Page 15 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
She peeled her ear away from the wall, crossed the room, and stepped onto the balcony. Midnight cooled her feverish skin. The surrounding city sent an aurous glow into the sky, muting potential starlight.Breathe.She gripped the outdoor banister and tipped her head back, thankful for the breeze on her neck, and the inarguable sound of life. Tires rolling across asphalt, raccoons rummaging in agarbage bin, sirens blaring in the distance. That noise was real. Tangible. Far truer than the frantic chatter between her ears.
“But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you. Be not deaf to my weeping,” Sophia mumbled.
The wind didn’t stir. Heaven didn’t open. An angel didn’t appear with assurances of good news.
I hear you,someone said, voice shredded. Rose, maybe.We’ll keep you.
Sophia would never know proper sleep again. She was sure of it. But she could get to know the house, at least. Make herself a cup of tea and explore the nooks and crannies she hadn’t seen when they’d first arrived. She stared at the sky for another minute, willed the droning at the base of her skull to subside, then walked inside and made for the hallway.
The bedroom door clickedsoftly behind her. She lifted her heels and crept forward, flattening her palm on the wallpaper as she went. The staircase wheezed. Headlights winked through stained glass, illuminating a potted monstera beside the coatrack. Sophia traced the outline of the unlit neon sign in the window and glanced into the parlor room, scanning the round table for occult trinkets—nothing—then stepped backward into the hall, feathering her fingertips along the butler table.
Like this, the house presented itself differently. What was charming and decadent in the daylight became eerie and antiquated after nightfall. Oddities stood out in shadow. Rationally, she knew the taxidermy littered around the Belle House was, in fact, dead, but the darkness fooled her. If she looked hard enough, mice breathed, the bat pinned to the wall turned, and the pygmy deer mounted in the parlor twitched and shook. She thought about eternity, Eve, the tree of knowledge. Did Eden change after dark too? Did everything have a second skin, asecond self? She pushed a short, wavy lock behind her ear. Did God create people to age, and change, and become different? Or did Moses carefully construct humanity of his own volition—rib bones, and nakedness, and innocence—as he wrote the Book of Genesis? Would God look at Earth and saychildren? Would he squint from afar and wade through déjà vu the same way Sophia padded through the Belle House, searching for recognition in a place she’d never been?
The scrape, turn, smackof a flipped card broke the silence. Sophia bristled.
That noise, the whip of thick paper, livened. She crept closer, following muffled voices, one clearer than the rest, toward a hidden inlet near the back of the solid staircase. Moonlight poured through the window, scaling a loose, gold rope, and deepened the shadowy gap between two velvet curtains. Sophia peered into the candlelit, windowless room and found Juniper Castle studying a tarot card.
“I require guidance, mother of ire, virgin of the forgotten, Mictlancihuatl,” Juniper whispered. She set the card on a rickety table surrounded by floral wreaths and jarred candles. Cinnamon scented the air and patchouli smoke spun from an incense stick. A skeletal figure stood in the center of the altar, swathed in silk and lace, and bathed in firelight. “Santa Muerte, oye mí oración.”
The psychic’s oil-slick hair was roped into a neat bun and fastened with a scrunchie. She’d traded her paisley dress for a simple black tank and satin palazzo pants. Sophia carved her into memory—strong nose, sharp jaw, the slope of her throat, how her Adam’s apple bobbed as she swallowed. Gold flickered on her brown skin, accentuating the dimples denting each cheek.
Beautiful,she thought,like a bird of prey.
Juniper curled her finger around the chain looped around her neck, playing absently with the charm. The pendant was oval, like most saintmedals, but the image printed on its front was bony and unfamiliar. Sophia leaned closer, staring through the heavy curtains, and tracked Juniper’s hand, the delicate press of thumb and index, as she plucked another card from the deck.
The image scrawled across the card featured two people holding chalices. The Two of Cups.
Does he speak and then not act?Sophia held her breath. The voice—ghost, spirit,something—came from within her, gentle and lilting, like a prayer for children.Does he promise and then not fulfill?
Juniper looked at the card and laughed. “No, no,” she sang under her breath, and set it down, humming thoughtfully. “That can’t be right.”
Sophia focused on Juniper’s palm, hovering above the deck. It wasn’t until she leaned closer, strained to examine the fine details on the glowing altar, that she registered the stale breath on her face, or the anchor slowly lowering onto her sternum.
The moment Juniper laid her hand on the tarot deck, something sallow and half-gone lurched from the blackness.Run—shouted, screamed, sobbed.Run—echoing throughout Sophia’s body, ricocheting in her skull, careening through her center.Run!It was Kimberly, the drowned woman from the revival, manifesting like a nightmare. The ghost snapped her jaws, chomping.Run, run, runforced past loosened teeth, and split lips, and blackened gums.Run, run, runchoked, retched, spat.Run, run, runchanted like a spell, like a curse, like a warning.
Sophia jerked. Her knees gave out and she toppled to the floor. Panic spiked, red-hot and blinding. She swallowed the urge to scream and scrambled backward, gasping once her shoulders smacked the wall. When she whipped toward the curtains, Kimberly was gone.Sophia couldn’t shake the sight of the ghoul’s open mouth, saliva stringing from her teeth, face corroded, distorted.
Juniper glared through the slot between the fastened curtains, clutching her Santa Muerte pendant. Her lips moved.Sophia?But no sound surfaced.
Run.
Sophia stumbled to her feet and darted through the quiet house. Her foot snagged the lip on the bottom step. She caught herself on the banister, reached for the crucifix strung around her neck, and squeezed the small, gold cross until her palm stung. Her lungs burned. Everything spun, brightening and dimming, blurring and sharpening.
Run.
She pulled herself up the staircase, ran down the hall, and locked the bedroom door behind her, sealing her back against it. The darkness threatened to swallow her, but she rewound the fresh memory once, twice, a third time, and focused on anything except Kimberly. Anything except the ghost. Anything alive.
Candlelight. Marigolds. Roses. Baby’s breath. The tilt of Juniper’s lips. How she smiled around the shape of Sophia’s name.
Chapterfive
Take my hand.
Walk with me.
What a garden, what a place, what a deception—
Sophia woke with a start.
