Page 49 of The Business of Blood
The velvet-cushioned bench encircled one of the many white columns supporting the arch of the chapel. I perched facing a window, soaking in the light, basking in its warmth.
The glow through the painted panes was soft. Because reverence is soft. Because worship should be soft. Not fanatical, like it tended to be back home.
I listened to the whispers echoing off the stones. Even conversation sounded like prayer in a cathedral. The reverberations fractured the words, so I could not make them out, but the woman came across a bit desperate. Frightened, even.
Aidan’s level lilt became a solemn, reassuring tune. I rested my head on the column behind me and did my best not to let the whispers lull me to sleep.
I must have drifted because Aidan was suddenly beside me, his hand on my shoulder.
“You always did like to nap in the sunlight,” he remembered fondly. “Even as a little girl.”
His lean hips swathed in a cassock with a black sash were at eye level, I realized, as I blinked awake. Quickly, I looked up to where the sunlight turned his golden hair into an angelic halo.
“Still afraid of the dark, Fiona?”
“Still.” Always.
“Did you come to collect your fee for the Sawyer house?” Stepping out of the light, he sat beside me. I didn’t answer him as the image in the windowpane arrested my attention for a heart-stopping moment.
A bearded man with a golden halo, swathed in red robes, hung from a cross.
Upside down.
Gasping, I fumbled in my pocket for the tarot card, gripping it with trembling hands as I studied the similarities. Of course. Saint Peter.
“What’s this?” Aidan asked mildly.
“Aunt Nola showed me a card from her tarot deck. It’s called the Hanged Man. Look at how he’s positioned. And look at St. Peter in the window.”
“Just like Frank Sawyer,” Aiden realized aloud.
“Exactly!” I did my best to connect the significance with my sleep-deprived mind. “Remind me why St. Peter was martyred thus.”
“He is thought to be the only other apostle of Christ who was crucified. But, because he thrice denied that Jesus was the Messiah, he felt unworthy to be martyred in the same fashion. He requested to be crucified inverted to signify his shame.”
There was that word again. Invert.
“Strange, then, that the Pope sits on the throne of St. Peter, if he was so unworthy. Hardly seems right, does it?”
Aidan tweaked my arm. “Are you here to blaspheme the Holy Father, Fiona? Because it’s been a long night for me, as well, and I don’t have the constitution to argue theology with a heretic like you.”
I waved the card at him, undaunted by his half-hearted ire. “Aunt Nola mentioned that the card signifies atonement. Repentance. Redemption, maybe. There could be some sort of connection here. This was Mr. Sawyer’s parish, after all. Can you think of anything or anyonewho’s been specifically interested in this window? Or St. Peter in general?”
Aidan took the card, glancing between it and the window. “Poor mad Aunt Nola,” he murmured. “Does she still fancy that she’s a mouthpiece for the dead?”
A defensive ire grew heavy in my chest. “How is it, that if you claim to be the mouthpiece of God, you are holy and revered—greater than kings and queens. But claim to be in touch with the departed, and you’re insane?”
A winsome dimple appeared in Aiden’s cheek. “There is only one disembodied voice you’re allowed to hear, I’m afraid. Two, if you count the devil. I don’t make the rules.”
I rolled my eyes, refusing to be charmed.
“What else did Nola say about the Hanged Man?” he asked.
“She said it’s a card of suspension. Of the in-between. That it could also mean a crossroads perhaps. Being paralyzed by indecision, not knowing which path to take.”
Suddenly, he looked very serious. “You know what the crossroads is, Fi. Canonically, I mean. It’s the last stop before Hell. You’ll only find demons there, fiends looking to make a bargain for your soul.”
Maybe that’s where I was. Because sitting there, staring at Aidan, all I felt was wicked. None of the righteous paths appealed to me. And perhaps I’d have made a deal with the devil to change what was between us.
