Page 9 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
The foyer opened to a staircase flocked with an ornate runner. Stained glass spanned the far wall, sending shards of colorful sunlight across the floor. To the left, vintage furniture filled a pastel parlor, and a crystal chandelier loomed above the entryway. Dark casing and wine-colored baseboards framed the interior, and haunting decorum hid in plain sight—gilded teeth glued to the edge of a lampshade, taxidermy mice posed like townsfolk on a cherrywood butler table, chunky crystals half buried with flourishing houseplants. The house smelled faintly of incense and citrus and seemed bigger than it appeared from the street.
Sophia left her boots next to the shoe rack beside the door and followed Juniper into the parlor. Her head swiveled, taking in the neatly bundled mesh curtains, mustard-yellow fringe sofa, and crowded bookshelves. Colin perused a round table in the window nook, stocked with tarot cards and an upright stone-carved palmistry hand. He traced the label on a lone manila folder.
“Working on something?” Colin asked.
Juniper eased her hand beneath his and took the paperwork. “Greyson’s case,” she said, and placed the file—The Jericho Archives: Thirteenth Amendment—in the table drawer.
“Those areVaticanarchives,” Colin said suspiciously.
Juniper offered a patient smile. “We’re not here to talk about my brother.” She looked at Sophia again, assessing her. “You’re afflicted by magic, no? Spiritual warfare?”
Sophia blinked, taken aback. “I wouldn’t call itwarfare—”
“Make no mistake, it is,”Juniper assured.
“And who are you, exactly? Another priest?”
“Obviously not,” she said, lifting her brows. She tipped her head toward the sign in the window. “I speak to the dead.”
Sophia switched her attention from Juniper to Colin.For real?
“I work from home,” Juniper said. Her full mouth curved. She slid her gaze to Colin. “Give us a moment alone.”
Colin immediately shook his head. “June, I’m not quite sure you’ve grasped the severity—”
“Colin ...” Bishop cleared their throat. “C’mon, we’ll fix some tea. I’m sure Juniper has a kettle.”
“On the stove,” Juniper said.
Sophia went rigid. Her skin sealed around her skeleton, and everything felt closer, trapped. The Breath of Judas shied away when she reached for it, coiling like a viper at the base of her skull. She wanted to open her mouth and shove her hand inside. Dig for it. Grab its tail and drag it out. She wanted to cough until it dislodged. Retch until the magic landed on her tongue. Pulverize it with her teeth; spit it on the floor. But she wanted to be alone with Juniper more. Wanted to know if Juniper Castle could truly communicate with the departed, wanted to see if this psychic could close whatever door Haven had opened. She met Colin’s cautious stare and nodded.
The priest exhaled sharply through his nose. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”
He glanced over his shoulder and followed Bishop through a beaded curtain on the other side of the room, leaving Sophia alone with the mystic.
Sophia touched her thumb to each fingertip and chewed the inside of her cheek. She wanted someone to look through a microscope and see into her chest, her temple, her kneecap. She wanted someone tostudy her insides and find the malignance, tell her where to cut, how to open herself and remove it. She wanted intervention, she wanted—
“Psychic surgery is a popular practice in many spiritual circles,” Juniper cooed. She inclined her head. Long black waves fell over her shoulder. “But I doubt it’d work.”
Heat blistered in Sophia’s cheeks. She’d snatched the word—surgery—from the forefront of her mind. Numbness crept from her hands to her elbows. Fright, maybe. Or thrill. “You’re clairvoyant too?”
“It’s not you I hear, Sophia.”
The way her name filled Juniper’s mouth, how the psychic’s eyes narrowed. Sophia felt like a lamb in a slaughterhouse. She knew nothing,nothing.
“Your hitchhikers are loud,” Juniper added, nodding slowly. “Can you hear them too?”
“All the time,” she bit out. Her voice broke. “What do they want with me? Shouldn’t I have some sort of control, some kind of”—she opened her hands, grasping at nothing—“power? Isn’t that the whole point?”
Juniper shrugged off her sweater and draped it over the back of a velvet chair. When she stepped closer, Sophia flinched, startling. Embarrassment flared hot in her gut and her blush worsened.Get it together.She swallowed.Stop acting like a goddamn bird.“Sorry,” Sophia blurted, bending her wrist to resist an unflattering movement. Recognition sparked—subtle flex, practiced resistance—and Juniper’s confusion softened into something else. “I was never diagnosed.” She tried to clamp her mouth shut, but the words were too thick to swallow. “Mom didn’t believe in that shit, you know. Probably would’ve blamed the doctor for hinting at it.”
“At what?” Juniper asked.
Sophia pursed her lips.
She took another step. “Autism?”
Sophia tried to nod but couldn’t, so she thoughtYes, that, yeah.
