Page 40 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t think people become magical overnight.”
“Oh, they do. But we’ve trained ourselves not to believe, so when it happens, when we’re touched by something beyond us, we call it coincidence and move on with our lives. Like Tehlor said, faith is a powerful thing. Keeps us safe when everything else is gone.”
“Faith and magic are ...”Different.Sophia paused, considering. She watched Juniper’s expression sharpen.
“They’re not,” she said, as if she’d reached into Sophia’s mind again. “In a sense, they’re exactly the same.”
“You make everything seem so simple,” she admitted. Her face flared hot. “Magic, exorcisms, dead calling, witchcraft, tarot cards—everything.Six weeks ago, my life looked like courtship with whoever Rose picked for me, teaching worship songs to newcomers, building an army, gettin’ along with the wives. Why’s change have to be this fast?” Her accent snuck through, honeyed and southern, like her mother. “Why’s it have to be so ...”
“Drastic?”
Sophia sighed. “Yeah.”
“I wish I knew. I think life makes magic out of people who can handle the fallout, you know? Real magic, I mean. Any white woman with a can-do attitude can call herself a Reiki master.”
“What do you meanfallout?”
“There’s always fallout, sweetheart.” Juniper leaned in and kissed her, teasing at her lips as she spoke. “There’s sacrifice in everything, but natural law is a hell of a thing to break without paying a price. Magic isn’t free, you should know that by now.”
“How can something I didn’t want cost me anything?” Sophia asked. She wanted to bite her. Push her down and climb on top of her again.
Laughter coasted her mouth. “Your humility is endearing, but it isn’t true,” Juniper said slowly.
Sophia tried to lick each word off her teeth. A voice rose like smoke in the back of her mind.Little liar on a fire pyre,the spirit sang.What is it like to be cooked?She huffed, annoyed with herself, with Juniper, with the cards she’d been dealt. “What will it make me to stop denying it?”
“Honest,” the psychic said, and kissed her again.
The pigeon flapped outside. Rain turned to mist.
I am going to die tonight,Sophia thought.
Juniper slid out of bed and stood on her tiptoes, stretching her long, bare body like a panther. “C’mon, let’s make breakfast.”
The day slipped through Sophia’s fingertips, there and gone.
For the first time since she’d arrived, the Belle House tightened like a fist. Walls crowded inward, fresh air seemed harder to find, and the ritual crawled in with the evening fog, inevitable and thick. Once she’d left the bedroom earlier that morning, the night before became dreamlike and surreal, a thing Sophia reached for as minutes turned to hours. She pawed at the edges of each memory, storing Juniper’s half-closed eyes and soft sounds somewhere near the bottom of her rib cage. Away from famished spirits.
Sophia had cooked breakfast with Juniper—crepes glazed with apricot jam—and wandered through the house while Tehlor and Lincoln acquired the last of their supplies. Colin and Bishop had kept to themselves, whispering aboutRomeandGreysonandthe Vatican will look after itas the pair flittered throughout the house. Juniper had kept to herself, too, pressing soft touches to Sophia whenever they crossed paths. Hand to tailbone in the garden, fingertip to shoulder in the foyer.
Evening arrived far too fast, and Sophia folded her arms, watching an orange rabbit with floppy ears nibble lettuce on the kitchen island. She hadn’t named him yet, her little sacrifice, and she’d spent most of the day avoiding him. But the creature was there whether she liked it or not, he had a purpose whether she liked it or not, and he would die whether she liked it or not. She touched him for the first time, scratching his fuzzy head. He shied away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The rabbit sat on his haunches and looked at her.
“Oh, aren’t you cute,” Colin said, appearing through the beaded curtain. He scooped the rabbit into his arms and gazed at Sophia through his lashes. “Are you ready?”
“Is anyone ever ready for somethin’ like this?” Sophia asked.
The priest listed his head. He was scholarly and bookish in his plaid, straight-legged pants and cashmere turtleneck. Black ink peeked out from beneath his sleeves and curved like thorns below his jaw. Violet shadowed his eyes. He hadn’t slept either.
Colin set his cheek against the top of the rabbit’s head. “No, I guess not. But imagine how it’ll feel—tomorrow, you’ve had a hot shower, we’re eating takeout around the table, the Breath of Judas is safely contained, you’re alive and well. That’ll be something to thank God for.”
“You believe, right?” She reached out, asking for the rabbit.
Colin handed him over. “Pardon?”
“In God. You still believe?” The rabbit weighed close to nothing, but his sharp claws scraped her arms. She adjusted him until he stopped squirming, supporting his rear with one hand while the other wrapped securely under his front paws.
