Page 89 of At Her Will

She’d liked the hint of the forearm henna beneath the cuff of his dress shirt. The cross showed on his nape, and though it had drawn some curious looks, it wasn’t inappropriate to the environment. They wouldn’t expect he had the other designs, including one around his cock. But she knew, and the knowledge was like having sugar on her tongue.

This time, when the service concluded, Rev introduced her to some of his favorite congregation members. Including Mrs. Everett Meriweather. The flirty ninety-year-old widow had a ready smile for Vera and took her hand. She wore black heelsand a trim sapphire-blue church suit with a magnolia bloom in the lapel next to her rope of pearls.

“Rev needs a good strong woman in his life.” She spoke bluntly, the privilege of a confident woman her age. “One who takes care of him the way he takes care of all of us. I like the look of you. Almost as smartly dressed as me.”

“Thank you. I’m doing my best. On the taking care of him.” Vera swept an appreciative gaze over her ensemble. “I obviously have work to do on the clothes.”

“Sincere flattery and a sense of humor.” Mrs. Meriweather captured Rev’s hand, creating a circle between the three of them. “Good for you, boy.”

Those kinds of welcome dissipated the tension Witford and Tisha’s attitude caused her. She did see a couple looks at the same disapproving level as theirs, most noticeably from two ushers who’d taken up the collection from the front half of the church. When Rev introduced her to Simon and Tyson, they were stiff in their responses, unwilling to be drawn in. They’d excused themselves to flank Witford and Tisha, a chilly backdrop to the wall of Rev’s family.

It brought back some incredibly unpleasant memories, no matter how much she tried to squash them.

Rev had drawn her closer, his arm around her waist. “Don’t worry none about them,” he said. “They’ll come around. Let me introduce you to the choir ladies and Beverly, who leads them.”

“Palma Webb on line two for you, Vera.”

When Bastion’s voice came through the phone intercom, his message yanked Vera back to reality like a bucket of cold water in the middle of an orgasm.

Fucking hell.

The Henrietta situation, the problems with Rev’s family, were minor issues compared to her reaction when Bastion saidher sister’s name. The spike through her chest could have done an ice pick proud.

“Vera? You there?”

“Yes.”

“She says it’s personal and you’d take the call. Rather imperiously, and not in the good way,” he added. “More bratty and petulant. Can I teach her a lesson by taking a message? Threaten to spank her if she doesn’t learn better manners? Don’t lecture me. It’s only a workplace faux pas if I threaten a staff member with that.”

Bastion’s irreverent manner helped get her back on track. Even if her hold on that track was taking all ten of her tensely curled toes. “Stop getting your advice about professional office behavior from Cyn. I’ll take the call. Do you have any Rolaids in your desk?”

“Honey, you know I do. I buy them in bulk.”

“Good. I’ll come get a couple after I finish the call.”

Lord help me.

Hearing a gunshot at a place one should never be heard took a precious second to process. By the time Rev turned the corner of Hall C, three more had rung out, competing with the screaming that had erupted with the first.

Kids were bursting out of Mrs. Cuddy’s class, wild-eyed and frantic, rabbits trying to escape a wolf. Most went toward the exit door at the end of the hall, rather than coming his way. The ones that didn’t, he waved them past him as he moved forward, sticking close to the wall. Watching for the wolf.

Teachers who heard the shots would follow the drills they’d practiced. Lock their doors, tell the students to get down on thefloor so a shooter couldn’t get a good target through the upper panel of glass, and report status to the main office through the intercom system.

With a stutter of his heart, he saw one child lying motionless in the hall. Another staggered out of Mrs. Cuddy’s room and collapsed, blood soaking the front of the nice striped shirt his momma had probably bought him. The wolf emerged right behind him.

It was Craig, a slight, pale boy with thick blond hair. He was one of the students who held himself apart, a hooded ghost in the hallways. He’d transferred in a couple months ago, his dad having won custody of him in a nasty divorce. Mrs. Cuddy had made the most progress with him. She handled the yearbook and had gotten him involved, helping to collect some pictures for it.

He wore baggy jeans and his usual dark hoodie. It had a skull-faced reaper printed on the back, one bony hand reaching out as the other clasped his scythe.

Rev had a chilling view of that empty eyed specter, because Craig was ignoring the kids he’d shot and was turned toward the children fleeing toward the exit door. He raised his gun, taking aim on Mary Wharton’s back.

“Craig,stop.”

Craig spun around. Since he had his finger on the trigger, it went off, hitting the lockers to Rev’s left with a loud clang. A sizzling burn across his arm suggested a ricochet had hit him, but Rev barely noticed. He was focused on Craig’s lifeless eyes, hopeless and tired and confused and far away from the reach of anything or anyone.

No. No one was beyond Love. God would give Rev what he needed to reach him. He gripped that calm certainty with all he had and stood still and tall, while Craig pointed the gun at him and gave him that empty stare. Rev couldn’t tell what was going on his mind, but it hadn’t yet told him to pull the trigger again.

Lord, save those two children, and whoever else is hurt. If this be the day the Lord calls me home, thank you for Veracity. Keep her and love her, the way I wish I could have stayed around and done. Amen.

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