Page 8 of Nightshade

Before she could answer, Aurelia elbowed the other pentash and hissed. “What a rude question to ask!”

“My apologies.” Maria’s cheeks flushed, and she lowered her head. “I do not wish to be harmed, is all. I happen to be very fond of my life.”

“I was taught to be fond of all life. Animal and man, alike.”

Maria eyed her suspiciously. “You do not speak with animals, do you?”

“For Heaven’s sake, Maria, must you ask such questions!” Aurelia huffed and shook her head. “Please, ignore her. She’s been fed far too many stories.”

“They are not stories, Aurelia.” Maria toyed with the crucifix hanging from a metal belt at her waist. “My mother told me witches can talk to the woodland creatures. It is how they get them to do their bidding.”

Ignoring their bickering, Lustina noticed the belt appeared to be the same as her own, something Lustina had thought to be her own personal punishment. “The belt. You wear one, also?”

Maria glanced down and back. “Oh. Only during the penitential. I’ll be glad when I do not have to suffer these infernal barbs anymore.”

“The penitential?”

“Yes, a few times a year, we repent.”

“Reconciliation of sins,” Aurelia clarified.

“You might have to wear yours a little longer.”

At Maria’s comment, Aurelia nudged her again. “Honestly, have you no manners, Maria! I should muzzle your mouth.”

Lustina chuckled, and watching the two of them, the heavy weight in her heart lifted a bit. She glanced down to notice Aurelia’s belt bore thicker barbs than Maria’s.

Seeming to catch onto her gaze, Aurelia ran her fingers over the front of the belt which hung just below her stomach, where she ultimately rested her hand. “I’ve much to atone for, as well.”

“I’m just relieved to know I’m not the only sinner in this place.”

“We are all sinners, Lustina.” Aurelia’s smile was warm and genuine. “So long as we ask forgiveness, it does not matter in the Holy Father’s eyes.”

A feeling of hope blossomed in Lustina’s chest at the thought. “I can be forgiven?”

“Yes,” the kind pentash answered. “You are not exempt from His unconditional love.”

5

Farryn

Rain pelts my face and saturates the oversized green utility jacket I’m wearing, giving the crisp, late October air a frosty bite.

A ghost white statue of Saint Felix of Praecepsia guards the entrance to the Cathedral of the Felician Sisters, as I pass through a baroque iron fence. The moment I step inside the church’s narthex, a sweet floral scent hits me, and I turn to find a vase of roses propped on a nearby console. White ones, their stems bent over, petals wilting, the very tips of which have turned an inky black.

Lowering the rain-sopped hood from my face, I take in my surroundings.

Thick pillars with perfectly rounded arches stand at either side of the expansive nave, where confessionals line the walls. Beautiful, stained-glass windows bear figures of saints and apostles. Rich wood pews gleam at either side of the aisle leading up to the altar.

Out of nowhere, I hear a clang, clang, clang.

My feet move toward the sound, absent of my control, beyond the altar to a staircase. Dim lights illuminate my descent, toward a sub-basement of the old church.

Clang, clang, clang!

The noise echoes down the corridor, and though I’m compelled to call out, I don’t want to alert whatever made the noise to my location. Instead, I pad carefully, quietly. The sound leads me to a brick wall where the undercroft seems to end, and I freeze in place.

Over the bricks of the wall, a large circle with embedded shapes inside of it has been painted in some sort of black substance.