The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,69
thought I was really dangerous, she should just go and cast a spell to make me do whatever it was she wanted me to do. She said something about how she could go to an altar at midnight, light a candle, say some magic words. Does that sound like casting a spell to you?”
“Kind of.”
“She was talking about me. I went to St. Mary’s chapel the other night to pray for S?ren to come home. Altar at midnight. I lit a candle. I said magic words.”
“That’s not casting a spell. That’s praying.”
“Is it really that different? Never occurred to me that it was all the same thing.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
Cyrus had to think about that, too. This was something he would have to meditate on.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Just feels different.”
“You don’t really think Catholics are the only people who get access to the spiritual forces in the universe, do you?”
“Well, no.”
“Jews and Muslims and Baptists and Methodists and Sikhs and Hindus and Buddhists do, too, right?”
“I think so. Not that I advertise it around my grandmother.”
Nora smiled. “Why not witches, then? If we think our prayers work, why don’t we think theirs do, too, just because they call them ‘spells’?”
“You ask a good question,” he said. “You scared of her?”
“Not of her. Just…something she said.”
“Something else?”
Nora slowly nodded. Then she turned his way again. “She said something about me and S?ren.”
“What did she say?”
“That I would leave him.”
Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Real or not, you have free will,” he said. “You don’t want to leave him…you don’t leave him. That’s all you. Nobody can make you if you don’t want to.”
“True,” she said. “I hope.”
They arrived at Nora’s dungeon. Cyrus made her stay in the car while he walked around the building. Then he nodded for her to get out of the car. She and Gmork—what kind of damn name for a dog was Gmork?—strode quickly over to the door. Nora punched in the security code and they went inside. Nora reset the door alarm.
“Guess we’re safe for now,” she said.
“Famous last words.”
She glared at him.
“Just saying,” he said. “Give me your keys. I’m going up first. Don’t come up until I text you.”
“You’re being very chivalrous.”
“I’m being a damn fool is what I’m being,” he said as he went to the door to the stairs.
“You could take the elevator,” she said.
“I’ve seen too many horror movies.”
“People get killed on the stairs in horror movies, too.”
Cyrus gave her the dirtiest look he could muster.
“That was payback,” she said, “for the ‘famous last words’ comment.”
“Just stay here with your stupid dog.”
He went up the stairs, his pulse quickening. Nobody waiting around the bend. Thank God. He reached the third floor and unlocked her door. After a deep inhale and exhale, he gave it a small push. The lights were off inside, but he heard nothing, sensed nothing. He pulled the door shut. He’d wait for her to continue his sweep—he didn’t want to leave her alone for too long downstairs. He texted her the all-clear.
Nora joined him on the third-floor foyer, and took Gmork off his leash. She gave a forceful command. The dog’s ears perked up. His demeanor changed in an instant from that of a pet to a protector. He went straight to the closed door and sat, whimpering. Nora let him inside.
“What’s he doing?” Cyrus asked, craning his neck to get a peek inside.
“Bomb-sniffing. Just in case.”
“He’s trained for that?”
“Trained for everything. If someone was hiding, he’d sniff them out, too. I think. That’s what they told me anyway. He doesn’t get much chance to practice his fancy tricks with me. Believe it or not, I don’t get too many kooks following me around.”
“You’re a dominatrix dating a priest and a French farmer. You got a dog that worships you on command. You got a witch stalking you. You have your own dungeon on the third floor of a bank building. Lady, I hate to tell you this...but you are one of the kooks.”
“That would hurt,” Nora said as she shook off her black leather jacket, “except it’s true.”
Gmork returned to her, and she went inside and switched on the lights. She held the door open for Cyrus.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Welcome to my dungeon,” Nora said, smiling. “Like it?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cyrus blinked, blinked again, turned a slow circle. The walls of the room were blood-red. Hanging from what seemed like a thousand hooks was every kind of torture instrument he’d ever heard of and a few he now