The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,68
Cyrus encountered no traffic. He pulled up in front of Edge’s house ten minutes after leaving his own. He texted Nora, and a minute later she came to the the front gate with her dog. She’d changed clothes, too. Jeans, white shirt, leather jacket, and boots.
Cyrus kept an eye on the street as the gate yawned opened and then closed behind her. He unlocked the car doors. Nora let her dog hop into the backseat, and then she slid into the front passenger seat next to Cyrus.
“Hi,” she said.
“Ready?”
“Definitely.”
He peeled away from the curb and headed in the direction of Nora’s Piety Street place. They drove for a few minutes in silence until Cyrus felt calm enough to talk.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I can’t tell if I’m over-reacting or under-reacting. Or in shock.”
“Same.” Cyrus glanced at her. “Town this size, you get a lot of kooks. Most are harmless. I’d say ninety-eight percent are harmless. The question is…is she in that ninety-eight?”
“Or the two,” Nora said, then sighed.
“Come on. Tell me everything she said.”
Cyrus listened to her story, then said, “She thinks you’re the dangerous one.”
Nora raised her hands, also baffled. “I admit, I’m no angel. I’ve broken laws and broken hearts.”
“And feet.”
“Broken feet. Noses. No, just one nose. Ribs. Two ribs, if I remember correctly. Busted my fair share of balls. Consensually and non. Though he was asking for it. And so was he. And him, too.”
“I get it.” Enough with the ball-busting talk already.
“But dangerous? And it wasn’t just, ‘You’re scary, and I don’t like you.’ She got specific. She said I was going to hurt innocent people. Kids, maybe.”
“I saw you with Edge’s little girl. You’re not dangerous to kids. This woman sounds nuts.” Cyrus shook his head again. “And could she be a little more specific? Like, help us out here, Gwenda.”
“Gwenda?”
“Wasn’t that the witch in Wizard of Oz?”
“Glinda.”
“Who the hell’s Gwenda then?”
“Ex-girlfriend?” Nora asked.
He shrugged. “Good guess with me.”
Nora laughed. Good to hear her laugh. Been a rough night for the lady.
“Can I ask you something weird?” Nora asked.
“Shoot.”
“You don’t believe in it, do you? Witchcraft and fortune-telling and stuff?”
Cyrus had to think about that, really think about it. “I don’t want to believe in it, but it scares me. Why would it scare me if I didn’t believe in it a little?”
“Good point.”
“Plus, ah…” he began.
“What?”
“Don’t laugh, but I meditate.” Cyrus glanced at her to see what kind of face she made. She didn’t make one. “The therapist Paulina sent me to suggested it, made me promise to try it. I did and it kind of surprised me how much it worked for me. It got me down into deep places in my head,” he said, tapping his temple. “When I’m down there, I see things sometimes. I figure things out. It’s hard to explain.”
“Go on,” she said. “What do you see?”
“A river,” he said. “And there are things in the river. Answers to questions. Memories. Truths. I go there when I need to figure things out and sometimes I do and it’s eerie. Almost spooky. Solved a lot of cases down in that place, my feet in the water. Husband who disappeared three months earlier, I figured out where to find him. Missing kid? Found her, too, while I was in the water.”
“Our subconscious is a lot smarter than we are sometimes.”
“I get that, but it’s more than that. This is where it gets weird. The river feels real to me. Like it’s really out there somewhere, and anybody who finds it can dip their hands in it, stick their feet in, and get something out of the water. My therapist says I’m a Jungian. That the river is the collective unconscious. You heard of that?”
“I have,” she said. “Lot of writers believe in it.”
“You?”
She shrugged. “Never thought about it really. But I will say, sometimes when I’m writing a story, it feels like it exists independently of me, not like I’m creating it. More like I’m finding it.”
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s it exactly.”
She turned her head, smiled at him. “A Jungian private detective. I love it.”
“Now I can’t go around wading in imaginary rivers to solve cases and then get judgmental when a woman says she can cast spells and see the future. That’d be a little hypocritical, right?”
“Right.” Nora nodded, crossed her arms over her chest.
“You?” he asked. “You believe in it? Witches? Witchcraft?”
Nora turned her head, stared out the passenger window. “When she was leaving, I told her if she