Saint, Sorrow, Sinner (The Gideon Testaments Book 3) by Freydís Moon

Author:Freydís Moon [Moon, Freydís]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter seven

The Belle House glowed in the witching hour. Sophia hadn’t expected anyone to be awake, but when Juniper propped the door with her foot, the pair were greeted by Colin, Bishop, Lincoln, and Tehlor seated around the parlor table, talking quietly between sips from steaming mugs. Gunnhild turned toward Sophia from her perch on Tehlor’s shoulder and stretched out her snout. Sophia scratched the rat’s fuzzy head, focusing on the animal rather than the people.

“Sorry, kid,” Lincoln said. Sincerity sounded strange in his mouth. Misplaced. He wiggled his nose and flattened his wolfish ears. “We couldn’t get you back. Ran out of options.”

“Bishop’s medicinal balms are very good, trust me,” Colin assured.

Sophia shifted her gaze to Bishop. The brujo looked back at her over the black rim of their glasses and twisted their wrist, grinding an aloe leaf with a stone pestle. They stood and shrugged toward the kitchen.

Juniper placed her palm on the small of Sophia’s back and gave a small, encouraging push. “Go on. Fix some tea while you’re in there.”

Truthfully, she craved a hot shower. Desperately wanted to scrub away the séance and let the unfamiliar self-defense—magic—her spirit had embraced run down the drain. But Bishop inclined their head as they walked past, disappearing through the beaded curtain, and Sophia knew following them was her only option. Appease the group, make a plan, go to bed. Beads rolled across her shoulder. The dimly lit kitchen, spotless despite the mess they’d made fixing dinner, still smelled like dark chocolate and spiced meat. She leaned against the island next to Bishop, waiting for instruction.

Bishop shot her a patient look. “I hated Lincoln,” they whispered, nodding as if to convince themself. “Still do, I guess . . .” They gathered a glob of the greenish paste and gestured to her neck. “But for once, he’s not lying. I couldn’t get you back, Colin couldn’t, Tehlor couldn’t—”

“Pain is the ultimate equalizer,” Sophia said, and lifted her chin. “It did the job.”

They arched a brow. “True. But I don’t think he wanted to hurt you.” They smeared salve over the burn. She flinched, bracing for discomfort. The balm had the texture of cold pudding. “That’s all.”

“Did he want to hurt you?”

Bishop’s mouth thinned. “Good question. Here, in this moment, yeah, I think he did. Ask me again in six months and my answer might be different.”

“Hurt has a shelf life, huh?” She closed her eyes, savoring the tingly relief coursing through the pinkened handprint.

“I killed him the first time around.” They met her gaze, watching her carefully. “Neither one of us will ask for forgiveness, and neither one of us will give it, but yeah, I think hurt has a shelf life. Sometimes it has to.”

“What’s in this stuff?”

“Herbs, aloe, milk, magic.”

Magic. The concept still shook her. “Do you trust her?”

Bishop met her eyes. “Tehlor? Depends on the day.”

“Juniper.”

They chewed their cheek and leaned forward, whispering an incantation against sore skin. Spanish fluttered from them, quick-tongued and raspy, until they rounded their lips and exhaled.

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