Page 35 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
“Let me,” Juniper said.
Evening chased shadows down the hall, causing candlewicks to quiver. Hours ago, Sophia had stood in the greenhouse with Colin, crying and praying, and minutes ago, she’d nibbled orange slices while Lincoln cubed salmon for a stew. Everyone ate in separate places at different times, spooning milky soup into bowls at their leisure. Bishop and Colin ate on the front porch, limned by sunset. Sophia sat at the palmistry table in the foyer, stealing glances at them through the window. She watched them kiss, the way Colin’s mouth fit against Bishop’s, how Bishop chased him when he pulled away, and realized she’d never been kissed with such surety.
She thought about that while Juniper unfastened the bandage from her palm. A small, round scab dented her hand.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” the psychic said. “Forgive me, conejita.”
Sophia didn’t know how to offer forgiveness for body language, or tone, or attitude. Those things weren’t actionable, they just were. “It’s fine,” she said, and turned toward the steaming bathtub. “What’s in there?”
“Salt and stones, mostly. Holy Water too. It’ll get rid of nasty energy.” She ushered Sophia toward the tub. “Just holler if you need anything—”
“You can stay,” she said. The words left her in a rush. “And we can talk, maybe. If you want.”
Juniper blinked at first, then she nodded and swiveled on her heels, facing the closed bathroom door. With her back turned, Sophia took the chance to strip, leaving her sweater and pants in a heap followed by cotton underwear and a wireless bra. She slipped her toe into the dark, purplish water. It stung at first, numbness giving way to comfort, and she sighed as she sank below the surface.
“You can turn around,” Sophia said.
The psychic sat instead, placing her back flat against the side of the tub, and tipped her head, resting her cheek on the white edge.
“You don’t have to be sorry for tryin’ to talk sense into me,” Sophia said. She reached below the water and fished around for a stone, lifting a toothy amethyst from beneath her thigh. “But I don’t think I can ...”Kill again.“I don’t think I can hurt a bunny, June.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. How’re you feeling? How was dinner?”
“Oh, fine. Lincoln’s a good cook. You had some of his stew, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Surprisingly enough, heisa good cook.”
Quiet surfaced between them and Sophia wished she knew what to do with it. Instinct told her to find comfort in the silence, to resist breaching, filling, or ruining it, but she wanted to know Juniper’s thoughts. Wanted to understand.
“You’re nervous,” Sophia said. The tips of her hair floated in the water, chin submerged, heat and salt sinking into her skin.
“Aren’t you?” Juniper met her eyes. She wore an easy smile.
Terrified.“Nervous isn’t the right word. I’m at a loss. If I do the ritual, I die. If I don’t do the ritual, I die. The Breath of Judas is killing me slowly, so I might as well let you kill me fast, right?” She aimed for humor, but the joke fell flat. “What happens if you can’t bring me back?”
“Iwillbring you back.”
“If you can’t.”
“That’s not an option.”
“It’s always an option,” Sophia said, leveling her with a patient glare. “C’mon, you’re telling me magic is totally, completely safe? That ritualism and”—she wiggled her fingers—“this woo-woo shit isn’t just as dangerous as Haven? I know I got roped into a cult, I get that, but I’m not stupid.”
Juniper ruminated on that. She turned her gaze toward the high ceiling and swayed her feet, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Her chest lifted on a great breath.
“Ultimately, it’ll be up to you,” she said, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be there to guide you, though.”
Before Sophia could speak, knuckles rapped the bathroom door. One second later the knob jiggled, hinges wheezed, and Tehlor swept into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her.
“Hey, Bishop took Colin’s car to go get the ...” She set her hands on her hips, assessing the bathtub. “Oh, what the fuck, why didn’t you come get me? Hold this.” Tehlor handed Juniper a neatly rolled joint and lifted the edge of her shirt, tossing the garment away.
Sophia’s chin met her chest. She stared at the water, mouth agape, and tried not to blush. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting in. Scoot over,” Tehlor said. She pulled a band off her wrist and tied her hair into a bun, then worked off her jeans, shimmiedout of her underwear, and stepped into the tub, shooing Sophia’s feet.“Move.”
Bold laughter echoed around the steamy room and Juniper shook her head. Her giggles and cackles filled the space.
Sophia pulled her knees to her chest—mortified—and desperately tried to keep her attention on the purplish bath. But she couldn’t ignore Tehlor’s pale skin sinking into the tub. How Tehlor’s feet knocked against her hip and the water sloshed over the side, causing Juniper to shriek and laugh harder. Wet rosebud nipples, and red ink, and sharp collarbones. The witch had no shame. Sophia envied her for it.
