Flame by Amy Kathleen Ryan

in the night, her feelings a mixture of horror and a disturbing joy that made her wonder if she was losing her mind.
    She spent more and more time in her room, in a twilight state, still and quiet under her blankets. That’s where she was when she heard a knock on the front door. She went into the living room to see who had come and found Dr. Carver’s handsome assistant making small talk with her mother.
    “Remember me?” he asked as he stepped neatly into the living room.
    “Hi, Jared,” she said, wondering why he made her feel timid.
    “Want to go for a walk?” He swept his arm toward the door.
    He smiled as she wordlessly reached for her black cardigan that she kept hanging next to the door. The flabby, snide guard who stood perpetually outside her doorway looked at Jared with apprehension but made no motion to stop him from taking Waverly.
    “Why is he letting me leave?” Waverly asked when they were out of earshot.
    “He can’t interfere with the church elders,” Jared said.
    “Where are we going?”
    “The doctor has been laying groundwork. Now he wants you to meet his colleagues.” The elevator doors opened, and Waverly stepped on with him, careful to leave plenty of distance between them. He smelled earthy, like rich soil and sage, a masculine, primitive fragrance.
    “Do you know anything about my friends? The ones who were taken away from the Empyrean reunion? Are they okay?”
    “I’ll see what I can find out,” he said conspiratorially. “All right?”
    “Thanks,” Waverly said.
    The elevator doors opened onto the administrative level of the ship, and Jared led her down the hallway to the Central Council chamber. The room looked just like the council chamber on the Empyrean, though it was filled with religious icons. Most of them were Christian, but Waverly recognized a Muslim crescent and star, a laughing Buddha on the ledge below the large dome of windows, and a Shiva sitting on the credenza by the door, cross-legged, many arms stretched like a fan around his head.
    “Waverly!” called Dr. Carver, waving from his place at the head of the table, around which sat five other people who looked almost as elderly as he did. She nodded, uneasy to suddenly be in front of an audience. “Everyone,” Dr. Carver said, “please introduce yourselves.”
    A tiny, withered woman held her chin high as though she expected to be admired and said, “Miranda Koch.” She fingered a necklace of white beads around her neck. Beside her was another woman, much larger and plumper, with lots of rouge rubbed into her swollen cheeks. She smiled at Waverly and held up a hand, disturbing dozens of gold bracelets around her wrist. “I’m Selma Walton. Welcome.” Across the table from the women sat two men, identical from their unnaturally brown hair to their crooked noses, and angular shoulder bones poking up through gray cardigan sweaters. Twins, Waverly realized. She’d heard of twins, though she’d never before seen any. They looked at her steadily, and she blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring. One of them lazily lifted a finger and said, “Wilbur Murdoch,” and his brother muttered, “Raymond.” Next to them, Waverly recognized Deacon Maddox, the stooped figure who always sat on stage with Anne Mather during services. Now he was sitting perfectly still, eyes closed. Waverly thought he must be sleeping, for he made no move to introduce himself.
    “On the Empyrean there are seven council members,” Waverly mumbled to the room.
    “I’m number seven,” Jared said, smiling with good humor. “Don’t I look dignified?”
    Waverly returned his smile, and suddenly she didn’t feel so alone.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Dr. Carver with ceremony, “I present the key to bringing down Anne Mather. After that, we can put anyone we like in the Captain’s chair. Jared, for instance.”
    Jared humbly bowed his head.
    “Isn’t the Captain chosen democratically?” Waverly asked, small voiced.
    “He