Page 89 of Devil

I nod and try to focus on the hand on my back, and then suddenly, the vibrating toy comes back to life inside me, triggered by Bell somewhere below, maybe assuming I was finished with my trip to the restroom by now. After the absence of it, the buzzing makes itself deeply and intensely known, and I shiver, memories of Bell in my body flashing through my mind. And then I blush, because I’m still being touched by a priest—on the bare skin of my back, no less.

Father Brady lifts his hand before I can shift away, perhaps interpreting the shiver as discomfort.

I feel bad. I don’t want him to think I wasn’t being calmed by him, but it’s not as if I can explain that Sean Bell’s younger brother just powered on my vibrating butt plug.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Caught a chill.”

“Not from me mentioning your art, I hope? It would be a loss for everyone if you stopped forever and especially for me. I have a small chapel in the north transept, and I think it’s calling out for your work.”

I look over to see him smiling gently at me, and I decide to take him at his word. He was kind and forthright all those years ago when he bought the carving for his sanctuary, and if the Bell brothers like him, then he must be trustworthy.

And heseemstrustworthy; he exudes holiness, even if it’s the kind you might be afraid to stare right in the face.

“I am carving again,” I finally say. Bell knows, of course, and Busy, but saying it to someone I barely know makes it feel oddly real. Less like a secret. “I had to stop for several years—other work took up too much time—but I have time and also a proper studio now. The person I’m with, he built it for me, stocked it for me, encouraged me. It’s all happened so fast…it feels like a kind of destiny.”

“Vocations are like that.” Father Brady’s smile is still gentle but commiserative now too. “They have their own pace, and they happen in a different kind of time from the kind containing ordinary life.”

Vocations are like that…and love.

Except one is the fulfillment of your soul and the other will raze you to the ground if you let it.

“What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I pluck at the skirt of my gown. “A Golgotha tableau—Christ and the criminals on either side. I’ve finished one criminal, and I’m working on the other now, and they’ve been so easy to see in my mind, so close to the surface of the wood. But…”

“But?”

Even Bell doesn’t know this yet. “I’m having a harder time seeing how to carve Christ,” I admit. “At first, I thought it was because I don’t have a live model for my initial sketches, but I didn’t need live models for the criminals, so that can’t be it. I know I can makesomething—replicate crucifixes I’ve made in the past, copy my own work—but also there’s no client this time, no rush. These are only for me, so why give up and settle for something I’ve already done? Why not wait for fresh inspiration to come?”

Father Brady adjusts his foot on the wall as he says, “Waiting is often all we can do. Be open to God’s voice, be open to love.”

His voice is solemn and the empathy meant in his words is clear, but it also feels like the kind of thing a priest would say to anyone who needed encouragement, and I find myself disappointed by it.Be open to God’s loveis the same platitude I’ve heard all my life, from Sunday school to Sunday sermons.Be patient. Let God love you.As if all life’s problems come from not being sufficiently open to God’s love.

“Thank you, Father,” I say, I hope with evident gratitude, and I rest my hand on his arm to show I mean it. I really am thankful that he’s here and that he took the time to speak with me. If nothing else, I can breathe normally now. If nothing else, I’m able to think in complete sentences and about something other than Kaitlyn Masterson.

“This must be your friend,” Father Brady says mildly, and I look over to the staircase to see Bell ascending the stairs with a smile on his mouth and murder in his eyes.

“Birdie, sweetheart, I was wondering where you’d flown to,” says Bell. His gaze moves to my hand, which is still on Father Brady’s arm, and back up to us, his expression as congenial as ever. “They’re starting the auction soon.”

I can be brave. I can go back down where Kaitlyn will be. And maybe she’ll be so distracted by the auction that I’ll be completely safe from notice. I drop my hand from Father Brady and murmur another thank you, which he returns with a nod.

“Anytime, Birdie,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. I wonder what life would have been like if I’d known I could ask for his help seven years ago.

Bell has his hand extended in an unequivocal gesture, and I walk over to him to take it, the humming toy in my body drawing heat and sensation to itself the minute I feel his skin against mine. He enfolds my hand in a tight grip—not enough to hurt but certainly harder than that boyish smile would convey—and then waves to Father Brady as he turns us and guides us to the elevator banks.

He doesn’t speak while we wait, and he doesn’t speak as we step inside the elevator car. He taps a badge against a pad and then punches the last button on the panel.

“We’re not going down to the auction?” I ask.

And then he finally speaks. “No,” he says, and that’s it until we get to the top.

38

BELL

The elevator opensinto a smart but small lounge at the top of the skyscraper, a two-story space tucked into the architectural lantern that comprises the pinnacle of the building. It’s meant for the residents of the apartments below, but no one else is here tonight, and the vintage light fixtures are dark, the only light coming from outside the tall windows.

I pocket the access card I borrowed from a friend and guide Birdie out of the elevator and to the door in the corner, which takes us outside.