The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,98

and Agnes reached out their hands, inviting her into their exclusive circle.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Cecilia said. “None of us are.”

She stepped up to the altar as if to the edge of a precipice and joined them. They stood like high divers about to take the plunge, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to jump. And then the tension eased. Hands clasped, they relaxed.

Sebastian, Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes bowed their heads and felt themselves almost disappear into the smoke and fragrant heat, as if their flesh was melting away with the candle wax.

Revealed.

Stripped like the bleached bones that adorned the chapel.

At peace with themselves. At one with the chapel and with each other. A sort of music filled their ears, like the low hum of a generator or the soft chanting of a choir, which vibrated simultaneously through them and the ossuary, transforming it into a giant tuning fork. They channeled the powerful force, exchanging it with one another and with the room until everything was infused with their energy. It made the sudden intrusion of reality, the rumble of a passing subway train, even more startling.

Sebastian opened his eyes, raised his head, and stared at the stained glass windows surrounding them. Scenes of pain. Scenes of sacrifice from the distant past fighting their way into the present.

“The faithful were not the only ones preparing for our coming,” Sebastian warned.

“Ciphers?” Cecilia asked.

“Ciphers are the leaders. They don’t hide. They manipulate, they persuade, they seduce and pursue their agenda right under our noses.”

“Like Dr. Frey?”

“Yes, and many faceless others who do their dirty work but are just as dangerous. Vandals, some have called them. Destroyers of bodies and corrupters of souls. They are threatened by our very existence.”

“What is it that they are so afraid of?”

“Of the power inside you,” Sebastian explained. “To be a wake-up call. To be living examples that things can be better.”

“Soul models,” Lucy said.

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “People are lonely, hurting, empty. You will fill them.”

He reached for the book on the altar in front of him. He lifted the silk tassel marking a specific page. “You asked me what this was all about. It is all about you.”

He walked over to the urn and brought it back to the altar as well, first removing a few hot coals and slipping them into the golden censer before him. He reached into the incense boat next to it and sprinkled a few resinous grains onto the coals and watched the smoke rise.

The air became heavy with the spicy aroma, the scent of cedar and rose. The candles burned brightly around them, almost singing their praise. Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes felt an invisible pressure upon them, much as Sebastian had. The weight of the world.

Sebastian rose and stepped away from the table and toward the back of the altar where three linen wraps, secured with rope, enshrouded sculpted figures beneath them. One by one, he removed the ties and the coverings, revealing pristine life-size statues of beautiful young women, painted in the most gorgeous hues of blue, purple, red, green, gold, and silver. Wearing expressions both of joy and sorrow. All holding palm fronds. At the base of each statue a nameplate.

Saint Lucia.

Saint Cecilia.

Saint Agnes.

Their hearts jumped.

The girls were awestruck by what they saw. Symbols of faith and of purity worthy of worship. Saint Lucy, a wreath of roses and lighted candles around her head, holding a golden plate before her, her two beautiful blue eyes sitting atop it. Saint Cecilia, in flowing robes, with a violin and bow, a winged angel at her shoulder, eyes turned heavenward. Saint Agnes, long rivulets of curls flowing to her feet, surrounding her, a lamb tucked safely in her arm.

Sebastian returned to the altar and took his seat and held up the Legenda to his face, so that all they could see were his eyes.

“These are the long-forgotten legends of your namesakes, martyrs who gave their lives for something greater than themselves. Young girls. Teenagers, like us, who changed their worlds by their example and made the ultimate sacrifice. Human beings but divinely inspired. Subjects of art and architecture, poems and prayers. Their pictures enshrined everywhere. Their names literally on everyone’s lips. They were superstars for nearly two thousand years before the word was ever invented. Eternal icons.”

“It is hard to believe,” Lucy whispered, speaking for them all.

Sebastian ripped the illuminated parchment pages from the old book and handed one to each. They were amazed. The sense of empowerment they felt was palpable. Something