Текст книги "Eighth Grave After Dark"

Автор книги: Darynda Jones

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“I saw. It was amazing.”

He wasn’t so sure. Doubt settled deep in his core. I stroked his back to assure him that everything I saw, everything he showed me was incredible, but I realized his shirt was wet. Very wet. Too wet.

I lifted my hand and gasped. It was covered in blood.

Pushing him off me, I stepped away to see what had happened, but he quickly turned until he was facing me again.

“Reyes, you’re bleeding,” I said, trying to turn his body.

He steeled himself, his jaw working, his gaze hard as he stared down at me. He hadn’t expected me to notice anything amiss.

“That’s why you’re wearing a shirt.” It suddenly made sense. That little niggling in the back of my mind as he’d made love to me half dressed. That just didn’t happen often. “Take it off.”

“I’m fine,” he said, jerking the pajama pants into place and tying them.

I did the same. I picked up my nightgown and slipped it over my head. “Wonderful. Then show me.”

“Dutch,” he said as though in warning, turning to face me when I tried to come around again.

But I saw the long streaks of blood in the mirror. Slashes that started at one shoulder, cut across his back, and ended under his rib cage. Claw slashes that only a bear or a hellhound could inflict.

I erupted in anger. “Take off your shirt or I’ll take it off for you.”

He knew I could. He knew I could completely incapacitate him with one word. But instead of the explosion I’d expected, he stilled. His lids narrowed, but not out of anger. An emotion more like pride spilled out of him. One corner of his sensual mouth tilted up, but he shook his head nonetheless. “No. You’ve seen enough over the past few months. I won’t have you exposed to the depths of my stupidity.”

The anger inside me dissipated immediately. “Mr. Farrow,” I said, twirling my finger, instructing him to turn around, “the depths of your stupidity are the least of my concerns.”

With a resigned sigh, he lifted the shirt over his head, his muscles bunching as he did so, and turned to face the mirror. And that was when I decided to take up gardening as I planted my face in the floor behind him.

*   *   *

“It’s hormones,” I said when Osh brought me a glass of water.

He had apparently been headed to the bathroom for a shower when he heard a thunderous crack and the ground shook beneath his feet—his words. Surely my fall wasn’t that thunderous.

“I just got light-headed.”

He winked at me, his signature top hat back in place, since the wedding festivities were over. Reyes held a cold rag to my temple, his expression severe. I’d scared him. I’d scared me too, but not for my own sake.

“I fell on Beep.” I poked my belly, hoping she’d respond. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“Better than you, loca.” Angel had dropped in, too, because I needed to be insulted as well as disoriented and humiliated.

“Angel Garza,” I said, pointing at him threateningly. “I can do things now. Scary things.”

He raised his hands, the boyish grin he wore perforating my heart.

“Duct tape?” I asked Osh.

He raised it, then tore off a strip to tape up Reyes’s back. He’d been wearing duct tape under the dark gray T-shirt he had on earlier. I knew I’d seen odd lines across his back. But, thinking he’d healed for the most part, he peeled it off when he took a shower. He was wrong. His back bore two long slashes across it with four gashes each. One set extended from his shoulder to just under his rib cage. The other across the small of his back. The hellhounds’ claws were like razor blades and the cuts were bone deep. Which would explain my sudden but blessedly short departure from reality.

“I think if I were you,” Angel said to Reyes, “I’d stop trying to cuddle with hellhounds.”

Reyes shot him a glare that didn’t even faze him. Normally, Angel was scared to death of my husband. Clearly, they’d grown close enough in the last few months to give Angel’s mouth free rein.

“If this happened yesterday,” I said as Reyes bit down, steeling himself against the pain of Osh’s administrations, “why are you not healing faster?”

Osh answered for him. “Because he’s not sleeping. He hasn’t been in stasis for months.”

“Reyes,” I said, drawing his gaze, “you have to sleep. Why aren’t you sleeping? Eight months? How is that even possible?”

Osh applied one final piece of duct tape, then slapped it into place, causing a muted groan to escape his patient. “Good as new,” he said. Then he grew serious. “But if this gets nasty, he’ll be no use to us in this condition.” He winked at me before grabbing his supplies and leaving.

“I’ll be around,” Angel said. “Just shout if you need me.”

“Why?” I asked before he could disappear.

“Why?”

“Why are you here? What are you two up to?”

I didn’t miss the warning glare that Reyes flashed him. He chewed on his lower lip, and said, “I’m just looking out for you.”

Before I could push the subject, he vanished.

I crossed my arms over my chest and focused on my husband. “Why are you not sleeping?” I asked him, deciding to address his health instead of my curiosity about what Reyes had been up to with Angel.

He eased onto the bed, his large frame taking up most of its surface. “I can’t let my guard down.”

“Reyes,” I said, straddling his hips, not an easy feat in my current state, “Osh was right. If you don’t sleep, you won’t be able to bring your A-game should things go south out here. It’s like we’re in a pot of hot water and someone is slowly turning up the heat. We can’t stay out here forever. The hounds will figure out a way in. I can feel it.”

His mouth widened into an appreciative grin when I crawled onto him, as though completely dismissing everything I’d just said. He rested his hands on my hips. “I’m learning about them,” he said at last.

I leaned over him, tucked a lock of hair over his ear, ran my fingers along the outline of his lips. “About who?”

“The hounds. I’m learning how to fight them.”

I bolted upright. “Is that why you continued to antagonize them even after you realized the holy ground wouldn’t kill them?”

He lifted a playful brow. “Antagonize them?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Something like that.”

“But you’re stopping, right? You said you’re stopping.”

“I’m stopping.”

I lay down beside him. “What happened when you pulled them onto holy ground? I mean, did they writhe in agony?” I bounced up. “Did they smoke like the ground was burning the flesh off their bodies?”

He tucked an arm behind his head in thought. “That’s just it,” he said, his voice curious. “It didn’t seem to faze them at all.”

“I don’t understand. The consecrated soil didn’t hurt them?”

He shook his head. “Not even a little.”

*   *   *

I lay awake, listening to Reyes’s even breathing, but I now knew he was faking it. Had been faking it for eight months. My right foot was more asleep than he was. His revelation about the hellhounds kept my mind racing in overdrive. If the ground didn’t hurt them, then why weren’t they crossing it to rip out our throats? Maybe it did hurt them, just not visibly. They were freaking hard to see. Perhaps they were more focused on tearing my husband apart.

Or maybe they were simply waiting, patrolling the border to keep tabs on us. But why? What could they be waiting on?

My phone rang, but due to the limited number of electrical outlets in the room, Piper, my phone, was way across the other side. True, the room was tiny, but I’d still have to get out of bed to answer her summons.

I tried to roll out of Reyes’s arms. He tightened his hold. I tried to lift an arm off me, but he clasped his fingers, essentially locking me in.

“Reyes,” I said, stifling a giggle, “I know you’re awake. You can give up the game.”

“Never,” he said into his pillow.

I laughed and leaned all my weight forward until he finally let go. By the time I got to Piper, my voice mail had picked up. It was Uncle Bob, so I put on my robe, tiptoed out of the room, and called him right back.

“Are you still at work?” I asked him, looking at the clock before I closed the door to a pretend sleeping Reyes. It was 1:32 A.M.

“We found him,” he said, his voice hurried. “You won’t believe this. He works for the Vatican.”

“No,” I said, adding a flare of astonishment to my voice.

“Freaking hell, Charley, did you already know that? Are you the one who called in with the tip?”

“No.” Though I sounded super convincing, Ubie didn’t buy it.

“Charley—”

“I suspected. It’s a long story. So, what’s going on?”

“We can’t hold him, hon. He says he had nothing to do with the murder. Says your dad was following him, not the other way around. But we do have enough to charge him with stalking if you will press charges. Just say the word, pumpkin.”

“Does he know anything about Dad’s murder?”

Uncle Bob let out a long breath. “He says no. Says your dad threatened him if he didn’t stop following you, then that’s the last he saw of him.”

“He’s lying.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, he wasn’t just following me. Look at the pictures in his apartment.”

“What pictures? There aren’t any.”

Damn it. He got rid of the evidence. Must have sent it all back to his boss at the Vatican. “He had pictures of Dad on his wall.”

“You’ve been stuck at that convent for eight months. How do you know that?”

“I’ve been working with someone on it.”

“Even after I asked you not to?”

“Kind of. He had pictures of Dad.”

“Well, we got nothing now. And because he checks out, I can’t hold him.”

An idea hit me hard. As well as the corner of a hutch as I tried to traverse the house in the dark. I walked into the living room to hang with Mr. Wong.

“Put him on the phone,” I said.

“Charley, I can’t do that.”

“Tell him who you’re talking to and tell him Father Glenn sends his love.” I’d suspected he knew Father Glenn, a man I’d helped with a nest of demons a few months ago, for a while now. He was the one who told me about the file the Vatican had on me. I wondered if they were connected somehow.

“Okay. Hold on.”

After a few minutes, a timid male voice came on the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Blondie,” I said, “been stalking anyone I know lately?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you told the Vatican yet?”

“Told them what?”

“That your cover has been blown.”

“Again, I don’t know what—”

“How about we skip all this and get to the heart of the matter?” I didn’t give him time to respond. I was hoping to disorient him so he’d slip up. “You tell my uncle, and you know damned well he’s my uncle, who was following my dad. You had pictures of him and another man. Hand those over, and I won’t tell anyone at the Vatican what a royal fuckup you are, capisce?”

He didn’t say anything, which meant he was considering my offer.

“In turn, you can keep doing your Vatican crap, whatever the hell that’s all about, and just do a few side jobs for me every once in a while, starting with a nun that died at this convent. I want her name and what happened to her. I also want to know what kind of trouble the priest that vanished was in.”

“Which convent?”

“Dude, seriously, if you start playing games with me now, I will stop your heart in your chest. Funny thing is, you know I can do it. You’ve been stalking me for years. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Silence.

“Angry, Howard. It makes me feel angry.”

“If they find out—”

“You’ll lose your job?” I scoffed. “You’re about to lose it anyway. You’ve been busted by your mark. A mark who is going to rain hellfire down on your boss’s city. How do you think that will end?”

“I’m just an observer. I don’t do research.”

“Bullshit. Try again.”

He sat thinking over his options, but the fact was, he didn’t have any. Not if he didn’t want to lose his cushy job.

“O—”

Before he could even finish the okay part, I said, “Get that picture you have of my dad and that other man to my uncle tonight and find out about the nun and the priest. You have two hours.”

When I was met with only silence again, I said, “Howard, give the phone back to my uncle now. You’re burning moonlight.”

“What did he say?” Uncle Bob asked as he walked away from Howard. I could hear his footsteps in the background. “Is he going to cooperate?”

“He didn’t have anything to do with Dad’s death, but I think he might have a photo of someone who did. Dad seemed to be confronting a guy, and they both looked angry. He’s going to give you that photo, but you have to let him go. Like immediately.” I was so excited to be getting somewhere on my dad’s case, I didn’t want to waste another moment.

“You got it, pumpkin. What are you going to say if Reyes finds out you’ve been working on this case? He is afraid doing so will put you in danger.”

“He won’t find out. Don’t worry about me.”

“I like him. He’s … a good man.”

“Thanks, Ubie. I like him, too.”

“Oh!” I almost forgot. “I’m sure he already knows it, but make sure Howard has my phone number. I’m expecting a call.”

“Do I need to stay on him?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. Once you get that photo and anything else he has on Dad, you need to come have sex with your wife.”

“Charley,” he said, and I could almost feel his cheeks heat up.

“I’m telling you, she’s out here with three—no, four if you count Quentin, which why wouldn’t you?—of the sexiest men on the planet. Just sayin’.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“It takes an hour to get here and you still have to get that photo.”

“That’s what sirens and flashing lights are for.”

10

PEOPLE WILL STOP ASKING QUESTIONS

IF YOU ANSWER BACK IN INTERPRETIVE DANCE.

–T-SHIRT

I decided to work on the door to the locked closet again while I waited for Vatican Boy’s phone call. He’d better come through, or I was totally marking him. Not with anything bad. I’d give him a designation like head toilet bowl cleaner at the Pit, Albuquerque’s sports complex. Man, that would suck. Though I was pretty sure the designation thing didn’t exactly work that way, it was a thought.

I walked to the laundry room, this time with a flashlight, and studied the door from top to bottom. How was it even locked? There was no doorknob, no latch. And what would be the purpose of it locking from the inside? Then the occupant couldn’t get out.

I gasped. That was it. Maybe someone was locked inside and they’d suffocated or starved to death. Maybe it was the priest. Maybe that was how he’d vanished.

This was getting exciting. I lowered myself onto all fours and shone the light under the door, hoping to catch a glimpse inside. Nothing. It was sealed tight.

Beep decided to practice the splits while I was down there. I crawled to the washing machine for leverage. Getting up was not so easy as it had once been. But since I was already in the vicinity, I decided to do a load of laundry.

Denise’s voice scared the crap out of me. I startled when she said, “I was going to do that. I’m washing all the baby stuff and getting it ready.”

“Wow, you don’t give up, do you?”

“I have no intention of losing you.”

Gemma was right. I felt Denise’s loneliness cut through to my marrow. But whose freaking fault was that?

“Is Gemma with you?”

“No, I drove. Your friend Lando Calrissian gave me a room. It has a cot.”

“Lando?”

“Long black hair, looks like he’s still in high school?”

“Osh. His name is Osh. Lando is—”

“I know who Lando is.”

“Oh. Well—”

“Are you taking your vitamins?”

“Yup.”

She nodded. “Have you had cramping? Any spotting?”

“Nope.” When she only nodded again, I said, “Okay, then. I’m going to go … do stuff. Other stuff. Somewhere else.”

I couldn’t miss the relief she felt when I didn’t throw her out. I was not forgiving her. I refused. But she could do my laundry if she wanted. And, maybe, help with Beep when she arrived. All babies need a grandmother.

“You should get some rest,” she said.

“I’m waiting on a phone call about a case. But the minute I get it—”

“A case? You’re still working cases?”

“’Parently.”

She started to chastise me. I could see it on her face. She wore scorn like a trophy wife wore Louis Vuitton. Instead, she lifted a shirt out of a laundry basket that said DEAR DIARY, HAD TO CUT A BITCH TODAY and didn’t say a word. No terms of aghastment. No scathing remark. It was weird, and I was more convinced than ever that she was possessed.

I decided to wait for the call in the theater room, which was really a few chairs and a television. I ended up curled into a recliner and watching an episode of Andy Griffith when my husband walked in. I eyed him. Yep, I could do him again.

He walked into the theater wearing the lounge pants and nothing else. Even his feet were sexy. But now I understood the scruffiness of his appearance. The sleep-deprived features.

“You’re not coming back up?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for a call.”

He nodded, picked up a magazine with Oprah on the cover, and sat in the chair beside me. “You know,” he said right as Opie was going to knock some birds out of a tree. Such a bad boy. “You can tell me anything.”

I snorted. “No, I can’t.”

He stopped and gave me his full attention. “Why would you say that?”

He was magnificent, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. But now was as good a time as any. The thought of what I was about to do to him—to us—saddened me. I was about to turn his world upside down, but he needed to know what I’d done.

My nerves jumped to attention. My heart raced. He would hate me come morning. But where could he go? We’d be stuck in the same house for God knew how long, hating each other. Or, well, him hating me. I could never hate him. Not even if he ate the last Oreo, though that would be pushing it. “What if I told you—?”

My phone rang. I paused midsentence, swallowed back my fear, and picked up my phone. I had been given a momentary stay of execution, and I damned well was going to take it.

“It’s Howard,” the voice on the other end said.

“I figured as much. What did you find out?”

“There was a novice there, about to take her vows when she accused a priest of molesting her.”

“Let me guess, the priest who went missing.”

“Yes. But nothing ever came of her charges, and there’s nothing about anyone dying there. Not a young nun anyway. The novice was excommunicated.”

“Of course, she was.” I stood and paced the room. “Coming forward to accuse a priest of misconduct back then usually meant excommunication.” That would explain why her death had not been recorded. But how did she die? Did the priest kill her and then disappear? “What was her name?”

“Bea Heedles.”

“Sister Bea?”

“I think she went by Sister Beatrice. So, is that all?” he asked.

“Did you get the picture to my uncle?”

The moment I asked, I heard a car pull up. That would be Ubie.

Reyes stood to open the door.

“Yes. I did as you asked.” I could hear the resentment in his voice.

“Okay, then answer me this: Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does the Vatican—I mean, seriously, the Vatican—have a file on me?”

“I’m just the observer,” he said, trying to pull that innocent-as-the-driven crap again.

“Howard, if this relationship is going to work, we have to be honest with each other. So I, honestly, will let your heart keep beating if you stop bullshitting me.”

He took a long moment to get back to me. When he did, his voice was a tad more reverent than before. I’d take it.

“All I know is that you are of interest to them. They– They have prophecies, and apparently when you were born, all the predictions started to come true.”

“How did they find out about me in the first place?”

“We have people, too,” he said. “People like you. People with gifts. They, they saw you, I guess.”

I knew that they paid very close attention to what Sister Mary Elizabeth had to say. They’d wanted her in Italy when she was a novice, but she wanted to stay in New Mexico, near the girl causing all the uproar in heaven. Were there more like her?

“What about you? Do you have gifts?”

“No,” he said.

Uncle Bob came in, gave me a peck on the cheek, then went upstairs to find his wife. Cookie was about to get a nice surprise. Reyes walked up behind me and draped his arms over the back of the recliner so he could rub my Beep bump. His hands felt wonderful. His heat soothing.

“What about other … people like me?” I asked. “Do you know about them?”

“There are no other people like you.”

“No, I mean, what about other people they observe. How many are there?”

“Look, I was hired to observe you and report back. That’s it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know that your husband is special, too.”

He had that right. He was busy nibbling on my earlobe, causing ripples of pleasure to race over my skin.

“Do you know what he is?”

“I know that he’s from hell.”

I stilled. That was more than I thought he’d know. “Is the Vatican aware?”

He’d grown more hesitant as the conversation wore on. I sensed a spark of fear in his voice, but he soldiered on. “Everything about you goes into my reports.”

“Will they take any action?” What would they do, really? What could they do? But I needed to know if this was going to be an issue.

“I have no idea. I don’t have that kind of clearance.”

I believed him. I also believed that this guy was going to come in handy.

“Howard,” I said, letting a smile spread across my face. “I think we’re going to have a long and beautiful relationship.”

“But I thought—”

“How many years have you been stalking me?”

After another long pause, he said, “Observing. Seven.”

Holy cow, how did I not know these things? I was so oblivious sometimes. “Then the way I see it, you owe me seven years of indentured servitude.”

“Crap,” he said.

“You’ll be like a double agent. It’ll be fun!”

“I’m going to hell.”

“Not anytime soon, you’re not. I need you, buddy. It’s you and me against the world. Oh, hey, so do you know how to kill a hellhound?”

*   *   *

Determined to stay up with Reyes—if he couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t sleep—I fell asleep in the theater room about five minutes after we snuggled together and he started rubbing my Beep bump again. I remember being lifted—and thankful that I was only dreaming that I was being airlifted—and carried to our room. I woke up a few hours later to an empty bed.

The sun was just breaching the horizon when I put on my robe and padded down the hall to find the community toilet. I peed and was in the process of brushing my teeth when I looked out the postage stamp window. I had a view from the back of the house. All the wedding goers had left and only an occasional flower or silken streamer remained as evidence of Cookie’s special day.

I started back for the mirror, as my tongue was on fire—freaking cinnamon toothpaste—when I noticed a movement along the tree line. It was Reyes and he was sneaking out. To go fight another hellhound? Hadn’t he proved that dragging them onto sacred ground wouldn’t kill them? Maybe he was meeting that traitor Angel again.

I rinsed and spit, waving a hand in front of my face as I rushed into the darkened bedroom to throw on some clothes and hurried down the stairs. Denise was up, making breakfast. I ran, kind of, past her, then stopped and turned.

“You made bacon?” I asked, my mouth watering.

“It’s veggie bacon.”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Do you want to try it?”

I eyed it distrustfully. “I’m not sure.”

“Sit down, I’ll fix you a plate.”

“No time. I have to catch my husband in the act.” In the act of what, I had no idea, but I was damned well about to find out.

She pursed her lips as I grabbed a piece and ran, kind of, out the door. “Okay, I’ll keep it warm,” she said.

“Thanks!” I said, not too loud, though. I had to be like a grasshopper on the wind. No! I had to be the wind.

Initializing stealth mode: now.

I skirted the tree line to get to where I’d been the day before. I had a pretty good view from there. I really just wanted to make sure my psychotic, sleep-deprived husband wasn’t wrestling hellhounds. That would have been such a great metaphor if it weren’t real. I’d have to remember it. Use it metaphorically later.

I climbed through the trees, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the drop-off. It still boggled my mind that Reyes didn’t notice me right off. If I was so bright, how could he miss me? But there he was, walking through the clearing that was supposedly beyond the border. Freaking Osh. He’d been in on whatever was going on from the first.

Reyes stopped in the middle of the clearing and Angel appeared. He’d summoned him! My investigator. I felt violated. Betrayed. Trampled on like a used napkin at the Frontier, my favorite restaurant.

The Frontier.

I started to drool again as I watched them. Easing over a fallen log and negotiating the uneven ground, I kept my head down and my breathing steady. No idea why. I totally felt like a sniper in the marines. Only I was pregnant. Other than that, and the fact that I couldn’t snipe if they’d paid me to, I embodied all that a sniper should be. Stealth. Grace. The patience of a panther on the prowl. Gawd, I had to pee.

A face in my periphery caught my attention. It was the nun. She snuck up beside me and, following my lead, kept a close vigil on the men below. I finally got a good look at her, albeit from my periphery. I didn’t want to scare her off.

She had a tiny, upturned nose, a soft face that still had the puffiness of youth, and a small, pretty mouth. The veil she wore covered her hair, but even through the grayness of her coloring, I could tell her eyebrows were light brown and her eyes hazel. We both kept our gazes locked on our targets as Reyes and Angel talked.

An idea hit me, and I finally turned to her. “Can you maybe pop down there and listen in?”

Without taking her eyes off me, she shook her head.

That was disappointing. “Can you read lips?”

No again, only this time she fought the twitching of a grin. Okay. Two could play that game.

“Then can you run up to them, jerk their pants down, then run away?”

She giggled softly. Then she was standing about ten feet from me. I decided to give up on my sniper career and see where Sister Beatrice took me today.

“Okay, but seriously, you have to wait for me this time. I mean it.”

She kept disappearing and reappearing farther down the overgrown path. If it ever was a path. We went deeper and deeper into the woods, but I had yet to come across the string that marked the border. Even so, the growls in the distance grew louder with each step I took.

“Beatrice!” I said, calling out to her. I’d lost her again and I needed to catch my breath. But before that could happen, she appeared beside me. My heart tried to leap out of my chest. I pressed a hand to hold it in and took a few deep breaths. “All right, Sister. What are you trying to show me?”

She pointed down. I followed her line of sight to the ground beneath me and realized I was standing on slats. Wooden slats. I knelt down and brushed the dirt and leaves away. I couldn’t be certain without a flashlight, but it could have been a well.

“What’s down there, sweetheart?”

Her gaze dropped to her saddle shoes, her hands wringing nervously.

“Is it you?” I asked. Did the priest kill her and dump her body in a well?

Without looking at me, she shook her head.

It hit me then. I sat back on one leg. “Is it him?” I asked her. “Is it the priest?”

She closed her eyes as shame consumed her. I had to admit, I didn’t expect that. Did she kill him? Or maybe he attacked her and she’d defended herself. It could have been any number of situations.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She stepped forward and held out her hand. I took it, but wasn’t sure what she wanted until she nodded and closed her eyes. She was allowing me access to her memories.

They catapulted me back to a moonless night slick with freezing rain. I saw her journey through her eyes as she ran. Fear thundered through her. As she climbed as high and as fast as she could, her shoes slipped in the mud. But someone caught her wrist. Someone else was with her. Another young novice like herself. One whom she loved with all her heart and soul. It was hard to see her clearly through the rain, but the nun had features similar to Beatrice’s. And she was just as scared.

Beatrice’s fear paralyzed me. Her heart beat so hard, it hurt. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill them both. One of them, and he didn’t know which, had written to the bishop, accused him of forcing himself upon her. He’d been drunk, he said. He didn’t remember doing it, he said, let alone which girl it was. But he was not about to lose his entire career, his livelihood, over a whore. And since he didn’t know which one he’d accosted, he was going to kill them both. They saw it in his eyes when he asked them for help with a pen outside. They’d gone with him, feeling safe since there were two of them. They’d been wrong.

He swung a hammer, hitting Beatrice’s friend on the temple, and they ran into the night. Holding hands, they found a spot and hid from him. But he was not about to give up the search easily. He kept at it for what seemed like hours. Eventually, he found them.

The girl she was with motioned for her to run and then lunged at the priest. Beatrice couldn’t, though. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t leave her friend. Instead, she attacked the man from behind. He was choking her friend. She beat his head with her fists and scratched at his eyes, but he elbowed her in the face. The force knocked her back against a tree and she lost consciousness for a precious few seconds. When she came to, her friend lay motionless, his fingers so tight around her throat, she’d turned blue.

He shook the girl, squeezing the last remnants of life out of her as hard as he could, then let her go and came after Beatrice. She no longer cared. She gaped at her friend, unable to process the fact that she was gone. The priest walked toward her slowly, suddenly interested in her again. He would have his way with her before he killed her. Or after. Either way, he would win.

No, she thought. She brought out the knife she’d taken from the kitchen. The one she’d been carrying around since that night. To use on him. To protect herself. But she decided to use it on a part of him instead. The baby he’d left inside her body. He stopped and watched as she took the knife into both hands and plunged it into her abdomen.

He watched for a while, surprised, then shrugged. She’d done the work for him. When she fell to her knees, a searing pain paralyzing her, he walked back to the girl and dragged her higher up the mountain. Beatrice watched as he pulled back a wooden cover of some kind and dropped her friend into a well. He turned to come back for her, but the rain had softened the ground. He slid, caught himself, then slid again and toppled over the side and into the well.