Page 41 of House of Sin
Father Cyrus made a low noise, something between a groan and a laugh. “That’s enough gospel for one day.”
I paused, my eyes steady on him, then stepped back, smoothing my coat with a flick of my fingers. “See you both Sunday.”
I was almost to the door when I stopped, half turned, and looked straight at Father Frederick. “You still think I’m the wrong kind of woman doing the wrong kind of work in the wrong kind of place. That’s fine. You’ll either get used to me, or youwon’t.” And I gave him my sweetest smileas I turned and left.
25
COME, YE SINNERS
HIM
The church was packed for Sunday morning Mass. I stood at the pulpit, hands clenched around the lectern, trying to seem steady, hoping no one would notice the strain. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured hues across the congregation, an etherealwash of divine grace for those still willing to believe. But the light felt different today. Mocking.
I stood tall, my pulse quickening as the significance of what I was about to do settled over me. My gaze swept over the crowd, most of them faithful, or at least they played the part, until my eyes found her: Bernadette. Sitting there like a black mark among the white sheep of the faithful. She was a brothel owner, for God’s sake, but there she was, unbothered by the piety around her, her eyes glinting with an almost unnerving confidence.
And she wasn’t alone; she had brought her cronies with her. Maeve sat beside her, a striking woman with an unshakable demeanor. Elona, her face a mix of defiance and weariness, leaned slightly forward, hands folded in her lap, while Emil, the quiet giant of a man, sat next to her, arms crossed and posture stiff, as though trying to physically keep the world at bay. And Nell, the wild card, seemed at ease, untouched by the heavy burden of the sermon, her gaze dancing about the room.
But it was Violet I kept my eyes on.
The light touched her differently.
It traced the delicate line of her throat . . . lingered along the curve of her cheek . . . slipped, uninvited, over the softened shape of her mouth.
My grip tightened.
The six of them together, a collection of people the world had cast aside, all sitting in the very pews that I had long thought of as a sanctuary for the righteous. But it was Bernadette who unwittingly kept pulling my attention, her unbothered calm fueling the fire in my chest. How dare she be so indifferent? How dare they all sit in these pews as if they had a right to be here?
It had been three weeks since I first noticed her, and in that time she hadn’t loosened her hold on my thoughts. If anything, she had only burrowed deeper, rooting herself there. I told myself she was a test, a temptation placed before me by God Himself.
And yet . . . my gaze drifted again, betraying me. There was something deeply wrong in the way I noticed her stillness, in the way I imagined breaking it—what her voice might sound like if it trembled, and what it would take to make it.
Today’s sermon was supposed to be about salvation, but I wanted to talk about something else; I needed to expose the dangers of temptation, of sin. I needed to prepare the congregation for what I was planning to do next.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” I began, my voice urgent as I scanned the crowd, my eyes lingering on Bernadette’s pew. It irritated me that they were here, those women, acting as representatives against everything I stood for. They didn’t belong here, and I had to make sure they knew that.
Violet shifted—so slight it was almost nothing at all. Barely a movement, and yet I noticed. My gaze drifted to the line of her collarbone, to the fragile hollow at the base of her throat, to the slow, steady rise of her breath—until I dragged it back up, almost violently.
“The world tells us that indulgence is a right, rather than a privilege,” I said, my voice rising, a thread of bitterness coloring my words. “That we may act as we wish with no regard for the consequences. But I urge you to see beyond these lies. The devil works in many forms, and sometimes the most dangerous temptation is not a dark alley or a foul whisper, butthe face of a woman who smiles sweetly, yet whose soul is forever stained by the sin of lust.”
My words felt trenchant as I pressed on, venom sharpening every syllable, though I tried to mask it with divine authority. “What happens when we fall into sin? When we give in to temptation and allow ourselves to be consumed by it? We lose our way. We fall into a pit of despair. Only the grace of God can pull us from that pit, but we must first recognize our faults and repent. Only then can we begin to heal.”
I felt their eyes on me—Bernadette, Violet, the others. Their expressions were maddeningly unreadable, but their defiance, their refusal to be stirred by my words, enraged me. They did not fear me, and what was worse, they seem utterly unmoved. The realization kindled something dangerous inside me: the need to save them. Or perhaps to break them.
I leaned forward, my tone dropping lower, the words now more pointed than ever. “The Lord does not turn away the sinner, but He does require us to turn from our sinful ways. And I ask you, my brothers and sisters, is it truly in the pursuit of righteousnessthat we continue to entertain such temptations in our midst?”
I locked eyes with Bernadette, holding her gaze for just a moment longer than necessary. I knew what I was doing. I could feel the satisfaction in my chest as I watched her sit there, forced to hear my words. But it wasn’t enough. No, this war was far from over. I continued, my voice rising with an almost feverish intensity. “Repentance is the key to salvation. We must distance ourselves from places of temptation, from the sins of the flesh, and seek the purity that only the Lord can offer.” My gaze snapped back to Bernadette, and I let the venom drip from my next words like poison. “Are we prepared to shed our sins, or will we continue to dance with the devil?”
I finished the sermon, though it felt less like preaching and more like a personal battle I had waged. Members of the congregation murmured, and the air carried the buzz of many conversations. I descended from the altar, my heart pounding in my chest.
Before I could make my way down the aisle, I heard the shuffle of feet behind me. Father Cyrus stepped toward the pulpit. I watched him out of the corner ofmy eye, a sense of unease settling in my gut. He cleared his throat, offering the congregation a warm, reassuring smile as he took his place behind the lectern. “Thank you, Father Frederick,” he said, his words like a gentle balm after the fire of my sermon. “That was, as always, a passionate message. And while we all know the gravity of sin, sometimes, we need to remember the power of forgiveness and the light that comes with it.”
Father Cyrus paused, letting his gaze sweep across the pews, his eyes softening as they landed on the faces in front of him. He gestured with open hands, as though embracing the whole of them. “We are all here because we seek not just to recognize our faults, but to rise above them, to come together in the name of grace. Yes, temptation is real. Yes, we all have moments where we stumble. But that is the beauty of the Lord’s love, we are never too far gone to be redeemed.”
He smiled again, more warmly now, the tension in the air starting to dissipate. “So, as we leave here today, let us not dwell solely on the darkness we may face in the world, but also on the light we carry within us. Let it guide us, as we walk this path together, towardunderstanding and kindness. Let us be reminded of the love that binds us all, even in our imperfections.” Father Cyrus gave a small, almost playful chuckle as he glanced at the congregation. “After all, there’s no harm in smiling a little brighter on a Sunday morning, is there? We’re not here to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, but to lift each other up.”
His words settled over the room. The grumbles among the congregation softened, the heaviness in the air lifting. Father Cyrus looked over at me, his expression one of reassurance, before he turned back to the crowd. “Go in peace,” he said, his voice rich with finality. “And may you carry that peace with you through the week ahead.”
The congregation responded with a series of 'Amens', and the service finally drew to a close. As Father Cyrus made his way back down the aisle, I lingered near the pulpit, my thoughts still tangled in the intensity of my own sermon and the challenge I had laid before them. It was a challenge I believed was necessary, but Father Cyrus had a way of bringing calm where I brought fire, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the fire was exactly what they needed. I watched asmost of the congregation filed out, murmurs of discomfort rising around me, but I paid no attention. I was only focused on her, Bernadette, sitting unmoved in the pew.
