A few of the elderly people nod sagely.
Bellflower places a hand over his heart and drops his head in mock sympathy. “These plagues are no coincidence, my friends. Evil lives in Tin Mountain. It was brought upon this land by witchcraft and divination—the devil’s tools. Evil wears many guises.” He shrugs. “Some beautiful. Seductive and sweetly innocent. But no matter how appealing evil may seem on the outside, the destroyer seeks always to undo the work of the good. Witches are the Enemy’s helpmates.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. He’s using his illusions of healing and godliness to convince people to turn against us. How many more people will he fool—how many more have to die—before they see him for what he is?
“But I have good news, my children. Witches aren’t the only ones who have powers.” He ceases his pacing. “I was given a greater gift, in my youth. My dear, sweet mother was afflicted by a witch’s curse. From my earliest memory, she was racked with fits that bent her back and sent her into such painful spasms that she begged for the mercy of death. I prayed fervently for her to be healed. And one day . . . one day, I was heard.” Fake tears glisten in Bellflower’s eyes. He pulls in a deep breath and lets it out.
I can tell he’s covered this ground before. The speech is practiced and polished, like he’s repeated it over and over for years. I wonder how much of it—if any of it—is true.
“An angel came to me, in the night. He touched me and made me a promise. If I would help purge the world of witchcraft, he would heal my mother, and give me the gift of healing so that I might bless others. Friends, that angel made true on his promise. And I have made true on mine. I have spent my entire ministry chasing down evil and delivering those oppressed by the dangers of witchcraft.”
He bends to pick up one of the tin pails. At first, I think it’s just an offering bucket, but I hear a faint rasp of movement coming from inside. “You have seen me heal. You have seen me prophesy, and tonight, you’ll defy death with me.” Bellflower thrusts a hand into the bucket. He lifts a snake—a copperhead, its brilliant brown and orange body twining up his arm. “To drive out evil, we will dance with the devil’s serpents, brothers and sisters.”
Aunt Val starts playing the piano again—a wild, careening version of “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” I move forward with the rest of the crowd with a spiteful determination to expose him for what he truly is.
The other congregants reach into the buckets and take up snakes—there are water moccasins and rattlesnakes, too—and start dancing with them. The music gets louder and the tent heaves with people drunkenly spinning in circles and speaking in tongues as they sway.
I tie my scarf tighter around my face, covering everything but my eyes. Curiosity propels me to the altar. I reach inside one of the buckets, feeling the dry, cool softness of a snake’s scales slither over my hand. I grasp the copperhead, and hold it close to me, humming to it, trying to calm its frantic thrashing. It strikes me anyway, as is its nature. But I don’t feel the sharp sink of fangs like I should—only a pinch.
I tickle the snake under its chin. It lets go, then strikes again, its jaws closing over my thumb. I turn the snake and look inside its mouth. I knew it. There are two gaping holes where its teeth should be. It’s been mutilated. That bastard has pulled out its fangs. A snake represents original sin, but the only sin here is Josiah Bellflower’s charade.
I pull in a deep breath and the heat in my bones begins to sing. As if he can feel the shift in energy, Bellflower turns to me. I push the scarf off and stalk toward him, unafraid. Aunt Val must see me, too, because the music dies, and the wild dancing slowly comes to a stop. The tent goes quiet. I turn in a slow circle, brandishing the snake in front of me before I bend to gently release it.
“It’s all a lie. Look at your snakes. He’s taken their fangs. They aren’t biting you because they can’t. There’s no miracle here, just meanness and a good pair of pliers.”
Some of the townsfolk look down at the snakes they’re holding, but most of them just stare at me like I’ve got two heads.
“Are you going to tell them what else you’ve done, Josiah Bellflower? I know who you really are.” My voice is strong. Sure. “I know what you’re tryin’ to do. You’re a deceiver. A liar.”
Bellflower snaps his fingers. Everything goes still. People freeze in place—caught up in his trance. It’s suddenly so quiet in the tent, the only sound I hear is the pounding of my heart.
“Ah, Gracelynn. So glad you could come. What do you think? I’m coming up in the world, aren’t I?” He points at a weedy-looking man with a camera, sitting in the front row. “That man’s a reporter from the Gazette. He’s working on a front-page story about my ministry.”
“That’s what you’re after? Fame?”
“No. Although it’s a pleasant distraction. All of this,” he says, sweeping his arms at the frozen congregants, “is just a game to me. Theater. A farce. It means nothing.” He stalks toward me, his eyes lit with that unholy, silver light. “Has she told you yet, Gracie?”
I step backward. Fear threatens to throttle my breath, my voice, but I won’t give him the pleasure. “What are you talking about?”
“Your beloved Granny. Has she told you the truth?”
“Well, seeing as she’s in a coma, thanks to Val, she can’t tell me much of anything right now. So, I guess that leaves you, though I’d be as foolish as your congregation to believe a word that drops from your poisoned lips.”
Bellflower laughs, throwing his head back.
I glance at the piano. Aunt Val’s hands hover over the keyboard, her mouth agape. A water moccasin is curled around her ankle.
“Does Val know you’re just using her?”
Bellflower sighs. “She gets plenty from our arrangement. She’s ravenous. I hardly sleep.”
“So, what’s the point to all this, Bellflower? I reckon if you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now. Yet, you seem set on turning all these townsfolk against me and pinning this drought on me and Granny. Why?”
“The ends necessitate the means.”
“Is that what you said when you killed Anneliese?”
A shadow passes over his lean face. “I didn’t kill her. They did.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “So, you’re the sort who believes your own lies. You’d make a good politician. You should take that up instead of preaching. I’ve heard the pay is better.”
It must be my laughter that does it. His face hardens. He snaps his fingers again, and a cacophony of sound erupts behind my ears. The congregation comes back to life, shouting and hollering their amens and hallelujahs. Bellflower steps behind the pulpit again.
His eyes glint as he gives me a smug grin. “Brethren, did I not just proclaim that evil seeks to undermine good?” he booms. “Here we have one of the very witches who plagues your town. She wishes to cast doubt into your heart. To seduce you from the truth with her beauty and her lies.” Suddenly, I’m surrounded. Bodies press against me. Voices crowd my head, all talking at once, like a hillbilly Tower of Babel: