Page 8 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
Tehlor Nilsen:give him a chance.
Sophia raked her teeth across her bottom lip and thumbed the text bubble away. Her lock screen was a stock photo of a dried garden rose. It reminded her of summer—youth, plastic pools, cheap ice pops, and Mom’s flower bed next to the double-wide.
“Well, we’re here. City of Angels,” Colin said.
Bishop muted a podcast about Mesoamerica and blew out a deeply held breath. Palm trees striped the skyline. Change arrived in rapid succession, caged by concrete.
“It’s big,” she said, and leaned her forehead against the window, watching tall, gray buildings speckled with square windows dash by. Influencers armed with ring lights hurried down sidewalks. A long-haired young man played guitar on a corner, shoeless and accompanied by a leashed dog. Car horns honked, engines revved, shop doors opened and closed. Despite the flashy signs and brightly painted restaurants, the whole place seemed seedy and gaunt, buckling under too much weight. “Isn’t Hollywood supposed to be, I don’t know, more?”
“Movies make it pretty,” Bishop said, shrugging.
Western Avenue met Santa Monica Boulevard, and they made a hard left into an adjacent neighborhood. Houses lined the cracked sidewalk, framed by short fences and neatly trimmed lawns. Some were small—older too—burdened with rotting porches and sallow paint. A few stood apart, bright and fanciful, entryways equipped with sleek keypads instead of doorknobs or dead bolts. As they drove, theneighborhood branched into segments, sheltered from the noise of the surrounding city.
“There it is,” Colin said. He looped into a cul-de-sac and parked along the sidewalk in front of a peculiar alligator-green house.
Sophia tilted her head, studying the shingled roof and tall, round spire. She’d seen the same historical architecture in magazines. Beautifully painted shutters, honeysuckle busheled in garden boxes around the porch, roof angled sharply, pointing toward the sun. A copper placard on the fence read “Historic Site: The Belle House” and a neon sign—psychic readings—cast a pink glow across the window. It looked haunted. Dollish too. She half expected a guide to arrive and offer them a tour.
Sophia De’voreaux:We just got here.
Tehlor Nilsen:cool we’ll be there soon. grabbing in n out. hungry?
Sophia De’voreaux:Get me a milkshake
Tehlor Nilsen:you need solid food.
“Tehlor and Lincoln will be here soon. They’re stopping for food first,” she said.
Bishop heaved a sigh.
“Well, let’s get the initial introduction underway, shall we?” Colin glanced over his shoulder, offering a pained smile.
Sophia eased out of the car and flexed her calves. She pushed her hand through her hair and inhaled. Los Angeles smelled like exhaust and sunscreen, flora and cigarettes. The altitude in Gideon had sickened her at first, how thin the air had been. LA was low and coastal. Heavier, somehow. She filled her lungs, held on, and exhaled quietly,allowing the tightness in her chest to unspool. After Bishop and Colin exited the car, she followed the pair through the waist-high gate, across a neatly manicured stone path, and stepped onto the dark wood porch. She wrung her hands as the doorbell chimed and glanced from a stationary rocking chair to a matte black motorcycle parked in the driveway.
The door wheezed open.
“Colin Hart. It’s been a long time.”
Sophia turned, facing the stranger in the doorway. The woman spoke gently, voice warm and rich, and gave the priest a careful look.You’re not what I expected,Sophia thought. Her paisley dress hit the floor, narrowly concealing a pair of satin slippers, and a finely knit cardigan drooped over one shoulder, exposing the long, lean line of her clavicle. Sophia drew her attention upward, focusing on the tilt of her brick-red mouth, and the expertly drawn daggers blackening each eyelid.
“Juniper Castle.” Colin sighed her name. His smile fractured. “Too long, I think.”
“You must be Bishop,” Juniper said, turning toward them. She offered her hand. “Mucho gusto.”
“Es un placer,” Bishop said, and grasped her hand.
“She, her,” she said.
They gave a curt nod. “They, them.”
Juniper shifted her gaze, landing squarely on Sophia. “And you?”
Sophia opened her mouth. Closed. Opened again. The answer should’ve been simple. “She, her.”
She hummed and crossed her arms, tapping a round, glossy fingernail against her cheek. Her eyes roamed, flicking around Sophia’s face, then her torso, lower, all the way to her boots.
Colin cleared his throat. “Juniper, this is Sophia De’voreaux. Sophia, this is my colleague, Juniper Castle.”
“Colleague.”Juniper laughed in her throat. She shot Colin a playful look and stepped inside, propping the door with her foot.
