She took a deep breath and I clamped a hand over her mouth in horror, garnering a few admonishing looks from our staunchest members in the process. When Grandma joined in, her expression mortified, we straightened instantly. Brooke pointed to me, rolling her eyes as though I were hopeless. She would pay.

Grandma made eye contact with me. I quickly averted my gaze. I could see the sadness and frustration through my periphery, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pretend everything was okay. They were once again making plans for my life without even consulting me. And just where were they planning on sending me? We had no relatives. We were the last of our clan. I think my grandma had a great aunt who was still living, but that was about it. She lived in Oklahoma. Was that where they would send me? Off to live with an estranged aunt nobody had heard from in decades?

I fought not to focus on that and tried to pay attention to Granddad’s sermon. My mind wandered regardless.

Like many churches, this one had an unassuming door behind the pulpit. Ours led to the basement. Or so that’s what I’d always believed. My grandparents showed me just how deep the basement went. They gave me the grand tour of the Order of Sanctity headquarters.

Down one level was a shadowy storeroom that looked like any other basement one might find beneath an old church. Dark and dank and a little bit scary. But down another set of stairs was a second basement. Again, it looked normal at first glance. Until Granddad opened the doors to what I could only describe as an underground warehouse.

Room after room flowed through a massive bunkerlike structure. It had tall ceilings with exposed metal framework and rooms divided by half-height partitions. All except one.

One structure was a room unto itself. It had thick walls and a single opening. Inside it, metal drawers and shelves lined the walls. Inside those were the ancient texts and documents of the Order of Sanctity. That was the archive room.

The ancient documents had been passed down from generation to generation. They were very valuable. Some of the texts were prophecies directly from Arabeth or one of her daughters, recorded long ago and translated through the ages by varying scribes. And some talked about the prophets from the other lines. Always female. Always groundbreakers. People like the famous Greek poet Sappho and the awe-inspiring heroine Saint Joan of Arc.

I had to own up to a certain amount of pride, knowing I hailed from such brave and noble beginnings. Though they were both from different branches, we were all related in the end. At least, that’s how I saw it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lick of bravery or nobility.

With as much stealth as she could muster, Brooke slipped a note to me while keeping her attention focused on Granddad.

I unfolded it and read, We should come back tonight.

She wanted to come back to do some research, but I was pretty researched out. And I wanted to know what had happened to Jared.

I wrote, Been there, done that, and slid it back.

We’d sneaked into the archive room several times over the past few weeks. It was like some kind of morbid curiosity took hold of me. I didn’t want anything to do with this war or the visions, yet I couldn’t help but read the prophecies every chance I got. I always hoped they would tell me what to do. How to fight. How to win. But after another fruitless search, I could only close the thick book I’d been trying to decipher with a huff of frustration. Prophecies were weird and boring. The translated texts said things like, “It will take the Last but a moment to undo all that which evil has done.” How the heck was that supposed to be helpful? The last what? Prophet? That’s what they called me, the last prophet of Arabeth. Which did not bode well for any children I might have. Since the prophets were always female, I supposed if I did survive the war and did happen to have children someday, they would all be boys. So that was one question out of the way.

“… but a moment to undo all that which evil has done.”

If that prophecy was about me, it was nice to know it would take me only a moment to fix everything. Not. I’d already tried snapping my fingers, to no avail. I’d even tried crossing my arms and blinking. Wiggling my nose didn’t help either. Clearly magic was not part of my gift.

I felt the note slide under my fingers again. We might learn something about your visions. About how to control them.

At that exact moment, I realized something. None of the translated texts talked about the visions themselves. They recorded only what had been seen, not how to see or how not to see. Just what had been seen already.

I wrote back. We couldn’t be that lucky.

* * *

After Granddad’s sermon, Brooke and I hurried to the back of the church as Grandma and Granddad spoke to a few members of the congregation. They’d called a special meeting of the Order amidst hateful glares and resentful glances. And not just mine. Many in the congregation were angry with them for wanting to send me away. I still hadn’t talked to them about the conversation I’d overheard. I was curious how long it would take them to tell me themselves. Or were they just planning to truss me up and ship me off?

Cameron and Glitch were waiting at the back of the church and we rushed out before anyone could stop us. We were going to the forest. We were going to search for Jared.

We wound through the trees and over dips in Cameron’s tan pickup. The poor thing looked like it’d been used by war correspondents in the Middle East. It sported a nifty camper shell and several large rust-covered dents. We bounced and lunged until we came to a stop near the clearing. It looked so different in the daytime. I was surprised there wasn’t more debris. A few bottles and cans littered the ground, but nothing too significant. And a couple of fallen logs bordered the charred remains of the campfire.