Page 31 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
“Florida Water, Quita Maldición, mandrake oil, candles.” She shrugged and grabbed a plastic bag filled with leafy stems. The label readEspanta Muerto Plant.Her long fingers dusted pillar candles and incense cones. She paused over a figure of a skeletal saint much like the one beneath the staircase and uttered a prayer under her breath.
Sophia cocked her head. “Who is she?”
“Santa Muerte, saint of holy death, guardian of the displaced. She’s my deity, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“You pray to her?”
“I do,” Juniper said. “She may not be God, but she’s protected me far more than the almighty ever has. Do you have a saint?”
Joan,someone said. The same voice that’d crept from the shadows—cloaked in power, lilting and beautiful—coasted the shell of her ear. Sophia startled, dodging an invisible force. She swatted at nothing. Straightened in place and glanced over her shoulder, offering an apologetic smile to the ruffled clerk.
Juniper eyed her carefully. “Spirits?”
“No,” she bit out, glancing around. “Something bigger. It’s fine, it’s gone. Sorry.”
“Bigger?”
“Different.”
“Different,” Juniper repeated, nodding. She nudged her chin toward a display of rosaries strung from fake branches on a makeshift jewelry tree. “Pick one.”
“Oh, I don’t have any—”
“Pick one,” Juniper insisted. She tipped her head as if to saydon’t argueand stepped around the table, gliding her pointer finger across hand-carved candles.
Sophia tested the weight of a few beads. Polished rose quartz cooled her skin, volcanic rock snagged the bandage around her palm, and her thumb glided over smooth glass. Two members of the Haven congregation had prayed with rosaries, counting each bead as they said their Act of Contrition or Hail Mary. But whenever Sophia had looked to relics, she’d always found herself snared by the book of Thomas.I am all. Split a piece of wood and I am there. Lift a stone and you will find me.She’d never needed a tool or a temple, but she gripped a small silver rosary with pearly beads anyway, sighing at the pleasant texture. She pressed her thumb to a saint’s icon etched into flattened metal. Sword, helmet, armor.
“Joan of Arc.” Juniper peeked over her shoulder and hummed, pleased. “Saint of liberation, strength, and rebellion. Good choice.”
Sophia almost dropped the rosary. The hair on her nape stood.Joan.She replayed the strange, disembodied voice and clutched the beads tighter. Last night, it’d claimed her,you’re mine, and right then, it guided her to an inevitable choice.
Who are you?She beamed the question outward. Countless voices chittered in her mind, whispering through the doorway to purgatory. Their answers overlapped, but one came forth, more familiar than the rest.
Mistaken daughter,Judas spat.If only Hell could cage you.
“Sophia?”
She blinked, snapping her attention to Juniper. Iron filled her mouth and she choked, cupping her hands beneath her chin before warm blood poured from both nostrils. She tried to saysorrybut couldn’t speak. Blood slickened the prayer beads and splattered on the saint’s emblem. Warm, vibrant red slipped through her fingers and spilled on the linoleum.
“It’s okay, you’re all right,” Juniper cooed. She set her hand between Sophia’s shoulders and called for the clerk.
Sophia’s vision tunneled. She swallowed and almost gagged.He was a fighting animal,she chanted, passages easing through her like an old friend,fierce as a rat or a dog.Juniper said her name again and pressed a damp cloth to her face.He fought because he felt safer fighting.Sophia coughed. Swallowed. Blinked rapidly.He was brave, all right.Finally, the blood stopped, and her heartbeat slowed, and Judas went quiet.But it wasn’t natural. That’s why it was bound to finish him in the end.She stared at the bloodied rosary nestled in her cupped palms and turned toward the raven-haired clerk. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, swallowing pasty carnage. “I’m sorry.”
The wrinkled clerk turned to Juniper, flicking her eyes from the psychic’s boots to her sequined violet top. “Demon?”
“Not quite,” Juniper said. “Espíritu, doña.”
The shopkeeper made a knowing noise and waved them toward the counter. “Yes,” she said, pointing at Sophia’s rosary. “Good protection.” She spoke to Juniper in Spanish, repeating things when Juniper apologetically noted her quickness, and set a sheer baggie filled with stones on the counter. “In the bath with the salt,” she said, pointing at Sophia. “No red meat. Try fish,” she said, nodding curtly. “Fish is good. Oranges too.” She stared at Juniper. “You have tangerine wash, yes?”
“Sí, doña,” Juniper said.
“Wash the tub first. Then stones and salt, okay?”
“Muchas gracias.”
“Sí, sí.” She looked at Sophia. “Español?”
Sophia shook her head. She concentrated on her expression, softening her face, relaxing her mouth.
