Page 41 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
Colin made a soft, knowing noise.Huh.“I believe in the collective good. I don’t know if that’s God, or angels, or Bishop’s magic, or Tehlor’s witchcraft, but I’ve seen more than one miracle in my lifetime, so that has to count for something.”
Sophia set her chin on the rabbit’s head. “Miracles come from somewhere, don’t they? Someone sends them?”
“I hope so,” he said, laughing wistfully. “But plagues and curses come from somewhere too.”
What’s a bad miracle?She kept the question to herself and glanced over Colin’s shoulder, meeting Bishop’s gaze as they pushed the beaded curtain aside.
“Everything’s ready,” they said. Their too-big Henley was unbuttoned, creased across their torso, and baggy around their shoulders. They flicked their attention to the rabbit and stepped aside, holding the tassels for Colin and Sophia.
What didreadymean? What waseverything?Thoughts raced by and Sophia found her carefully constructed equilibrium, the balance she’d relied on before the Breath of Judas had split her spirit open, returning like a forgotten season. Fear was a real, tangible thing. Death was too. The irony taste of blood had become too familiar to notice, and the chatter rattling her skull had turned into a constant, droning undercurrent, only fading after Juniper had slipped into her consciousness or she’d conjured enough magic to scream. But right then, as Sophia climbed the staircase and walked down the hall, flanked byColin and Bishop, her speech snapped away, flipped like a switch, and familiarity began to manifest in the small, hollow places purgatory hadn’t managed to touch.
When death comes closer than usual, thinking about survival leaves little room for anything else.She recalled the feeling of pages between her fingers. Thumbing through that old, ratty copy ofWatership Downand crying for it after she’d left her mother’s house for the very last time, chasing Amy, and glory, and salvation, and Haven.
Hazel,she thought, and adjusted the rabbit in her arms. He kicked his back foot, thumping her forearm.That’s your name.
Sophia stopped before the narrow staircase leading to the attic. Colin slipped past her, but Bishop paused, too, offering Hazel a gentle pat.
“Está bien, conejito,” they murmured.
She cocked her head. Her expression must’ve been enough to spur clarification.
“Oh, it means little bunny,” they said, shrugging. “Darling bunny, tiny bunny, you get it.”
She gave a slow, thoughtful nod, and remembered every time that same word had left Juniper Castle’s lips.
Bishop gave her a mindful once-over. “Whatever they did to you, it doesn’t have to last. You don’t have to keep it.” They knuckled their glasses up the bridge of their nose. “You lived.You’ll live.Don’t give Haven the satisfaction of bein’ their martyr.”
Sophia inhaled a quick, stunted breath and carried Hazel into the attic.
Candlelight lit the vaulted room, and an electric lantern sent a dull, white glow across the floor. Tehlor stood with Lincoln near the round window. Juniper shook out a match, talking hastily to Colin, who turned a small wooden box over in his hands.
Sophia halted. The suddenness caused her knees to lock, her vision to shake and blur. Flames reflected off the surface of an acrylic tub in the very center of the tower. It was new, still sporting a price sticker, and looked nothing like Haven’s metal plunge tank. Still, sheknew.Felt the water infiltrate her lungs again. Heard her sister’s prayer again.
Hazel squirmed. She readjusted him, cradling the rabbit like a child.
Juniper wore her hair tightly braided. Her blouse was tucked into simple denim, fitted with a bedazzled belt. Dark lip liner cushioned plum paint, bruising her mouth beautifully. She followed Sophia’s attention to the tub.
“To undo the damage, we need to replicate the original ritual,” Juniper said apologetically.
Sophia hardly heard her. The spiritual warfare splintering her skull worsened. Got louder, fuller, more desperate.
And I fight, not as one who beats the air, but I discipline my body and bring it into subjection.The scripture came from somewhere deep, shouted, chanted, sobbed. Judas Iscariot’s voice chimed above the rest.What a wicked game, to be alive, to die in vain. The tree spoke to me that day. Relinquish your misery, it said, become what is expected.She focused on Juniper. On the tub. On the flickering candles, and the rabbit’s heartbeat against her wrist, and the reflection in the circular window directly across from her.
There, on the night-stained glass, Amy De’voreaux stood where Sophia should’ve, watching the scene unfold.
“The first thing we need to do is get the sacrifice ready,” Tehlor said.
Sophia tucked Hazel closer to her chest. She glanced between everyone, settling her attention on the witch.
Tehlor grimaced and showed her palms. Gunnhild perched on her shoulder. “He’ll come back with you, honey. Try not to sweat it.”
Colin approached next, holding a small vial in one hand and the box in the other. “I’d like to anoint you in Holy Water before we start.” When she lifted one finger away from the rabbit and pointed at the box, he continued. “Forged from the tool that decapitated Paul the Apostle.”
Laughter rumbled in Lincoln’s chest. “That’s the box you thought could—”
Tehlor swatted him before he could finish.“Leave it.”
Juniper stepped forward, sighing through her nose. “Once we’ve established the connection between you and Tehlor, you’ll make your sacrifice, and the ritual will start. You’ll enter the afterlife, suspending the Breath of Judas in your empty vessel, which will give me an opportunity to extract it. Then I’ll guide you back. Bishop will assist. Colin will keep the room warded while you’re in limbo. Lincoln will siphon energy to Tehlor, keeping you both anchored. Do you understand?”
