The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,97

St. Cecilia, and St. Agnes, as proof of their existence through the ages and held closely by generation after generation of men and women who worshipped them, were devoted to them, and prayed for their return when the world was most in need of them.”

“Now?” Lucy asked.

“Now,” Sebastian said. “This legacy, these chaplets are your inheritance. I had to get them to you before Frey stopped me.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows who we are and will try to stop us however he can.”

“How can he do that?” Cecilia said. “He has no control over us.”

“You said you thought you were being watched, followed. He is using you to find me. So he can get all of us.”

Sebastian turned suddenly grim.

“You aren’t just being followed. You are being hunted.”

The corrections officer strolled down the cement-floored hallway of the Brooklyn House of Detention. Even to a seasoned veteran of the system, it was a scary place. But then, it was meant to be. In earlier days, it might be considered the kind of place where one might be sent to “loosen the tongue,” and it still had that effect. It was a snitch factory, especially for guys like Jesse, but he didn’t break. He was proud of that.

“Arens!”

Jesse lifted himself from the hard cot slowly. The guard pressed the lock button on the side of his cell and the door slid open with an echoing clang. Jesse stepped out, cautiously, wary that this might be some sort of trick.

“You’re free to go.”

“I’m sprung? Seriously? Did someone bail me out?”

His search for a Good Samaritan was unrewarded on a technicality, though he could hardly believe anyone he knew cared enough.

“You’re not charged with anything. It’s been seventy-two hours. You served your time.”

“So soon?” he asked snidely. “I was never charged. Time for what?”

“For being a douche bag,” the officer said dismissively.

“Oh, well then, guilty,” Jesse said, holding his hands out for cuffs.

“Pick up your things at the desk and get the hell out of here.”

“Listen, I run a few nights at Sacrifice during the week. Maybe you might like to stop by with your boys. Let me know. I’ll even comp you.”

“That’s a bribe, prick.”

“You’d know.”

Jesse checked out of his accommodations and reached for his smartphone. He might have developed an instant reputation as a whiny bitch on the inside, but he made sure to play his rap sheet up for street cred on the way out. He threw on his shades, popped his jacket collar up, and put on his swagger as he hit the door. There was a photographer waiting to shoot him, as planned. Before he even got to the corner, the picture was posted, “liked,” and reblogged to every subscriber in the city. The “Free Jesse” slogan he posted across his main page in computer-animated caution tape was replaced by a “Jesse’s Free” headline and power to the people fist icon. “From felon to chillin’ at warp tweet.” He was back.

He searched his competition as he usually did after a day or two offline, after holidays mostly, just to see what had gone on in his absence. He smiled at a folder of photos and an item about Lucy from Da Ball. He flipped through the JPEGs and captions casually, pissed that she’d even gone without him. When he opened the last photo, his face went completely white and his jaw dropped. It was picture of Lucy and Dr. Frey.

And then it hit him, all at once. Like a city bus.

“Oh God. How could I be so stupid?”

It wasn’t just Sebastian Frey was after. He texted Lucy:

911. You are not safe.

He waved his arm in the air like a madman.

“Taxi!”

He jumped in the backseat of the first yellow cab that would have him and sped to the church.

“No,” Lucy said as she began sobbing uncontrollably. Agnes and Cecilia tried to pull away from Sebastian’s grasp to comfort her, but he held them tight. “I don’t want this,” she protested hysterically, pulling at the chaplet.

“You do,” Sebastian said, a note of sympathy in his voice. “You came back.”

“I like my life. These girls have nothing to lose!” Lucy screeched, pointing a finger at Agnes and Cecilia. “I worked so hard to have everything I ever wanted.”

“Then you must be happy. Are you . . . happy?”

Sebastian waited.

A few sobs later, she gathered herself and looked up at the three of them, standing there, sacred hearts amid sculpted bones, bathed in the corona of candlelight.

“It’s who you are. Who you have always been.”

Cecilia