14. Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MAVEN
People stare as I rush past, my face wet with tears I can’t stop. Let them stare. Let them see the crazy woman running from nothing.
From everything.
A wooden sign appears through my blurred vision, the carved letters announcing “St. Joseph’s Oratory” with an arrow pointing left. I pause.
I’ve never been religious—never found comfort in the idea of a god watching over me when evidence suggested otherwise—but churches deal with spirits, right? Maybe an exorcism is exactly what I need.
I veer left without slowing, following the sign down a long, tree-lined path.
Shadows stretch across the snow-dusted ground, cast by massive stone steps rising toward an enormous domed building that looms against the winter sky.
The structure is imposing, all gray stone and sharp angles softened only by the curve of its large dome.
My pace slows as I approach the foot of the steps, my breath coming in ragged gasps. There must be at least a hundred stairs climbing toward the church entrance, each one steeper than the last. A migraine starts at the base of my skull, and my already-burning legs protest at the thought.
A group of tourists nearly plows into me, the idiot blocking their path. One woman mutters an apology in French as they pass, their faces upturned toward the church with expressions of awe I can’t muster. Awareness prickles down my spine.
He’s still here. I huff a weak laugh—as if he would just leave.
A warm breath skates across the nape of my neck, forcing the hairs to stand at attention. I suck in a sharp breath, my body going rigid before I can stop it. Slowly I turn, already knowing what I’ll find.
Ash stands less than a foot away, his tall frame blocking the weak winter sun.
He doesn’t usually stay this long. His visits are brief—even the times he manifests in my apartment to tell his stories. This persistence is new and concerning.
Is it a sign of deeper attachment? Or is he scared that I’m actually going to find a way to banish him from my life for good?
The second option sends a curl of satisfaction through my abdomen. Good. Let him worry. He deserves to feel a fraction of the uncertainty he’s forced on me.
Without saying a word, I march toward the steps, my jaw set with a determination that feels foreign after years of just…existing. My boots crunch through patches of snow as I begin the climb, each step a victory in itself.
The stairs stretch endlessly, every part of my body burning with the effort to keep going. By the thirtieth step, I think my lungs may pop. By the fiftieth, sweat coats my back. I don’t look back to see if he follows. I know he does; his presence is such a heavy weight to carry.
Finally, I reach the top, pausing to gulp air into my starved lungs.
The massive doors of the oratory stand before me, dark wood carved with religious scenes I have no interest in.
I push through them and tourists without hesitation, leaving the blinding winter behind as I step into a cool, dim sanctuary.
The interior steals what little breath I’ve regained.
Soaring ceilings arch overhead, supported by columns that reach for the sky.
Stained glass windows line the walls, their colored light falling in jewel-toned patches across stone floors.
The space smells of incense and candle wax, of old stone and lives long past.
Truthfully, it’s beautiful. How difficult it must have been for humans to create this; building this monument for something they couldn’t see but desperately wanted to believe in.
Is that what I’m doing with Ash? Creating meaning where there is none because the alternative is too empty to bear?
People shift through the space in hushed clusters, some kneeling in prayer, others simply gazing at the sights. None of them see the tall figure in black who follows me, nor do they react to his presence. The unfairness of it hurts.
I wander deeper into the building, past rows of wooden pews and flickering votive candles.
My footsteps echo, too loud in this quiet place.
I feel like an intruder, dragging my chaos into this sacred space.
The burden of Ash’s attention haunts me as I move, his silent presence a constant reminder of why I’m here.
After a few minutes of aimless walking, a figure steps into my path—a man wearing a white robe with a black collar at his throat. His face is kind but weathered, while his eyes crease at the corners. He studies me with the experienced gaze of someone used to seeing people at their worst.
“You seem troubled,” he says as his hands clasp together. “Perhaps I can help?”
His gaze shifts briefly over my shoulder, brows scrunching as if he’s trying to focus on something just beyond my person. My pulse quickens. Can he sense Ash? See him, even a little?
“Yes,” I yell before cringing at the eagerness in my voice. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes, I think I need help.”
He gestures toward a small alcove off the main sanctuary. “Would you like to talk somewhere more private?”
I nod, following him to a stone bench set into a recessed area. A stained glass window above casts blue and purple shadows across his face as he sits beside me, leaving enough space that I don’t feel crowded. The consideration is nice.
“I’m Father Laurent,” he says, folding his hands in his lap. “What brings you here today?”
My mouth opens, then closes as I’m suddenly aware of how insane this whole mess sounds.
How do I explain that I’m being haunted by a self-proclaimed God of Longing who declares my soul belongs to him?
That I’ve been seeing him in my dreams for weeks, or the little fact that he leaves dead flowers on my nightstand?
How about that part of me believes him, and that terrifies me more than any horror story ever could?
“I think…” I start, then swallow hard. “I think I’m being haunted.”
To his credit, Father Laurent doesn’t laugh or dismiss me. He simply nods, his expression remaining neutral. “Many people feel presences they cannot explain. What makes you believe this is a haunting?”
The pressure in my chest eases slightly at his matter-of-fact response. “I see him. Hear him. He appears in my dreams and then…” deep breath, “then in my apartment. He leaves things for me and talks to me. Follows me.” I gesture vaguely behind us, where I know Ash waits. “He’s here now.”
Father Laurent’s eyes flick to the space behind me again, narrowing before returning to my face. “And this presence—does it threaten you? Mean you harm?”
I consider the question as my fingers twist together in my lap. “No,” I admit, my voice soft. “He’s never threatened me or tried to hurt me. He just…won’t leave me alone.”
“What does it want from you?”
This is the question that scares me. It’s easier to simply admit I’m crazy than say some invisible being wants me to leave this world for his own. How special do I think I am?
Yet I answer. “He says I belong with him,” I reply before clearing the lump in my throat. “That my soul was promised to him a long time ago, and I need to go with him to—to where he’s from.”
“And where is that?” Father Laurent asks, his tone remaining neutral.
I hesitate. I’ve left out the part about Ash claiming to be a god. It seems disrespectful somehow to discuss that here. “Another place.” The man next to me merely raises a brow, waiting for me to continue when I don’t elaborate. “Not here. Not this world, I mean.” Fuck, I sound so stupid.
The priest is quiet for a moment, his weathered hands unmoving in his lap. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle, as though he’s afraid that I’ll run if he says the wrong thing. “Have you considered that this presence might not be external? That perhaps it represents something within yourself?”
My jaw tightens. “You think I’m making it up.”
“Not at all,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “I believe you’re experiencing something very real to you. But sometimes, what we perceive as external forces are manifestations of internal conflicts. The mind is powerful, especially when dealing with unresolved trauma or desires.”
Great. Even the priest thinks I’m batshit. This is exactly why I haven’t told Dr. Voss—I fear her reaction would be far worse and more physical.
A wave of something heavy sinks through me. I should have known better than to come here and expose my brokenness to a person who can’t possibly understand.
“I’m not imagining him,” I insist, heat rising to my cheeks.
“He’s real. He’s standing right over there, watching us right now.
” Ash’s face covering tilts, though he makes no attempt to come closer.
He could at least do the decent thing and show himself to the poor man listening to me… I’m making a fucking fool of myself.
Father Laurent follows my pointing finger, his gaze sweeping the space where Ash stands. For a moment, my hope rises as something flickers across his expression; it’s quickly extinguished when he faces me once more, clearly deciding the space is free of ghosts and gods.
“I believe you’re experiencing something,” he says with a small smile. “Whether it’s a spirit or something else, I cannot say with certainty. But if you’re seeking to be free of this presence, there may be a simple solution.”
Excitement wars with disappointment in my brain, both bright and painful. “What is it?”
“Will it away.” The man shrugs before sweeping a hand out. “Command it to leave you.”
My spirit deflates once more. “I’ve tried that. I told him to go, but he keeps coming back.”
Father Laurent shakes his head. “There’s a difference between saying the words and truly meaning them. Spirits—if that’s what this is—exist in a different plane from ours. They cannot fully manifest in our world without an anchor, a connection to something or someone here.”
I ponder his words, considering their meaning. “You’re saying he’s attached to me?” My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.