Well, this has taken a lot longer than I expected. I have no excuse other than the fact that life and work kind of got away from me. I really hope you're still reading! Anyway, like the previous two chapters, this was got too long for a single chapter. I promise I will work harder to get the next one out more quickly!
Thank you for your patience!
psyche b
7. Quaint & Curious Volumes
Sara looked at herself in the mirror, certain that the signs of a sleepless night were etched on her face. Sleeplessness wasn't so unusual for her, but the reason was completely novel. She smiled a little. The feeling of his lips brushing against hers still lingered warm and enticing against her skin. All the right tingles in all the fun places. The words came back to her in his voice and a shiver chased down her spine. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was not the time to drift off into a pleasant daydream. She had a meeting with Sister Roberta, head of both schools, in fifteen minutes.
Well, sort of. The note she found taped to her door asked her, politely, to be in Sister Roberta's office at 10 a.m. Of course, Sister Roberta wouldn't be the only one there. She was probably going to be facing at least two others as well as Sister Roberta herself. It was a tactic meant to intimidate. Sara reminded herself that anyone who had given the King of Hell orders less than twenty four hours before had no business being intimidated by a few nuns who thought she'd been a naughty girl.
She took a copy of her trust documents and flipped through until she found the relevant passage and highlighted it. She wasn't sure if she would need it, but experience had taught her that it was best to go in prepared. She stuck a post-it note between the pages so she could find it without shuffling through. She was flipping the pages closed when her eye caught a list of schools; St. Theresa's in Iowa, St. Faith's in North Dakota and St. Christina's in Oregon. All were listed as suitable alternatives if St. Augustin's didn't work out.
Sara sat down on the edge of the bed and studied the names. Sister Helen was the only one of the nuns who had ever mentioned a past and that only happened once. Sara was fairly certain that Sister Helen said she had graduated from a school called St. Faith's. The alarm on her phone went off, signaling that she had ten minutes before her meeting. There would be time for considering the options, either during the lecture or during the grand silence before. She tucked both copies of the paperwork into her bag along with her phone and trotted off across the quad.
She forced herself to walk when she got into the administration building. To be caught moving with anything other than solemn purpose would mean another fifteen minutes of lecture at least. The sound of her footfalls echoed off the gleaming floor. The exposed wood of the hallway and the baseboards glowed with new polish. Paintings and statues decorated niches in the creamy walls. An unadorned wooden bench was outside Sister Roberta's solid, arched door.
She took a deep breath, checked her watch and knocked. The seconds that ticked by felt like minutes. Sara noticed that the plastic plate with Sister Roberta's name on it had been replaced by a brass one with cursive lettering.
The door was opened by a novice who didn't look much older than Sara herself. "Sara?"
"Yes." She handed over the note. "Sister Roberta wanted to see me."
She smiled nervously. "Come in please." She walked behind the desk and picked up a phone.
Sara looked around the sunny room, curiosity sharpening her gaze. It had been nearly three years since she'd been in this office. Not because she had acquired any more respect for the rules, but she had gotten much more adept at flying below the radar. The golden beige and polished wood of the outer office hadn't changed, but the sofa had been reupholstered in a dark green velvety fabric. It had always looked new. Sister Roberta must have wanted a change. The narrow built in book shelves flanked the tall windows were a recent addition as well. None of the books looked like they had ever been opened, but they were all artfully arranged and interspersed with small ceramic ornaments. Sara was suddenly curious if Crowley had any books in his personal spaces. For some reason she was certain that he did and that they weren't just for show.
"You can go in now."
Sister Roberta – a tall, robust woman with a hard mouth and suspicious eyes who was somewhere between fifty and ninety – stood behind her wide desk and gripped her hands in front of her. Sister Helen sat to her left, Father Gordon to her right.
"Sara," She glanced at the carriage clock on her desk and a slight frown flickered across her face. "Right on time. Please, sit." She indicated a wooden chair that had been placed in front of the desk.
"Thank you, Sister. Good morning Sister Helen, Father Gordon." The younger nun looked surprised to be acknowledged at all. Father Gordon gave a warm smile. Sara sat down, her eyes were on Sister Roberta's.
Silence stretched for one minute, then two. The nun's gaze never wavered and neither did Sara's. The nun's back was straight and her hands were folded and still before her on the pristine green blotter. Sara watched her, her eyes looking neither left nor right. Her hands were in her lap, resting on her bag, her posture scrupulously relaxed. The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room.
The silence was another of Sister Roberta's tactics. After a few minutes, the girl is supposed to be so uncomfortable she incriminates herself without the nun saying a word. The idea roused Sara's stubborn streak. Sara hadn't spoken first since she was twelve.
After ten minutes Sister Helen began to fidget. Father Gordon lasted a bit longer. Sister Roberta looked at both of them sternly and then brought her eyes back to Sara's.
Sara didn't move. She concentrated on keeping the tension from her shoulders and a neutral expression on her face.
Father Gordon leaned over. "Sister-"
Sister Roberta raised a warning hand. The priest looked somewhere between uncomfortable and angry, but he fell silent again. Sister Helen was positively unable to be still. Her hands fluttered. Her eyes darted around the room, never lighting on anything for more than a couple of seconds. The priest looked away entirely, his eyes locked onto the pattern of the carpet.
Sara and the older nun just watched each other while the clock ticked and the rest of the panel tried to forget the weight of the silence as it grew heavier in the room.
Father Gordon turned to her again, this time with more determination on his face. "Sister Roberta-"
She held up her hand, silencing him. The priest turned away and once again the ticking of the clock held sway. Sister Roberta's eyes never left Sara's. Sara didn't squirm in the chair, her expression didn't change; her eyes didn't shift.
Sister Helen began to fan herself with the papers in her hand, as if the breeze could somehow create comfort.
"Be still." Sister Roberta's words came out in a frustrated hiss. Her eyes hadn't moved from Sara's. Sara's expression hadn't changed. Sister Helen did her best to obey, but couldn't quite manage stillness.
How long they sat there, a silent tableau of determination and calm flanked by discomfort and fidgeting, Sara couldn't say. As the relentless clock ticked on Sara could see anger growing in the creases around Sister Roberta's eyes, narrowing them. Her graceless thick fingers clutching at each other until her knuckles paled another couple of shades. Sara knew it wouldn't be long now. She kept her breathing slow and relaxed, kept her eyes on Sister Roberta's.
When the tension in the room finally broke it was with an audible crack. "Well?" Sister Roberta demanded. "Aren't you going to say anything about why you're here?"
Sara blinked at the angry nun. "I don't know why I'm here Sister. It wasn't in the note."
Sister Roberta's already too-thin lips disappeared entirely. "You deliberately upset several other students yesterday afternoon."
Sara's calm didn't break. "I did?"
Two spots of dark red flush broke out on her cheeks. "You know very well you did. All of that nonsense about going off on your own." The angry flush spread. "It was no more than vanity and outright cruelty on your part."
Sara was silent for a long moment. "I told Sister Helen I didn't want to share my plans. More than once in fact." She turned her head to look at the younger nun. "Isn't that true, Sister?"
Sister Helen looked nervously at Sister Roberta. "Well, yes, but-"
"There are no excuses. The fact is, you did it." Sister Roberta's words came out a bit too quickly.
Sara took a breath before responding. "I tried to deflect the question, but when I couldn't I answered honestly, yes. Lying is still a sin in every context, isn't it Sister?" Her gaze didn't waver.
"The truth? I would have thought that your idea of the truth is as fluid as the rest of your morals." Sister Roberta said.
"The truth is fluid. I'm young and impetuous. In three weeks I might want to give up on the idea of fashion design all together and be a pastry chef or marine biologist. Changing my mind tomorrow wouldn't make today's aspiration any less true."
The flush on Sister Roberta's cheeks deepened for a moment. "For any of those things you'd need access to your trust fund."
"Of course. I told Sister Helen I would like to finish my four years here before going on to another school."
The nun sat back in her chair and the corners of her lips twitched just once into a suggestion of a smile. Sister Helen and Father Gordon were both watching. "Control of the trust is contingent upon your graduation from this school. That is not guaranteed."
"It's not?" Sara asked.
"A great deal can happen between now and then, Sara. You're a reasonably good student now, but the quality of your work might slip." The thin lips flickered into a hint of smile. "Since, as you said, lying is indeed a sin, l couldn't in good conscience allow a young woman to graduate if she hadn't met all the requirements to my satisfaction. You are granted control of your trust on graduation from this college."
Sara didn't flinch. "Four years of college," she said.
"What was that?" Sister Roberta asked, there was a flash of anticipated victory in her eyes.
"Four years of college," Sara repeated, her confidence intact. She drew the document out of her bag, opened to the appropriate page and handed it to Sister Roberta. "It's the highlighted passage. The stipulation is that I complete four years of college here, or at any one of the other listed schools. The term 'graduation' is never mentioned."
Sister Roberta stared at the page, the angry flush deepened again. "Graduation is implied."
Sara kept her expression neutral. "Sister, my parents were both attorneys. If they had meant graduation they would have said so."
"A court might not interpret it that way." The nun seemed to be perfectly still, but the edge of her veil trembled just slightly. Her eyes were locked on Sara's.
"And a court might look at the educational opportunities I've been offered here as inadequate preparation for life beyond these walls. A judge might determine that another Catholic university would be more suitable."
A ripple of shock passed through Sister Helen and Father Gordon. Sister Roberta didn't even twitch. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a conjecture."
"And yet, you haven't attempted such an extreme action before. Perhaps because you know you would lose." Sister Roberta's face betrayed nothing, but her index finger twitched. Twice. Sara pretended not to notice.
"No one's ever threatened to stop my graduation before."
"You really think I couldn't fill your spot?"
"I'm sure you could. If I walked out of here today by tomorrow you'd have someone else ready to move in. Unless something truly nefarious is going on, which I doubt, you don't have a personal stake in keeping me away from the money either so I have to question why this is so important to you at all."
Sister Roberta stared at Sara, her index finger twitched again. "This school has certain guiding principles. You might think yourself to be in some way apart from the others but you are just an orphan in my care."
"I was, until I turned eighteen, but under the law I'm an adult. While I'm here I will do my best to follow the rules, but I will not allow you or anyone else to dictate my future. Nor will I accept being treated like a criminal because I choose to make up my own mind."
Sister Roberta rose slowly. "Now you listen to me-"
"Sister." Father Gordon's calm voice carried enough force to silence to the room. Sister Roberta sat back down again. "Sara, we need to discuss this. Would you wait in the hall for a few minutes, please?"
Sara nodded and got up. There was really no winning with Sister Roberta and Sara knew it. Giving in wasn't in her nature. The room was silent until she closed the heavy door behind herself. Sara was certain that she heard the word 'abomination' filter through it into the outer office. It had to be something else. Concentration or motivation or some other word that the wood and Sara's anger had twisted. She straightened her back and walked out into the hall to wait.
#
Crowley looked at the three books and two scrolls that were spread out on his desk. This was the last of Hell's extensive library of everything that lived in the dark. Well, the last of the part that he hadn't written himself. He had flipped through heavy, hand-lettered pages that smelled of blood and sulfur. He had rolled and unrolled scrolls of heavy parchment on jeweled bars and strips of flesh wound on human femurs, their ends worn smooth by time and use. He'd lost track of how many languages he'd waded through, how many times he'd stumbled across some description that started out promising only to fall apart as he read deeper.
"Bollocks." The word came out in a frustrated exhalation.
A single manicured fingernail tapped against the end a twice-broken and healed femur. A tingle of memory teased over his lips and he gave himself a moment to savor the sensation and the anticipation of the next time. A human couldn't possibly leave him so distracted. The memory of her lips fluttered over his again. The rhythm of his tapping finger broke. Crowley took a long swallow of scotch.
He scanned the open pages one more time. Things that crawled. Things with claws and fangs and scales. Things that couldn't be touched by sunlight. Things that preyed. Things that were obvious to demon eyes, no matter what disguises they wore. Of course, so were all of Heaven's bloody host so what exactly did that leave?
Something else. Something different. A girl that didn't flinch from questions; not from answering them, not from asking them. A girl who watched and listened and kept her own counsel. A girl who would not be tempted or impressed or led. A girl who met his eyes, made demands and expected those demands to be met.
He might not know what she was, but the king recognized power when he saw it.
He also recognized opportunity.
Those were the only reasons he allowed himself to put words to. The fact that the residue of humanity thrummed through his veins whenever he so much thought of her made no difference. Crowley drained the glass of scotch and closed the books. Three plumes of suffering-scented dust rose. The king didn't stop to savor it. He had plans to make. The summoning spell tumbled from his lips as he walked into the empty throne room.
#
Sara sat on the purposely uncomfortable bench and stared at a painting of a scholarly St. Augustin. The artist had included no details on the pages of the saint's two open books or on the large sheet of parchment he was writing on, but Sara had always gotten the impression that it was something mathematical. She couldn't have explained her reasons if anyone asked. She couldn't even have named the reasons. Maybe the reason wasn't as important as the feeling.
The picture itself had been reframed since Sara had been here last. The previous frame had been carved with leaves and intricate scrolls and had an antique golden tone. It had suited the style of the painting better than the new, simple one did. The new one was stained the same shade as the rest of the woodwork in the building. The change dulled the colors and served to make the image a part of the background.
When the door opened again, Sara ignored it. Father Gordon sat down next to her.
"My fate has been decided?" Sara asked.
Father Gordon smiled a little. "It's not the death penalty Sara."
She looked at him. "I didn't do anything wrong in the first place."
"Sister Roberta is just very protective of the girls in her care. Perhaps she's a bit too protective at times. You won't get far being challenging and making threats though."
"Threats and insults won't get her very far either." Sara said.
"What actually happened?"
"What did she say? That's the only version that's going to make it into the official record."
"I want your version."
Sara looked back to St. Augustin. "The room felt like it was a hundred and ten degrees. Everyone else had spoken. I hadn't. Sister Helen kept pushing, kept asking me what I wanted, option A or option B. I kept telling her that I didn't have anything to say, but she didn't want to accept that. She said everyone would be happy to stay in that sweltering room to listen to me. I wasn't going to lie and I was too hot and too tired to equivocate."
He nodded. "I can respect that."
"And Sister Roberta?"
"Sister Roberta has always been a single-minded woman."
She looked at him again. "Not to sound self-centered, but what does that mean for me?"
"It means that you're a bright young woman who would be an asset to any profession. We simply want you to see the whole picture. In the twenty-first century religious life is too often dismissed out of hand because it's seen as nothing more than a list of prohibitions and that people who make that choice enjoy self-denial. I think that sometimes our students have a difficult time seeing it that way. We want you to have the full picture before you make up your mind, so you'll meet with a dozen or so of the sisters and learn about their own journeys of faith." His eyes and his voice were sincere.
"And option B?"
"If you fall in love, you won't need anyone to convince you to marry."
She wouldn't have bet on the truth of that statement, but Father Gordon seemed to believe it. With the right mindset and approach, this could be an opportunity. She reminded herself not to sound too eager. Sara forced a sigh. "The personal touch mixed with the high pressure sales pitch."
Father Gordon laughed. "I wouldn't call it either one of those."
"I suppose Sister Roberta is first?"
"No, I'm first." He stood. "It's close enough to lunchtime. How about we go to LaComb's in Frieling?"
Sara stood. "I'm allowed off campus?"
He laughed. "This isn't a prison Sara. Come on."
#
When the timber industry all but disappeared, the town of Frieling almost suffered the same fate. The most tenacious residents had managed to hang on until the coming of the federal prison, but the downtown itself still bore the scars of the lean times. The one place on Main Street that had bustled with activity through it all was LaComb's Diner. LaComb's sat between a long-empty department store and a florist and it drew customers from all around. There were blue and white gingham curtains in the high, wide windows and a feeling of welcome inside. Sara and Father Gordon got the last available booth at the back of the long, narrow restaurant.
Over cheeseburgers, fries and vanilla shakes they chatted about music and what Sara had been doing to keep herself busy over the summer. It was perfectly chatty and scripted and it gave Sara a few minutes to think about what she really wanted to know and how to get to that information without raising suspicion. She decided that she would just take a page from Sister Roberta's book and just listen.
"I went to a school like St. Al's."
This was her opening. "For college?"
"No. When I was in the fifth grade my father passed away and two years later my mother married my stepfather. My sister and I were both sent away to school at the start of the next school year."
"And that was okay with you?" Sara took a sip of the shake.
He smiled. "Not at the time. My stepfather, Jason, said that he wanted us to be safe and well educated. I thought he wanted to get rid of me. I came to admire the priests and find comfort in my faith."
Sara dipped a French fry in a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise. "Why was he worried about your safety?"
There was just a flicker of hesitation. "He thought that morality was being eroded. Adults could make choices, but there were too many influences on children. He wanted us to be free of some of those pressures."
There was at least an omission in there, if not an outright lie. He went on before Sara could parse through it.
"I toyed with doing a few other things. Well, anything but the priesthood really." He began to talk about struggling to reconcile himself to the idea that there were things he'd be giving up and realizing what he would be gaining.
Sara nodded at the right times and made sure to look interested, but she was already turning over what he'd said – what he'd glossed over – about his new stepfather. Of the girls she knew well, most of them had come to the school after a parent remarried. It gave her some idea of what she needed to listen for when she talked to the others as well. She needed to know more about their parents.
#
Lunch with Father Gordon had turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. He hadn't preached, he hadn't tried to change her mind, he'd just talked until he had nothing more to say on the subject. Looking at the list he had given her she doubted the other meetings would go as well. She had promised to set up meetings with the others as soon as possible. She pinned the list to her corkboard out of the way of her designs. Sara would start when she was feeling more prepared.
Using what she knew about the girls and what she knew about Father Gordon she wrote down the similarities and differences in families. All of the girls had come to the school after a parent remarried, or after a major change in one of their parents. She knew about half the girls on her list well enough to know that prior to that, the family hadn't been particularly religious. Sara couldn't remember ever having been in a church before her parents died.
All the things she knew were remarkably similar. She would have to check her facts, but the similarities were striking. Sara stared at the page. One more thing to keep her occupied while waiting for the time to pass until she could see Crowley again. She picked up her phone, intending to text him, then put the phone down again. What would she say? Even if she came up with something, what would she be interrupting? Leah wouldn't have cared. Leah would have sent a hello or a dirty joke or a picture of her boobs or whatever else came into her mind.
She picked up the phone again.
Of course Leah had never had the King of Hell's number. Would that have stopped her? Sara doubted it. She looked down at the phone.
Sara was back to the wondering what she would say. Even if she wanted to tell him about what she'd put together in the last few hours – little as that was - how would she phrase it so it didn't sound like paranoid lunacy?
The phone buzzed in her hand. Sara gasped and almost dropped it. The call was from his number.
"Of course it is." Sara said. She let it ring three times before answering. "Hi there."
"What are you wearing?" His voice was a seductive growl that brought back all of the half-formed overheated fantasies from the sleepless night before.
Sara blushed and willed the tremor out of her voice. "Clothes. Why?"
His tone changed immediately. "Oh, I don't mean now, I meant next week. Really Darling, do you think I spend my days making funny phone calls?"
Sara pictured the amused sparkle in his eyes. Her blush deepened and she was glad he couldn't see her. "I don't know what to wear, you haven't said where we're going."
"True. Cocktail attire would be appropriate."
She glanced at her closet and then at the designs on the board. Everything she had was either too formal or not formal enough. Telling him that was not an option. "I can manage that."
"Really? Because I could arrange a little shopping trip for the two of us."
Sara leaned back on her bed. "Thanks, but I really think I'm okay. Where-"
"Perhaps I would enjoy choosing something for you."
"Maybe you would, but this will be the first time that you haven't just shown up at some random moment. Maybe I'd like to dress for you."
He was silent for a long moment. "Such a persuasive girl." His voice was soft and seductive. Sara bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "You never did answer my question."
"Question?" The word came out with a little squeak at the end. Sara cursed herself for her own reactions, reminding herself that this was not one of the boys from St. Al's. This was a demon with an agenda.
He chuckled. "About what you think I do all day."
Demon or not, Sara couldn't help but smile. "You didn't answer my question about where we're going. I'd call us even."
"Thursday evening, seven-thirty, your roof-top hideaway."
"I look forward to it." Sara said.
She ended the call and tossed the phone aside. Six days. She had six days to go from no idea at all to finished dress. And it had to be amazing. She picked up her sketchbook and cursed herself for not taking him up on his offer of shopping.