Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,42
it. “Tonight I will be talking about the merits of temperance.”
I turned my head and looked up at him. “Really?”
Laughing, he bopped me on the nose, which he knew I hated. “Oh, yes. Really.” Then he grinned. “It’s always good to know one’s enemy.”
The End.
About Petra
A lover of cats and books, equally, Petra is an author of Dark Romance, including the best-selling Reverse Harem series, Saving Setora. Editor, wife, and mom, she lives in the desert of Eastern Washington, dreaming of thunderstorms and rolling, green pastures.
Also by Petra J. Knox
Sweet Caroline: A Dark Tale
Captured: The Xandari Chronicles
The Saving Setora series
Oblation
Jo-Anne Joseph
Charity
Something given to a person or persons in need.
Blurb
Born in the darkness,
bred in depravity.
Secrets and blasphemy, my undoing will be.
The taste of the forbidden,
under cover of the night,
as I drink from the cup of every sinner’s plight.
This is my prayer,
This is my please,
From evil and lust, deliver me.
Prologue
Thunder roared overhead, causing the walls in Sister Mary Concessa’s room to quake. Angry droplets of rain crashed against the windows. She laid in bed, reading the bible, when the lights started to flicker and dim. She pushed the sheets off her body, sitting upright. She hadn't experienced a storm of this magnitude in years. There was something ominous about that kind of weather.
Opening the door to her bedroom, she glanced left and right into the dimly lit hallway finding nobody in sight. A loud thumping at the door of the convent had her practically jumping out of her skin. Who would be knocking at this hour? A part of her wanted to ignore it, close her door and get back in bed, but another part of her, the more prominent side, the part that left her to devote her life to God in the first place, had her walking toward the door.
“Who is it?” she called, only to be met with silence, rain seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. She turned and started back the way she came. Maybe she’d imagined it after all. It wouldn’t be the first time. And then she heard it, the distinct sound of a baby crying. She stilled and tried to listen for it again. “A baby?”
Sister Concessa unhooked the keys, opening the door slowly. She placed a hand to her chest, letting out a breath. “What in God’s name-” on the doorstep was a box. She peered into the darkness, but the rain made it impossible to see. She bent and opened the flaps of the box, her eyes widening at the sight of a tiny baby wrapped in a white sheet. It’s little face scrunched from crying. She carried the baby inside, shutting the door behind her.
“Mary, what on earth is going on?” Mother Superior questioned as she stepped forward. Mother Superior wore a conservative robe, so Sister Concessa felt underdressed in her thin, cotton sleep shirt. She hadn’t had time to cover up.
“This baby was left on our doorstep. I heard a knock.”
Mother Superior held out her hands, and Sister Concessa handed her the bundle.
“There, there.” The older nun cooed, the baby's cries instantly stopping. “Follow me, Mary.”
The two women walked down the hallway and into the infirmary. Sister Mary flicked the switch, flooding the room with light.
Mother Superior placed the baby on the sick bed in the middle of the room, carefully unwrapping the sheets. Little legs and arms flailed about. “The umbilical cord is still attached.” She narrowed her eyes at the infant. “It’s a girl.”
“Who would do such a thing, Mother?”
“Oh, there is much you need to learn about the world, Mary.” She smiled down at the baby.
Mary’s skin prickled. “What are we going to do with this child?”
“What better place for a child to grow up in?” Mother Superior smiled. “We will keep her.”
“But shouldn’t we contact the authorities?”
“No, the Lord brought her to us for a reason.” Mother Superior smiled down at the child, her eyes gleaming. Mary pursed her lips then felt her cheeks flush at the devious thoughts that ran through her mind at that moment.
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. A convent was no place for a child.
“As you wish, Mother.” She said, but Mother Superior was distracted, already rocking the child, beaming down at her in fascination.
Later that night, the baby’s cries echoed through the convent, the treacherous storm continuing to brew outside. Sister Mary Concessa knew she’d opened Pandora’s box. What has been done can seldom be undone.