“It’s fucking weird to hear you use church terminology.”
They headed up the steps together. “Did you think I didn’t grow up in these places just like you?” He fought to hide a grin and failed.
“Maybe Henry’s your family’s black sheep and everyone is embarrassed at his chosen profession.”
Derek wrapped an arm around her waist. “Please tell me you’ll ask him if that’s the case next time we see him?”
Callie didn’t bother agreeing to that. “Did you always come to this cathedral?”
“Not until Henry was ordained.”
“That had to be a trip.” Callie might have had to tiptoe into sketchy parks at night to find Josh and had spent enough time outside the front of the casino when she was nine to know the Blackjack dealers on sight, but at least no one in her family could toss out ‘holier than thou’ and truly mean it.
“It was over two hours of liturgy.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.” Derek held the door open for Callie. “I’ll wait here. Remember, we need to move quick.”
Like she could forget.
The sanctuary windows were glowing with the midday sun. The saints watched her walk toward the confessional booths. Every church was big to Callie. Something about the tall ceilings always made her want to shrink, but the cathedral actually was behemoth in size: ornate sconces, intricate artwork, and a delicate weave in the carpet. She walked along the right edge of the room. The border on the carpet laid out the story of Saint Stephen and his martyrdom in gold thread against the rich garnet background. His sacrifice spilled in shimming grandeur and lost to the edge of the well-worn path. If it were her place to say such things, she’d advocate using money on feeding the homeless and increasing access to rehab and mental health in the city instead of weaving shit people were going to walk on, but no one cared what she thought.
Father Henry stepped out of the confessional closest to her. He was dressed down in a simple black button-up and his ever-present white collar. “Callie?”
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” He tugged his shirtsleeves down. “Is my brother with you?”
Callie inclined her head toward the entrance. “He’s waiting for me outside.”
“In that case, how can I help you today? Did you need to take confession?”
Judgment slicked over her, its oily residue choking her pores and going a long way toward explaining why Derek wasn’t a big fan of his brother. “No confession, Father Henry. I need access.” She tried to force the right amount of meaningfulness into the words without sounding like a creep.
“Come again?”
Damn. She held her wrist up. “I need to go below.” She was not going to say soul well. Not in the open. Not with someone she barely knew. Definitely not someone who implied she needed to confess her sins. He wasn’t wrong that she’d made massive mistakes, but she’d owned them. They were hers.
The priest hesitated. He glanced around the room. The two of them were alone with the echoes of God and his saints. “Are you certain?”
This was getting old. She didn’t have time to parlay. She didn’t have time to get her boyfriend’s brother to like her. She needed those souls and she needed them fast. The flask in her pocket trembled against her hip as if in agreement. “Completely,” she snapped. “I’m in a bit of a time crunch. Can you let me down there, or do I need to ask someone else?”
He wrung his hands, but his voice was steady. “I can let you down there. It’s only that the Soul Charmer is not a godly man.” No shit, Sherlock. Father Henry glanced over his shoulder yet again. When he continued it was in a scant whisper. “Regardless of his…help. He is not on our side. I don’t know what made him that way, but I don’t want that for you or for Derek.”
At least the guy was being honest. She’d give the priest that. “I’m not trying to get into the game, but I have obligations. I have to protect us—me and Derek—and that means I need to get down there right now.” She didn’t spell out the consequences, because she wasn’t entirely sure what they’d be. Whatever would happen if she failed, it would hurt them both. That hadn’t been a lie, and Father Henry knew it.
“Okay,” he said with more certainty this time. “I can’t go down there with you. I don’t have the approval yet, but I can unlock it for you. Do you know what to do?”
She had no clue how this would go alone. She’d had a hell of a time when she’d been here before, and there hadn’t been anywhere near the pressure. Henry didn’t need to know any of that. Burdening him with her fears or her problems or, shit, even her sins was too much. Too much to put on her boyfriend’s brother, no matter how judgmental he was. They might not be close now, but family mattered.
“I can handle it.” She tossed the words casually in his direction and hoped they were the truth.
Their footsteps were muffled by the plush flooring, but pale blue light glimmered only on Callie’s shoulder. The sickening sense someone was watching rotted in her gut, but then maybe that was church. She’d been gone so long she no longer was used to the awareness within these walls. She shook off the thought before Father Henry turned to face her again.
He pulled a lone, oxidized silver skeleton key from his robes. The metal didn’t match the warm wood of the confessionals, but the outline of a bird in flight at the tip of the key did. The hawk was echoed in the scrollwork on the last confessional, the one Father Henry now unlocked. The one marked with the same predatory bird she bore on the inside of her wrist.
“May He be with you, lift you up.” The words were standard.
The rote response
