Page 26 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
Sophia swallowed hard. “And you’ll bring me back?”
“I’ll bring you back,” Juniper said, nodding. “I know it’s scary, but being what you are, doing what you’ve done. There’s no shame in that.”
“What, being a vessel, being a banshee?”
“Surviving.”
“Oh no, there’s shame in my survival,” she assured, huffing out a laugh. She remembered the way Kimberly’s fingernails brought back bits of her sister. How blood stained the snow. “Trust me.”
Juniper was quiet for a moment. Almost too long. “There’s strength in you. El óido wouldn’t manifest if you didn’t deserve it. Seeing beyond what we’re given is a beautiful thing and someone out there, someone greater than us saw you.”
“Yeah, what about you,” Sophia braved. “Do yousee me, Castle? Do you think I’m beautiful?”
Juniper’s lips curved. “I think you’re tempting.”
“Eve and the apple,” Sophia said. The original mother. Seeker. Destroyer. “Careful.”
“Do you think Genesis was really about the fruit? I always thought it was about the snake.” Juniper tapped Sophia’s chin with her gloved thumb. Leather filled her nostrils. She almost opened her mouth, almost snagged Juniper’s hand with her teeth. “Everyone blames Eve, yet we thank God for a world the devil offered her.”
Sophia swallowed hard. “A world we weren’t supposed to have.”
“Says who?” she dared.
The question was rhetorical, but Sophia still struggled with an answer. God, Christ, Almighty, Creator. She thought of Noah, and the Book of Enoch, and the plagues that ravaged Egypt. Everything her righteous, punishing God had done once Eden became a past life.
If he could not keep it from her, he would destroy it to spite her,a ghost said. Judas, maybe.
“You’ll bring me back,” Sophia said again, standing beside the bike.
Juniper adjusted the strap on the helmet, fastening it beneath Sophia’s chin. “I’ll bring you back.”
Chapter seven
TheBelle House glowedin thewitching hour. Sophia hadn’t expected anyone to be awake, but when Juniper propped the door with her foot, the pair were greeted by Colin, Bishop, Lincoln, and Tehlor seated around the parlor table, talking quietly between sips from steaming mugs. Gunnhild turned toward Sophia from her perch on Tehlor’s shoulder and stretched out her snout. Sophia scratched the rat’s fuzzy head, focusing on the animal rather than the people.
“Sorry, kid,” Lincoln said. Sincerity sounded strange in his mouth. Misplaced. He wiggled his nose and flattened his wolfish ears. “We couldn’t get you back. Ran out of options.”
“Bishop’s medicinal balms are very good, trust me,” Colin assured.
Sophia shifted her gaze to Bishop. The brujo looked back at her over the black rim of their glasses and twisted their wrist, grinding an aloe leaf with a stone pestle. They stood and shrugged toward the kitchen.
Juniper placed her palm on the small of Sophia’s back and gave a small, encouraging push. “Go on. Fix some tea while you’re in there.”
Truthfully, she craved a hot shower. Desperately wanted to scrub away the séance and let the unfamiliar self-defense—magic—her spirit hadembraced run down the drain. But Bishop inclined their head as they walked past, disappearing through the beaded curtain, and Sophia knew following them was her only option.Appease the group, make a plan, go to bed.Beads rolled across her shoulder. The dimly lit kitchen, spotless despite the mess they’d made fixing dinner, still smelled like dark chocolate and spiced meat. She leaned against the island next to Bishop, waiting for instruction.
Bishop shot her a patient look. “I hated Lincoln,” they whispered, nodding as if to convince themself. “Still do, I guess ...” They gathered a glob of the greenish paste and gestured to her neck. “But for once, he’s not lying. I couldn’t get you back, Colin couldn’t, Tehlor couldn’t—”
“Pain is the ultimate equalizer,” Sophia said, and lifted her chin. “It did the job.”
They arched a brow. “True. But I don’t think hewantedto hurt you.” They smeared salve over the burn. She flinched, bracing for discomfort. The balm had the texture of cold pudding. “That’s all.”
“Did he want to hurt you?”
Bishop’s mouth thinned. “Good question. Here, in this moment, yeah, I think he did. Ask me again in six months and my answer might be different.”
“Hurt has a shelf life, huh?” She closed her eyes, savoring the tingly relief coursing through the pinkened handprint.
“I killed him the first time around.” They met her gaze, watching her carefully. “Neither one of us will ask for forgiveness, and neither one of us will give it, but yeah, I think hurt has a shelf life. Sometimes it has to.”
