Page 38 of SIN Bone Deep

“How progressive,” Mal approved.

“Practical,” the Dean corrected raising his eyebrows with a rueful smile. “Humans will be human, after all, and we are a co-ed campus. Well,” he rose to his feet and gestured to the door. “As I said, come and see me any time with queries, my door is always open, and I will see you this time next week. Mr Veridian,” he inclined his head as Mal strolled past. “Elenyx,” his smile was warm.

Mal claimed my hand again, tucking it between his arm and side as we headed back towards the car. “He would like to make you his very special little teacher’s pet,” he commented under his breath. “You might want to think about. Screwing the Dean is certainly one way to guarantee that you get the maximum out of the academic experience, and if you fuck him good, he’s sure to give you good grades.”

FOURTEEN

Bide within the Law you must, in perfect Love and perfect Trust

– The Wiccan Rede

“This way,” Mal did not lead us out to the car park but rather opened another door which was clearly marked “Staff” in gold against the wood.

“Where are we going? Are we even allowed back here?” I protested as the door shut behind us.

The roof overhead was steepled and made of stained glass, so the hallway was lit in a rainbow of dull colour. Combined with the dark wood paneling on the walls and the many heavy-framed paintings of disapproving saints, it was a very intimidating space. I pulled back against Mal’s hold, reluctant to trespass further, but he pulled me in laughing.

The ghost Charity Vossen fled down the hallway away from the double doors towards which Mal was leading me. I turned to the side to avoid her running through me and saw that Mal did the same.

“You see them too,” I stared at him in shock.

His grin was wryly lopsided. “Of course. It’s my job, so to speak. A bit like your friend, though normally he isn’t quite so hands-on, so I wonder what brought him to the edge of the veil? You perhaps? A relative of yours?” He added gesturing with his head to where Charity’s ghost had disappeared through another door.

“Yes,” I was unnerved by the fear on her face. I could imagine what she fled from and hoped that I would not be treated to a ghostly re-enactment. “I normally see her in town where she died.”

“Fascinating,” he was watching my face when I looked back at him, much like how Ender seemed to watch me when I wasn’t looking, as if trying to puzzle me out. “The veil is thin around you.”

“I had this conversation last night,” and I was uncomfortable rehashing it with Mal.

“Did you now?” His eyes lit with fire and his smile turned mischievous. He caught my hand with his and stepped backward towards the doors. “Come on, Nyx. To answer your question, we’re doing a little school tour. The church. And of course, we’re allowed to be here… On Sundays,” he added as he opened the door and glanced within. “Shh,” he put his finger to his lips.

“Mal,” I sighed heavily as he pulled me into the church. I did not want to get into trouble. It might not matter to him, but it did to me. However, my protestations fell from my lips as I looked around the echoing chamber. It was larger than the old church in Mortensby, and I imagined that the wealthier families would make the weekly trek to this church rather than rub shoulders with the convicts and poorer families of the town.

Like the house, no expense had been spared. As with the hallway, the ceiling here was stained glass, although the arched windows at the head of the room were not. The floor was parquet, intricately laid in contrasting wood, the pattern weaving and winding, and had been polished so that the light from the stained glass shimmered over the surface.

The wall to my left had a widow’s balcony - boxed to give the bereaved privacy whilst in mourning. The pews flanked the central aisle, and we wandered down it towards the sermon stairs. There were two curved stairs, leading first to the balcony where the bishop would have stood to deliver his sermon. Behind that balcony, was the tiered choir stand.

“It’s not the church that blesses the people, but the people that bless the church, and the people of Mortensby really blessed this one, didn’t they?” Mal observed wryly. “Not always willingly.”

“No, not willingly,” I agreed softly. I did not touch the gleaming wood that was polished satin smooth both by attentive carers and by centuries of hands. This was not a place where a Vossen witch was safe instinct told me, an echo perhaps of Charity’s rape within these walls, and I almost felt that to touch would leave a taint on my skin like a layer of grease. “The social pressure was intense to give and give generously to the church. And the donation box was such a public affair, that many families gave more than they could afford in order not to look ungodly in the eyes of their neighbors, especially during times of trouble within the area…”

“Like when they brought in the witch hunters,” Mal nodded. He did not have a compunction about touching, running his hands along the pews and inspecting his fingers for dust, before delving them into the pew pockets, drawing up an old coin from one, which he pocketed, and a ring from another, which he held up to the light, lips pursed as he evaluated the stone, before slipping it onto his little finger.

“Yes…” My voice was a murmur. “Like when they brought in the witch hunters.”

He crossed to the screened ground level of the widow’s balcony, opening a door hidden within the elaborate woodwork. “Coming?” He had stepped into the dark within before I could answer.

“Damn it, Mal,” I had no choice but to follow him, and drew the door closed behind me so that if anyone came into the church, they would not investigate it being left open.

The light within the close quarters of the box was dappled by the Fleur de Lis pattern in the wood.

“This is actually quite romantic,” Mal caught me up against him so that my back was against his chest. “I wonder if all they did in these little boxes while the priest preached was watch and pray, or if,” his lips brushed the corner of my jaw and his palms stroked down to my thighs, his fingers gathering up the fabric of my skirt. “They fucked.”

“Mal…” I knew I needed him to stop, and yet… I wanted him to not stop.

“Pretend you’re a widow, and I am your secret lover, meeting you in the darkness, with the pure and penitent just on the other side of the screen and the priest’s sermon ringing out in strident tones.” His body pressed me forward so that I braced my hands against the shelf where the widow would have rested her bible within the fall of the light through the screens.

I felt my underwear slip down to my knees. My heart was a wicked drumbeat in my ears as his fingers caressed over my clit. Just as I sagged and surrendered to his caress, he turned me suddenly and lifted me, sitting me on the shelf and I gasped in surprise. The light caught on the red silk of his hair, the fire in his eyes, and the flash of white teeth as he grinned, and then he sank to his knees and tugged my hips towards him.

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