When the circle was finished, Grandma grabbed me by the hand, and together we knelt in front of Horace while she prayed.

“Spirit, the hour has come,” whispered Grandma. “The night is yours, and the stars and moon are yours, and the woods are yours. We kneel in supplication, asking for your indwelling presence, for your anointing on Lee, the prophet you have chosen for yourself. Bind yourself to him, your spirit to his spirit, your essence to his bones. May he speak with your words, and may he see with your eyes. May the nations kneel before you.”

Horace, gagged, watched us, his eyes wide and confused.

“I don’t understand, Grandma,” I said. “What’s happening?”

“Every true prophet must bind himself to the Spirit,” said Grandma. “Your great-grandfather taught me that. And there can be no binding without a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” I said. “What are you talking about? I’m winning Horace over, just like you asked me to. Soon he’ll believe in me. He’ll be one of us.”

“That’s never been his purpose, Lee, not really,” she said. “That’s not why I saved him, kept him bound in the church for you, though for a time he proved a useful toy for you to practice on. No, I always had other grander plans for Horace.”

From her satchel Grandma removed a knife. It was long and slender and ridged, a steak knife, the very same one I’d seen her use in our kitchen.

Horace began thrashing in his chair, jerking against the duct tape.

“I can’t do this,” I said. “There’s no way.”

“But you have to,” said Grandma. “It’s for us, for your family, your people. This is how it’s always been done since your great-grandfather first took the land from the Urquharts. There is no other way.”

Horace screamed, his voice muffled by the gag, and yanked harder against his bonds. The chair shook and rocked, and for a moment I thought he’d knock it over.

“Be still!” screamed Grandma, pointing the knife at him, and Horace obeyed.

It made me feel good, a little bit, to see Horace so scared, to see him cower away from Grandma. And then I remembered the glimpse I’d seen of him as a child about to be whipped by his father.

I took a step backward, away from the circle.