Page 40 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

August

It soon became clear that William had decreed I remain by his side from dawn till dusk.

While other recruits busied themselves with farming, sewing robes, cooking, or other tasks I hadn’t yet learned, I trailed after him like a puppy nipping at his heels.

When he ate breakfast, I ate beside him.

When he led a prayer class, I sat with the recruits, head bowed.

Only while they presumably thought pious thoughts, I thought about my grandma, and Keaton.

When he scribbled in the margins of a book, I sat silently.

He never asked if I could read or write, and I never told him.

Thankfully, when he ‘entertained’ one of his wives, something that could happen at any hour of the day, I wasn’t required to sit at the foot of the bed―Anderson had an actual bed as self-appointed king of the castle―and got a much-needed break from playing sycophant.

Through it all, he watched me, panting after a vision like a dog eyeing a juicy bone he was desperate to sink his teeth into.

And I refused to give him one. For two reasons: first, because if I caved too quickly, it wouldn’t be believable; and second, because I hadn’t yet figured out what it was William wanted the most. I didn’t much like the passing days.

I wanted him dead and this over with, but I’d committed, and I wasn’t going to botch it.

Bruce didn’t constantly shadow us by day three.

By day six, they stopped locking me in at night.

By day eight, William’s frustration showed itself in the tap of his pen against the table, more pondering than writing occurring.

I sat serene, unbothered, loving every second of knowing I was getting under his skin.

William cracked first, slamming his pen down and skewering me with his gaze. “What was your last vision? You never said.”

I folded my hands neatly in my lap and met his gaze. “I dreamed about a girl.”

He frowned, dark brows drawing together. “What girl?”

“I don’t know her name. The visions don’t work like that.”

“Describe her.”

I gave a perfect description of Madeleine, right down to the mole on her neck.

“Madeleine,” William supplied. “She was tested last week. She failed. The Lord took her.”

I nodded. I’d already suspected she wasn’t here, but confirmation helped.

Bad luck for her. Good luck for me. “The Lord told me she wasn’t worthy, that her heart would have only grown more corrupted as the years went by.

” I heaved out a pained breath. “I saw her last moments, the transformation that overtook her.”

“She was to be my next wife.”

“She wasn’t worthy of joining your ranks.”

William nodded solemnly. “I must accept the Lord’s verdict. My wives must be pure.”

“Indeed,” I agreed.

He glanced at the door as if checking for intruders, then leaned closer. “I have been speaking to the Lord. I have had questions to ask of Him.”

“Questions.” My tone was calm. Inside, I was rejoicing. Go on, you bastard. Tell me what you really want.

“I asked him why I do not have a wife who is blessed.”

“Have you looked for one?”

“I have. To no avail.”

I nodded. I’d seen most of William’s wives, and his question shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

He was like a bigamous Noah, only instead of having an ark, he had a castle, and instead of collecting animals, he collected women.

As such, they all embodied unique traits.

Tall, short. Black, white. Blonde, brunette, redhead.

Full bosom, flat chest. Of course, he’d want to add someone immune.

Not possessing one would sting. “Now, you’ve asked me, the Lord will send His answer. ”

“When?”

“When he chooses.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Make it soon.”

I bowed my head. “I will do my best, Beloved Father. Although I’m sure you understand that someone as inconsequential as me cannot hurry the Lord.”

Three more days passed before I staged my performance, timing it for when William wasn’t alone.

My so-called epiphany about myself apparently hadn’t dulled my need for drama.

I could have waited until I’d set the bowl on the table.

Instead, halfway there, I staggered. The bowl slipped from my fingers, stew splattering across the stone floor.

My knees slammed down hard, nearly wringing a grunt from me. Almost. Warm stew seeped through my robe as I bent forward, clutching my head. Hopefully, they’d give me a new robe. Maybe I should have put the bowl down first. Oh well, too late now.

“Gray.” William’s voice. His use of my name was interesting, when he usually addressed me the same way he did everyone as “my child,” like we were a dysfunctional family who gossiped about religion and left our daughters tied up on the beach every second Tuesday.

I ignored him, squeezing my eyes shut and pretending to be lost in the vision.

I’d never seen anyone have a vision. Mostly because there was no such thing. But I gambled no one else had either, which gave me artistic license to do whatever I wanted.

“Grab his arm. Get him on a chair.”

William again. His voice held no concern, only pleasure that his pet dog was finally performing its trick. Hands gripped my arms, hauling me backwards. At least I was out of the stew. I let myself dangle like a deadweight until a chair caught me.

I swayed, threatening to topple back onto the floor. Fingers dug into my arm to steady me. “What’s wrong with him?” a voice I recognized as Polly, one of William’s wives, asked.

“He’s having a vision,” William announced with obvious satisfaction. “It’s why the Lord sent him to us. The Lord has things he wants me to know.”

“He does,” I rasped. “So many things.”

I opened my eyes slowly, making a big show out of blinking. It had only been a minute, but that was long enough. Dragging it out longer would bore even me.

All eyes were on me, and I had to resist the urge to lift a hand and wave.

Some looked bemused. Others were curious.

And a few were skating a little too close to scepticism.

Interesting, given what they’d signed up for.

Although I already suspected there were some, particularly the men who wouldn’t figure in William’s marriage plans, here for the roof over their head and three square meals rather than for any divine purpose.

“Get out,” William said quietly. Nobody moved. “GET OUT!”

That did it. They scattered, almost falling over themselves in their haste to leave the room. Their shocked expressions said they weren’t used to Beloved Father shouting. Guilt pricked at me for choosing mealtime, the room now a graveyard of abandoned bowls.

Even Bruce cleared out, leaving only William and me.

“Well?” he demanded as footsteps still echoed down the corridor.

“First, He wants you to know you’re doing a terrific job. That He holds you in high esteem.”

William waved that aside. “Did he mention the girl?”

“Mention, no.” I let the pause stretch. “Visions take many forms. Sometimes words, but mostly pictures. He didn’t say her name, but He showed her to me.”

Excitement dawned in William’s eyes. He dragged his chair closer, leaning forward. “I’m listening.”

“The pictures aren’t always clear.” I hesitated, then shaped the image into something he’d want—something close to the wife he seemed to favor most. “Long dark hair.” I swept my hand over my head to illustrate. “Green eyes. A button nose. Heart-shaped lips. Very pretty.”

“What’s her body like?”

Could he sound any sleazier? “Curvy.”

“And she’s immune?”

“I don’t see why the Lord would show her to me if she wasn’t.”

“Where is she? I’ll send someone. Bruce, perhaps.”

“I don’t know.” His glare darkened, so I hurried on. “Not yet. But the Lord will show me. You just need to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient.”

“You have,” I said soothingly. “Incredibly patient. You just need to wait a little longer.”

Meanwhile, I had to work out how to use this to deliver him straight to Keaton in a convincing enough way he’d fall for it.