Page 54 of House of Sin
BLESSED ARE THE DAMNED, FOR THEY KNOW THE TRUTH
HIM
The toll of the bell echoes over the town, impossible to ignore. It was a summons to Mass and a reminder of order and obligation. The vibration settled in my chest, buzzing through my ribs as Iadjusted the collar of my cassock. The fabric, once comforting, now scraped against my skin like burlap, itchy with secrets. It felt heavier today.My penance.
The altar loomed ahead. I stepped up, my body moving on muscle memory while my mind reeled back to the alley, to the blood, to the way the knife had glinted just before the smaller man dropped to the ground like a sack of meat. My eyes drifted to the stained-glass windows. The light was supposed to be holy, refracted redemption, but today it was a mockery. The colors bled like bruises across the stone floor. The red especially seemed to move on its own, to pulse, as though the church itself knew what I’d seen, what I’d done.
I caught my reflection in the polished lectern, distorted slightly by the uneven grain of the wood. I looked . . . undone. Hollowed out somehow. I tried to steady my breath. Tried to keep my thoughts from slipping back. The fight, the flash of the blade, the grinding against the bone. The gurgle.
The death.
The congregation quieted as I stepped forward, dozens of eyes turned toward me, expectant anddevout. My eyes burned as I scanned across the row, starting with Bernadette, then moving through Violet and Maeve, and finishing with Elona. The shame of last night still clung to me—getting caught by Bernadette, when all I wanted was a moment with Violet. Just to speak with her, to remind her she’s loved—not just by God, but by me.
I met Elona’s gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were surgical. She wasn’t looking at me; she was dissecting me. Beside her was Maeve. A smile played at the corners of her mouth, a smirk not meant for me, but somehow about me. Like she already knew what I would do next, as if she had seen this performance before and knew how it would end. Violet was the only one who looked uncomfortable, nervous energy rolling off her. Her shoulders were tense, fingers knotted in her lap, and eyes darting like a rabbit waiting for the fox to make its move. Oh, how I enjoyed watching her squirm, her discomfort was like perfume; sweet, cloying, and intoxicating.
But Bernadette . . . Her hands were folded across her lap with poise, but her eyes,those damned eyes, were locked on me. She wasn’t afraid, she was angry.
I turned back to the pulpit, my mouth dry as dust. “The Lord is our shepherd. He guides us through the darkness.” I said the words, but I wasn’t thinking of any divine shepherd, I was thinking of blood in the moonlight. Of how fast a body becomes just that, a body. And of those women, watching in judgment, in knowledge.
“He guides us through the darkness, leads us to salvation,” I continued, my voice thinner now, like the words were escaping me instead of being fervently delivered. “But there are those among us who stray from His path ...” I looked up, right at Bernadette. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, and there was a glint in her eye. She wastestingme, waiting to see how much of myself I’d reveal, waiting to see if I’d crack.
“Those who fall into temptation . . .”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maeve’s smile deepen. She cocked her head like she was listening to a joke. Her eyes narrowed. I knew that look, it was the look of a woman who had already made her decision about you and was just waiting for you to catch up. I tried to focus, to finish the prayer, but the words slid off my tongue like oil. Meaningless syllablesstrung together by memory. Holy lies. “We must all seek redemption,” I said finally, “lest we be consumed by what we pretend not to see.”
My final 'amen' felt more like a whimper than a declaration. The congregation stirred with shuffling feet and murmured farewells, but I didn’t move. Becausetheyhadn’t moved. The four of them remained in the back pew, still as statues, as though the service wasn’t over untiltheydecided it was. Bernadette’s stare locked on to mine; she wasn’t going to blink first. I stood frozen, gripping the edge of the pulpit so tightly my knuckles turned white. Was this what judgment felt like? Not fire and brimstone, not eternal damnation, just four women . . . watching.
Slowly, the others filtered out, their footsteps fading into the distance, swallowed by the town. I wanted to move. Ineededto move. But it was like my body had become part of the altar, bound to it. When they finally rose, Bernadette’s eyes lingered on me with a promise. Whatever game I thought I was playing, she’d already rewritten the rules. I turned from the altar and retreated toward the shadowed recesses of the church, the sanctuary now feeling like a tomb. My footstepsechoed against the stone floor, and I felt exposed, hunted.
I leaned against the stone wall, chest heaving, the light from the stained-glass window casting red across my hands. My stomach twisted as I looked down, half expecting blood to appear.
I dragged in a shaky breath and closed my eyes. I had always thought this place would protect me, cloak me in its sanctity. But now I realized . . . it was just another cage, and I was running out of cornersto hide in.
37
WHO SAYS ONLY LADIES GOSSIP?
MAEVE
The moonlight slipped through the thin lace curtains, casting soft, shifting shadows over the room. Silver spilled across the bed, across my skin, across Carl’s bare back as he lay half-asleep beside me, one of my regulars who wascomfortable enough to forget this was still a transaction. The sheets were tangled between our legs, still warm from our sweat, from the tangle of limbs and low moans that had filled the space not long ago. My curls were a wild, fiery halo around my face and shoulders, but I didn’t care.
Usually, he either drifted off within moments, surrendering to the pull of sleep, or he slipped from the bed as soon as we were finished. I stretched out, running my fingers through my hair. “Wouldn’t have taken you for the lingering sort, Carl, not after the deed’s done,” I said, voice teasing. “Usually, you’re as quick to pullin’ your trousers on as you are taking em’ off.”
He chuckled, fingers idly twining through my hair, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that didn’t belong. “Well, Maeve, you make it hard to leave, you know that?” He said, trying for the cheeky smile he often wore, but it didn’t quite stick. “But truth is, I’ve got something on my mind, something . . . strange. And it’s been bothering me all day.”
I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do tell. It must be juicy if it’s keepin’ you from that fine whiskey waiting for you downstairs.”
He drew nearer, like the walls had ears, dropping his voice to a hush. “You’ve heard of the new priest, Father Frederick?”
I stilled, momentarily caught off guard. “Yes, I have beenblessedenough to sit through a few of his sermons,” I responded cautiously.
Carl lowered his voice even further. “The miners are talking, and it ain’t the usual gossip. Word is, he wasn’t promoted, he was shipped out, real quiet-like, from Illinois. And there’s talk he . . . likes them young.”
I had seen the way his eyes lingered on Violet, the subtle glances that spoke louder than any confession, but only now—listening to Carl’s words—did everything click into place, the pieces fitting with a harsh, painful clarity. “Go on,” I urged.
Carl wet his lips nervously. “He’s been seen near The Oily Cat. More than once. Slipping away before sunrise, looking . . . rattled. One of the boys swore he saw him loitering out front, just standing there, staring at the place with this empty, desperate look. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone.”
A cold shiver slid down my spine. I didn’t tell him Bernadette had caught Father Frederick skulking afterViolet, but I muttered loud enough for Carl to hear, “He’s a bloody predator.”
