Page 44 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
“Do not be afraid,” they said. Their voice was many-limbed, heavy with virtue and confidence. “You were born to do this.”
Sophia’s scream diminished. Its echo rang and rang.
Blessed daughter,Lilith cooed. She nudged Sophia forward. One hooked claw found her wrist. Carefully, the goddess plucked a taut golden thread.Burn brightly.
“Blessed mother—” Sophia yelped. The place where she stood crumbled, and she careened through the pitch.
No,Sophia thought. She swatted at the air. Flailed and twirled.Send me back, I want to live, I need to—
The isolated noise from the Belle House increased—ghostly chatter, booming incantations, roaring wind—and Sophia stretched her arm toward it, spread her fingers, reached for that thin, phantom thread until the pitch finally evaporated, and time slowed to a crawl.Once again, Sophia found herself outside reality, so close she could almost touch it. She hovered above everyone, watching smoke reach upward from extinguished wicks.There you are.Juniper stood in the center of the room with her arm outstretched, palm open, teeth gritted. In front of her, Colin struggled to close the lid on Paul the Apostle’s wooden box—the prison meant for the Breath of Judas—and on the floor, holding Sophia’s waterlogged face, Tehlor sent breath past blue lips.
Sophia glimpsed what they couldn’t, though.
Colin was wrapped in unyielding light. Hand-shaped auras reached around him—six, seven, ten of them—all corralling a batch of thick, oily smoke into the holy box. Lincoln, sprawled on the ground, post-collapse. He held Tehlor’s ankle with one hand and cradled Gunnhild against his chest with the other. Bishop guided a small batch of humming light toward Sophia’s limp form. Everyone seeped, hardly moving. Sophia reached, and reached, andreached.Her fingertip met the piece of her soul Bishop had tethered to Tehlor, the part of her waiting to reconnect, and she proceeded to fall.
Burn brightly.
Rich, heady, hurtful life poured into her limp body. She fit herself into every unoccupied place, into every vein and ligament and organ and bone, thoughtlessly rushing through the entirety of what she’d left behind. Time stabilized. Pain bloomed. Sound heightened, sudden and overwhelming.
“Close it, Colin,” Juniper shouted. “Do it!Now!”
Colin prayed. “Gabriel, keeper of power, ascendent to God on high, I beg of thee, allow the Heavenly Court to extend its might—”
Water spurted over Sophia’s lips. A gasp tore through her, chafing her raw throat. Tehlor skittered backward.
Sophia’s first inclination afterinhale, oxygen, alive, yeswas to gather a great breath and scream. Power shredded her lungs. The pitchy, whistling sound of a banshee’s call—depart, depart—sliced the air. All at once, the windows busted, spraying glass across the wet floor. The Belle House shook with the force of it. Juniper covered her ears, Lincoln curled inward, shielding his head, and Colin fell to his knees. Sophia heard the box clap shut.
The scream ended. Silence reigned.
“Sophia!” Tehlor jolted forward. She grasped Sophia’s face with both hands, shaking her. The moment Sophia’s brow cinched, recognition sliding into place, Tehlor let out a joyous, relieved cry, and hauled her closer. “I thought you were gone! I couldn’t find you; I couldn’tfeelyou—I was fuckin’ terrified. Are you okay? You’re okay, right?”
“I’m back,” Sophia mumbled. Words tasted chalky, unwanted.
“Yeah, you’re back. You’re fine,” she said, patting Sophia’s damp cheek. “Look, see.” She gestured to the attic and whipped around to stare at Colin. “Did we get it? Is it”—she lifted one hand away from Sophia and wiggled her fingers—“sealedor whatever?”
Colin plopped on his rear. His face was beet-red and sweat-slicked. He panted, nodding dramatically, and lifted the locked box. “It’s contained.”
“Where’s Hazel?” Sophia stared blearily at the ceiling.
Tehlor heaved a sigh. “What?Oh, Jesus, the rabbit. Yeah, he’s ... Bishop, where’s the bunny?”
Bishop tiptoed over broken glass. They kicked Lincoln’s thigh. “Get up,” they scolded, earning a gruff grunt from the wolf-man. They waited for Sophia to sit cross-legged and then offered her Hazel, who happened to be very alive. “He’s got a strong heart,” they said. “I hope whoever listened appreciatedthe sentiment.”
Sophia rested her cheek atop Hazel’s furry head. She slid her gaze sideways. Next to the toppled-over tub, Juniper sat with Colin, catching her breath. The Santa Muerte charm rested between her clavicles and curls ribboned her face. She looked back at Sophia and gave a soft, bewildered laugh.
“Sorry about your windows,” Sophia croaked.
At that, Lincoln rolled onto his back, set the rat on his sternum, and laughed too. It was barkish and bold. Hearing him like that—alive, relieved,exhausted—made Sophia’s chest squeeze.
Juniper blew out a breath, flapping her pretty, plum-painted lips. “Easy fix, sweetheart.”
Chapter twelve
Sophia stared at herdistortedreflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, listening to Juniper’sTychoplaylist over the splatter of water against tile.
Colin was right. Tomorrow had arrived on the cusp of a ripe, pink dawn and the Breath of Judas was no longer sporing inside her. Purgatory remained intact and separate from the corporeal plane. The dead quieted, finally, and her body softened against the breakage left behind. It’d been only a day—less, maybe—but she hadn’t tasted iron since before the ritual and she’d been nosebleed-free since visiting the botánica. Returning felt like the frayed edge of an unfinished tapestry, like rubbing a blunt corner between her fingers and watching the fabric split. She was wobbly and fragile, but she was alive.
Every so often she caught a whiff of smoke, though. Heard Joan of Arc’s voice in birdsong through the window.Courage.Saw a shadow cross the floor, crowned with coiled horns, and thoughtmother.
