Page 24 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
“Take it.”
Reluctantly, she took the helmet.
“Get on,” Junipersaid.
Sophia swung her leg over the seat and adjusted the chin strap on the helmet, pulling it tight. The proximity between her and Juniper was instantly eaten away.
Juniper glanced over her shoulder. “Hold on.”
“What?”
“Hold on to me.”
Something hot and new flared in Sophia’s gut. She aligned herself against Juniper, legs spread, crotch pressed to her ass, and gripped her waist, setting her thumbs above jutting hip bone. The bike roared to life, humming beneath them, and when Juniper leaned forward, Sophia did too. Juniper gripped the handles and the bike sped forward. Sophia tightened her grip. Everything blurred after that. It was Juniper’s jacket zipped to her chin, and the cool night air skimming her clothes, and Juniper’s braid whipping against the helmet. It was residual power—uncertain and unknown—lingering in her core, and the dizzying rush of finality beating in her chest.I’m going to die,Sophia thought, and held on to Juniper tighter.But please, God, not yet, not yet.
Red brake lights streamed by in Sophia’s peripheral as Juniper weaved through the city. The bike accelerated, faster,faster.Sophia kept her eyes open, watching the world soften and melt, palm trees running into skyscrapers, merging like watercolors. They cruised a windy road toward Griffith Observatory and stopped at a lookout near the Hollywood Sign. Juniper cut the engine again and waited for Sophia to dismount before she swung her leg over the seat and stood.
The Hollywood hills were ripe with desert beauty. Cacti sprouted between busheled buckwheat. Crisp bramble and honeysuckle hugged the trail and sycamores speared the skyline. The moon hung high above the city, tinted orange and blanketed by smog.
Sophia set the helmet on the seat and swiped her hand through her hair. When she tried to take off the jacket, Juniper tugged the lapels, securing the garment.
“Looks good on you,” Juniper said. She placed a bent knuckle beneath Sophia’s chin and shifted her attention to the mark on her neck. “Bishop’s making a salve.” She sighed. Her breath coasted the sensitive, pink wound. Sophia shivered. Cursed God. Thanked God. “That scream,” she tested, lifting a brow. “Think you could do it again?”
“Why?” Sophia asked, a little out of breath, a little dazed.
“Because when you spend enough time in the presence of death, sometimes you come across the opportunity to form an outside relationship with it. Rare, obviously. But you’re in the rarest circumstance I can imagine.”
“An outside relationship . . . ?”
“Power is a fickle thing.”
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t have power—I’ve never had power.”
The psychic gave a short, breathy laugh, and Sophia felt it everywhere.
“What set you off?” Juniper asked.
Sophia’s head spun. “What?”
“What did it? What set you off?” Juniper stepped closer, craned over her.
“Nothing—I got scared, I—”
“You got pissed.”
“Back up,” Sophia snapped, shying away. Her heart pounded. Vision doubled. Panic twisted behind her ribs.
Juniper snatched her wrist. “C’mon, what did it? Show me—”
Sophia ripped away. Her voice lifted, electric and haunting, and burst from her. “I saidback off!”
A murder of sleepy crows honked and cawed, fleeing from a valley oak. That same icy sound sent Juniper’s braid twirling behind her. It rippled her shirt. Caused the bike to creak on its kickstand. Sophia heaved in a shaky breath and met Juniper’s sharp, curious gaze. The psychic made a confident noise,ah,like she’d aced a quiz. She brushed her gloved fingers over Sophia’s knuckles, an apology written in touch.
“See,” Juniper cooed. “An unbecoming can lead to something else, no?”
Sophia shook her head. “First I’m dying, now I’m—”
“Still dying.”
