Page 10 of Saint, Sorrow, Sinner
“I’m not surprised. Your sister brought you into Haven, no? Much easier for a trusted caregiver to manipulate someone who relies on authenticity—”
“I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
Juniper closed the space between them and hooked her thumbs around the front of Sophia’s ears. Her bony fingers disappeared into Sophia’s hair, wrapped tight around her skull, and she angled her face upward, demanding eye contact.
“Didn’t say you were,” Juniper muttered. She studied Sophia down the curve of her nose. “You’re like a little cat, you know that? Hissing and biting for no good reason.”
That close, Sophia noticed the shallow lines around her upturned eyes and the dip beneath her bronzed cheekbones. Her lipstick feathered, spiderwebbing through tiny divots in her Cupid’s bow, and an acne scar dimpled her jaw. She was beautiful, poised, and brave, and her hold on Sophia did not waver.
Again, Sophia thought ofWatership Down.Rabbits, and cages, and hunters.But first they must catch you.
“She didn’t trick me,” Sophia said.
“Yeah, she did,” she whispered, and it sounded likeobviously.
Before Sophia could respond, the magic cowering near her nape lashed out, pushing against the underside of her skin. A ragged gasp tore through her. Vision, gone. Sound, muffled. The image of Juniper blinked in and out, moving like watercolors as the entity manifested. Like stepping into a coat, the spirit, ghost,thingslid into her arms, toed down her legs, and anchored itself to her feet. Sophia lurched against it. Jerked and spasmed.
Juniper sighed, digging her fingertips into Sophia’s scalp. “Go on, then. Tell me your name.”
Sophia’s mouth shot open and a thousand voices poured out. She wanted to scream—Sophia, I’m Sophia, Sophia De’voreaux—but she couldn’t find the strength to wade through the onslaught of ghoulish baggage. Every soul pressing against the membrane between her body and the living world brought grief, rage, hope, and desperation. She imagined they were a lake and tried to swim, smacking at slippery arms, pushing off shoulders, kicking at skeletal hands as they grappled for her ankles. Chased the glimmer at the surface, the promise of air, release, breakage.
“Sophia,” she blurted, heaving in a deep breath. The voices rattled in proximity to her body.
Juniper dropped her hands. The frenzied spirits whispered and writhed, searching for a way out.
“Focus,” the psychic said. “Come back.”
Sophia swallowed stomach acid and blood. She followed Juniper’s voice.But first they must catch you,she told herself, and repeated the quote like a mantra.But first they must catch you, but first they must catch you, but first they—
Quiet gusted through the house. Sophia jolted, righting herself against forced occupancy, and flexed her hands, feet, legs, spine, until her body became her own again. The sound of disrupted spirits lingered, echoing like a far-off farm bell. Manageable, though. Distant enough to ignore.
Juniper Castle stood before her, owlish and curious.
The beaded curtain swayed, clicking idly. Colin and Bishop clutched steaming mugs, wide-eyed and unmoving.
“Get her a towel,” Juniper said.
Colin darted back toward the kitchen.
Sophia glanced at the wood floor and felt a bead of blood drip from her bottom lip, splattering in a small, dark puddle.
“What’s inside me?” Sophia asked, hiccupping. Another mouthful of gore came up and out of her, stringing from her lips. She looked at Juniper through her lashes and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. Her knuckles came away red.
Juniper inhaled sharply. “Have you ever seen a seamstress unstitch two fabrics?” When Sophia shook her head, the psychic clucked her tongue. “Well, it’s a lot like that.”
“Here,” Colin said, appearing at her side. “It’s damp. I’ll get you a dry one too. Are you ...” He leaned closer, inspecting her. “Are you all right?”
No.But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t.No, no, no.She imagined a wedding dress torn in two. The unmaking of things—oil and water separating in a bowl, feathers plucked from a shrieking bird, the fluffy hide torn from a rabbit’s body.
“She holds the unmade,” Juniper said. The wobble in her voice betrayed her calm exterior. “And it is unmaking her.”
Three knocks sounded at the door.
Chapter four
Sophia nursed a cupofchamomile tea and nibbled a cheeseburger. Tehlor watched her from across the kitchen, flicking her attention from the half-eaten sandwich to Sophia’s face. Insistence and annoyance twisted her lips.Eat,Tehlor mouthed. The strawberry milkshake next to a basket of untouched fries was far more appealing, but the second she reached for it, Tehlor placed her hand on the lid and slid the cup away.
“Eat,”the witch growled.
