Chapter 21
The next day I find myself approaching my work building early, the light around me as bright as butter.
I’d tried not to be too much of a creep, scanning for Adam as I made my way to my car in the driveway this morning, but he wasn’t around, to my disappointment.
I don’t know why I thought he would be. I mean, sure, he appeared yesterday morning, but what was I expecting?
That he’d greet me just as the sun rises from now on with flowers and a kiss?
At work, I open the front door with the three keys that keep it dead-bolted, and as I do so, I freeze. A few thoughts pop into my mind.
One: Sage said there was at least one mysterious door at St. Theresa’s. In the director of education’s office, or at least what used to be the director of education’s office when we were little kids.
Two: Nadia mentioned that she would have copies of the church keys for the festival. Chances are, she’s already given them back to whoever put them in her care but…I could double-check, just in case.
I begin strategizing at work, trying not to get too excited since I know all I could be getting worked up about is a thread of nothing but dead ends in my investigation.
In the basement, I go through about fifteen books, categorizing them before lunch.
“You want a pizza?” Anise had asked. “I’m feeling pizza.
” So she and I share a medium super garlic pizza (garlic butter sauce, topped with garlic cheese and roasted garlic cloves—safe to say this place is protected from vampires today) from a hole-in-the-wall down the street as we chat about our lives.
She tells me about her partner’s new recipes he’s been trying (the savory French toast especially sounds amazing), and because I can sense she’s going to ask about him, I tell her that Adam is writing a story on me.
She raises her eyebrows and gives me a look that is identical to Nadia’s knowing expressions, but unlike Nadia, Anise respects that I’m not ready to talk about what else might be happening between me and Adam.
“Oh, Sky, this reference book from downtown came in for you,” she tells me as I’m dusting off my hands and getting ready to return to my lair. “It’s a chunk.” She groans as she lifts it from her desk to hand to me.
Cranberry Architecture: 1799–Present. I had put in a request for this interlibrary loan when @tryingsomethingnew first told me about his research on St. Theresa’s being not exactly what it seems. I’m kind of shocked the downtown branch came through—the reference librarian there is kinda mean and known for turning down loan requests more often than not.
This is miraculous, and on the day I’m trying to come up with an in-field investigative adventure, too?
The old gods are coming through for me. That’s what it feels like, anyhow.
I help clean up quickly, then basically dart back to the dungeon, book in my arms. I begin flipping through it in the slow-ass, old-ass elevator, so engrossed in trying to find what I want that I almost miss getting through the doors before they close.
When I make it to my desk, I only barely restrain myself from pushing all its contents to the floor in order to make room for the ten-pound, literary monstrosity.
Instead, I hastily put everything in little piles here and there, then have a seat.
After about twenty minutes of intense perusing, I gasp and pull out my phone to send a photo of the book’s cover to @tryingsomethingnew.
He writes back immediately. Jealous. I didn’t get that one myself. The librarian at the downtown branch refused to let me even look at it, much less borrow it!
I chuckle to myself and almost write that she’s pretty well-known for her greedy ways, but then decide that maybe that gives away too much of me.
He might figure out I work in a library or something, from that info.
It’s unlikely that he would even care, but best to be safe.
I still really don’t have a clue who he is.
Images of a catfishing elderly man surrounded by children pop into my head to solidify this fact.
Got lucky I guess, I write back. Did you want to hear what I found? I ask.
On the edge of my seat here.
I grin as I type back. Nothing.
…Was that supposed to be the big reveal you seemed to be setting up for?
I giggle. I’m having way too much fun here.
Not yet…Listen to this. Chapter Eleven is on St. Theresa’s.
There’s a pretty boring introduction paragraph on the whole thing on page 111.
Like: Blah, blah, with a heavy Catholic population from recent Irish immigrants, Cranberry found herself in need of a church of the Catholic persuasion.
Please tell me that was a direct quote.
I laugh and ignore him. But! Guess what.
Come on, sea salt girl. You’re killing me over here.
I blink, because I heard that phrase only the other day.
You’re killing me over here. From Adam, when I was teasing him in the beach parking lot.
I shake my head at the way my belly resounds as though this is something worth looking into, like it’s a clue to some mystery I haven’t even noticed yet. Weird.
It’s a common phrase. Kind of a strange coincidence, given the timing. But still, a coincidence all the same.
I type quickly. He’s waited long enough. Someone took out the rest of the chapter.
…took out?
Yeah. They had a razor, or some similar sharp object, and cut the pages so close to the book spine that I have to damn near break it to see the edges of what’s left of them.
Jesus. Wow. That’s…I don’t even know what to say. What the hell is going on with that church?
I know!!! Right!! Anyway, my—I almost type sister but decide on cousin—cousin told me there may be a secret passageway in one of the education offices. I’m going to check it out sometime in the coming week.
Are you going to tell them the truth of what you’re up to?
Hell no! So they can kill me for knowing their secrets?
I thought religious people were supposed to not agree with things like murder.
Have you ever studied any religion? Murder is, like, their favorite thing. Especially if their secrets—power—are threatened.
Touche.
We joke a little more at what the heck St. Theresa’s could be hiding—What if it’s a den of bears?
I ask, and he responds with Wouldn’t a den of lions be more biblical?
, which has me cackling—and then it’s close enough to the time for me to clock out that I say goodbye so I can tidy up.
As I gather books and reorganize my pens, I think to myself that although I really don’t know @tryingsomethingnew, he seems like a good person.
I seriously wish him well with the lucky girl he has feelings for.
The next day, I spend what feels like hours getting ready for Adam. He said he would bring food for dinner, and that just means I start trying to figure out what to wear just after lunch—which is just a slice of toast with butter and jam, because my stomach is too nervous for something more.
I decide on a pink slip dress. It’s a little bit coppery, so a lot like rose gold, reminding me of how the whole atmosphere turns a strange sort of pink if a thunderstorm comes just before sunset.
For my makeup, I go along with a tutorial I found on YouTube on “glow girl skin.” It involves a lot of shimmer eye shadow and overlapping layers of highlighter, but after putting on a bright pink lip gloss, I look like I’m an ethereal elf visiting from some distant fairy planet.
I go downstairs to make sure the kitchen table is clear before he arrives and stop short when I find Nadia sitting down with a cup of espresso. “Hey,” I say, walking in. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Oh, just decided to stay in for the early evening. In about two hours, I have to be at church for a baptism. I’ll bring you some cake.”
“Thanks,” I say, holding back a wince. Good gods. Nadia is literally never home, but she decides to spend the evening here the first time I have plans with a man? What in the hell are the chances?
Nadia looks up from her little blue cup and it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time. She gestures to my dress. “What’s this? You got a hot date?”
My cheeks heat immediately. Between that and her knowing, there is no use lying to her about my feelings for Adam.
But it’s so annoying that she can ignore me about ninety-five percent of the time and decide she is entitled to the details of my life in the totally random and never-planned remaining five percent of interaction.
“No,” I say, because that is the truth. “Adam said he would bring food as a thank-you for all the times I brought Friday meals to William.”
“Ah, I see. You have a young, single, attractive man coming over to bring you, a young, single, and attractive woman, food on behalf of his grandfather?” She gives me a look that clearly says Give me a break, Sky.
I hold back a huff because this is already exhausting and difficult to navigate, and it really shouldn’t be.
I shouldn’t have to sit here and explain my personal life to someone who hasn’t earned the right to know.
So I add, completely without thinking, “Also, he’s taking photos of me and the house for his article, remember the article? That’s why I dressed up.”
I really don’t like lying, especially to Nadia, but I feel like she’s given me no choice. Is her gift telling her I’m totally making shit up right now?
It doesn’t seem so, because she jumps up immediately and says, “Why didn’t you say something?
Sky Temple, I haven’t done a deep clean in two weeks!
” Next thing I know, she’s got on her yellow rubber gloves with a super-sized bottle of Fabuloso in her hands, and she’s hissing at me to put away the dishes on the drying rack.