Tonight at the Harvest Festival. Wear a tie. We need you to document the marks on the others.”

  “Wait … except for Ali and Tyler, I have no idea where their marks are. How do you expect me to do that? It’s not a pool party.”

  “I have faith in you.” She steps in close, pinning it on my jacket. “You should know, Ali whispered your name last night before she woke up. She dreamt you saved her. Do whatever you have to do to get close to her. You’re the only one who can protect her now.”

  Noodle slips her hand into mine and I flinch.

  “Did I scare you?” She giggles.

  “No … no, ’course not,” I stutter and force a smile.

  “See you tonight,” Miss Granger says as she walks back up the steps and disappears inside the heavy chapel doors.

  Noodle and I walk back to the truck, hand in hand. The sun doesn’t feel as bright as it did before, like there’s something hanging over us. Hanging over the world.

  It feels like judgment day.

  19

  I CAN’T stop tugging at the navy-blue tie around my neck; it feels like a noose.

  We haven’t dressed up like this in ages—not since Dad’s funeral. Mom keeps checking herself out in the rearview mirror, smearing her coral lips together. Noodle’s on Mom’s lap counting the number of stitches on the hem of her dress, while Jess is crammed against the passenger window, like she couldn’t get far enough away from me if she tried.

  For the millionth time, I glance down to adjust the gold cross pin on my tie. I still can’t believe it’s a video camera. I feel like some kind of hillbilly James Bond.

  “Watch it,” Jess snaps as the gravel on the shoulder of the road kicks up, smacking the side of my truck.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, as I swerve back into my lane.

  I try not to make a big deal out of it, but I’m stunned at how Jess looks. Her dress is a little short for her now, but she looks nice. Normal. There’s none of that crap on her face. She even took off the black nail polish and brushed her hair out of its usual rat’s nest. She’s always had such nice hair, not a towhead like Noodle, or like I was before mine turned dark blond. Jess’s hair’s the color of roasted chestnuts. She just came out that way.

  With everything that’s going on I feel stupid even thinking about it, but I can’t help wondering what will happen with Ali tonight. Will she just start talking to me now that I’m “one of them”? Could it be that simple? And how the hell am I going to get their marks on video? If I go in too eager, they’re going to be suspicious. Worse than that, what if they accept me, no questions asked, and try to brand me? Miss Granger didn’t prepare me for anything like that.

  By the time we pull into town, the pit of dread in my stomach has turned to straight-up doom. Main Street is packed with cars on both sides. Everyone who’s anybody is here. It’s one of the few events put on by the Preservation Society that’s open to the public. In the old days, it started out as a fair, a place for people to trade their goods when the crops came in, but now it’s more like a carnival.

  There’s music, some old-fashioned games, but the big attraction is the Hell House. Midland Baptist puts it on every year. It’s like a haunted house, only they lead you through a bunch of huge canvas tents presenting little plays on whatever hot topics they think are pulling people away from the church. Meth. Abortion. Gay sex. Satanism. Video games. It’s really just a chance for people to show off, get some attention. I was in it when I was a kid; I got to play a skeleton in the afterlife. It was pretty fun, jumping out at people and scaring the bejeezus out of them. Another grand tradition around here.

  I let out a shaky breath as I get out of the truck. I’ve kept my family in seclusion, away from everyone for the past year, and for what? Here I am dragging them straight into the Devil’s lair. I can’t believe I’m spying on the Preservation Society for the Catholic Church, gathering evidence to sanction an exorcism. It sounds fucking crazy, even to me.

  Just as I’m thinking about getting everybody back in the truck, hightailing it out of here, Noodle grabs my hand. She doesn’t even flinch at how sweaty it is.

  “Doesn’t it look so pretty?” She squeezes my hand, like she knows how tough this is for me. “Just like a fairy tale.”

  “Yeah.” I swallow hard.

  It’s all lit up with gas lamps and jack-o’-lanterns, a maze made from bales of hay set up on the front lawn. Just like last year, and the year before that. Probably looked this way a hundred years ago. Hardly anything ever changes around here.

  I was so ticked off last year when they went ahead with the homecoming game. And after I nearly killed that kid, they went ahead with the Harvest Festival. But this town has a way of turning a blind eye like nobody’s business. After news of my dad’s slaughter spread, a handful of reporters descended on Midland like a bunch of turkey vultures, but they couldn’t find a single person in this town to give them an interview. Mom felt real grateful, but it weirded me out more than anything. What did they have to hide?

  A string of little kids rush in front of us, their faces painted up like tigers and princesses, laughing their heads off as they disappear into the maze. Reminds me of why I’m here. If there’s even a nail’s head of truth in all this Devil business, I have to do everything I can to stop it. For my dad. For my family. For the future.

  While all the other guests have to walk around the main house and use the side gate to get to the back lawn, we’re Tates. The founding families use the front door. It’s our privilege. It’s what’s expected. Even stepping over the threshold feels like a commitment, like I’m a part of this now, whether I like it or not.


  I notice Jess having some trouble with the clasp of her necklace.

  “I can help,” I say as I step forward.

  She lets me.

  As I’m securing the locket around her neck I say, “Keep an eye on Noodle for me.”

  Noodle looks back at me like she’s about to give me a piece of her mind, but I give her a sly wink and she simmers down. She gets it.

  Noodle takes Jess’s hand and leads the way down the long hall toward the festivities. Mom follows, clutching her purse in front of her like it’s the last life preserver on the Titanic.

  I keep my eyes trained in front of me, but I can feel my ancestors and the rest of the founding families staring at me from the portraits lining the hall. Even though they’re trapped behind glass, it feels like they’re watching … waiting.

  With every step, my heart’s pounding double-time.

  As we head out the French doors lining the back of the building, I notice the window’s already been fixed, like it never happened. For a second I wonder if it ever did. I wonder if this is how Dad felt at the end, questioning every little thing, but when Mr. Neely steps forward to greet me, bracing my elbow with a firm grip, I know it was real.

  “Welcome home, Clay,” he says. There’s a sanctimonious glint in his eyes as he leads me to the edge of the patio so everyone can get an eyeful.

  I glance around nervously. They’re waiting to see what’ll happen next. Even though I hate myself for doing it, I reach out and shake Mr. Neely’s hand. And it’s almost like I can feel the entire community take a deep breath.

  As if on cue, the bluegrass band strikes up a raucous tune. Couples start two-stepping; kids are running around all high on Kool-Aid and sheet cake. Strands of tiny white lights are strung overhead, twinkling like low-lying stars.

  Mrs. Neely quickly ushers my mom over to the other women of the founding families. They seem to welcome her back into the fold without a hitch, but there’s something about Mom, a distance, like she’s not all connected. I wonder if they can see it, too. God, I hope not.

  The only one who hasn’t changed is Noodle. And with any luck, she’ll never have to. People are fawning all over Jess, telling her how pretty she looks. A boy asks her to dance—Ben Gillman’s little brother. He’s a good kid, decent QB at Midland Middle. Maybe this is just what Jess needs, a reminder of how things used to be, how they should be.

  And just like that I find myself getting caught up in it all. It’d be so easy to slip back into this life, into ignorance, like cattle being led to slaughter. I guess that’s the Devil’s plan—it may look like a Wyeth painting, but it’s really the gateway to hell.

  I take a deep breath, trying to get control of my nerves. Just stick to the game plan, Clay. Get the video and get the hell out of here.

  I lock eyes with Tyler, who’s hanging around the patio with Tammy, Ben, and Jimmy. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. Mr. Neely obviously told them I’d be coming tonight.

  As much as I want to just walk up to them, get this over with, I know I have to let them come to me. I circle around the party, acting as normal as possible. All anyone wants to talk to me about is football, and for the first time, I’m grateful for it. I head toward the buffet tables lining the center of the lawn, chock-full of casseroles. Mr. Miller has his smoker all set up. The whole place smells amazing, like hickory and spices, butter and caramel. There are metal troughs full of giant blocks of ice with all kinds of pop, kegs of beer. Kids are hiding out under the red-and-white-checked tablecloths, trying to sneak some, just like me and Dale used to do. Don’t have to sneak it anymore. If you play ball, you can get away with murder in this town. I fill up a cup with beer and slip it under the table to them.

  “Thanks, Fifty-four. You’re the best!”

  “No way. Clay Tate’s here?” A kid with freckles for miles peeks his head out. “Will you throw the ball to us, a real spinner, see if we can catch it?”

  “Sorry boys, not tonight,” I say as I scan the crowd, looking for Ali.

  I spot her with her parents. Our eyes meet and she quickly looks away. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I saw her blush. She looks good. Painted-on Levi’s with a lacy tank top and a plaid shirt on top. Cowboy boots. A turquoise buckle. Her hair’s loose and shiny, grazing the middle of her back. Tyler sees me watching her and practically races across the lawn to put his arm around her shoulder, but she shrugs away from him. I’m glad for it. I don’t want him touching her. Especially after what happened at the game last night. I still can’t believe he hit her, even if it was an accident. Tyler was always a loose cannon. He’s one of those guys that gets so jacked up before a game he has to throw up. I want to kill him, but I can’t draw attention to myself. I have to gain their trust and work my way into the inner circle.

  I notice Miss Granger enter the party through the side gate. The Preservation Society kids are watching her as she makes her way to the patio. I wonder if they suspect something about her, if they can sense her connection to God or something creepy like that.

  If what Miss Granger is saying is true, the chosen one could be any one of them. As soon as the Devil chooses, takes root, the others will fall. At least that’s what happened back in Mexico. I need to protect Ali until the exorcism. As soon as that happens, she’ll be cleansed of all this. Miss Granger says it will be like it never happened—just a bad dream.

  Miss Granger’s wearing a fitted navy blue dress. It matches my tie. Mr. Neely, Deputy Tilford, and Dr. Perry are all over her like a tick on a coon dog. My first instinct is to go over there and give her an out, but I have a feeling Miss Granger can handle herself. And I can’t let on that she’s behind this in any way. Maybe she’s doing this as a distraction, so I can make my move.

  I start fiddling with the gold cross pin on my tie, making sure it’s in place, when Dale sneaks up on me. I flinch.

  “Jesus, Tate. You gotta relax.” I can see he’s already plenty relaxed. “Want some?” He opens his coat and I see the silver flash of his dad’s flask.

  “I’m all good.”

  “I’m just on a break. Hell House duty. Hey, did you see Mrs. Neely?” he says, as he gives the air in front of him a good humping.

  “Dude, that’s Tyler’s mom.”

  “And?” He laughs.

  I shake my head. “And that’s just wrong.”

  “That’s so right it hurts,” he says as he takes another sip. “Speaking of fine-looking ladies … someone can’t take their eyes off you.”

  I follow his gaze to see Ali, standing alone now, on the edge of the dance area.

  Dale pushes me toward her. “Go, you dumbass.”

  I take a deep breath and start the long walk across the lawn. People are slapping me on the back, shaking my hand, calling me out by my number. I just smile and nod. I don’t hear a word they’re saying. I don’t even care. The only thing I care about is getting to Ali. Feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.

  20

  “HI, CLAY.” Ali’s voice is so soft it takes me aback. Is this really happening? Is she seriously talking to me?

  “Hi.” I hold back a grin as I put my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels.

  She pulls her hair over her shoulder. “I know you don’t like to dance.”

  “I do,” I blurt a little too eagerly. “I mean … I’d like to dance with you … I mean, that is, if you’re asking?”

  A smirk lights her eyes as she takes my hand, leading me to the center of the dance floor. All eyes are on us, but I don’t care. Ali Miller is holding my hand. A slow song comes on, an old Hank Williams tune. It’s like they’re playing it just for us.

  She steps in, lacing her hands behind my neck. I tentatively place my hands on her waist and we sway to the music.

  “So, Clay Tate’s finally decided to grace us with his presence?”

  I can hardly concentrate on what she’s saying because of the way she’s casually stroking the ends of my hair.

  “And he’s
finally talking to me again?” she adds, lifting her chin so she can look me straight in the eye.

  “Me?” I know I’m supposed to play it cool, but I can’t help myself. “You’re the one who ran out on me that night.”

  She lowers her voice. “I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “Since when do you do everything the Preservation Society tells you to do?”

  She looks at me sharply, but doesn’t reply.

  “Besides…” I take a deep breath. “After that, it seemed like Tyler was always around.”

  “Since when have you been scared off by Tyler Neely?”

  “Since it seemed like you wanted to be with him … instead of me.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  There’s a wall of tension between us that doesn’t belong there and I don’t know how to break it down. I don’t know how to fix this.

  “To be honest, I was afraid,” she says.

  “Afraid of what?” My breath catches in my throat.

  “Of this,” she whispers, running her hand along my collar, down the length of my tie, straightening my pin. “Being this close to you.”

  My heart picks up speed as she touches the cross. Maybe I’ve seen too many monster movies, but I’m pretty sure if the Devil was inside of her she wouldn’t be able to touch it. She must not be that far gone.

  “But you’re not afraid anymore?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  And there’s this tiny moment, a wisp of sadness that passes over her face, making me wonder if she knows what’s happening to her. If she’s trying to tell me something.

  “Are you thirsty?” Ali wets her lips.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “Let’s get out of here.” She leads me across the lawn toward the main house.

  I glance back at the party to check on Mom, Jess, and Noodle, but all I see is Ian Neely smiling at me, raising his glass.

  21

  ALI LEADS me inside the Preservation Society, down the long hall back toward Ian’s office. It’s dark and quiet. We’re alone. The urge to tell her what’s really happening, to warn her, is too strong to ignore. “Ali, I need to—”