Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

I do.

So he sits with me, and we’re quiet for a long time.

“My mother used to come here, I’m told,” I finally confide. “And I just wanted to feel like I’m near her.”

The priest studies me. “And do you?”

My shoulders slump. “Not really.”

“I’ve been here for a long time,” he says kindly. “And I think I know your mother. Laura Savage?”

I’m surprised and he laughs.

“Child, you could be her mirror image,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew her?” I breathe, and somehow, I do feel closer to her, simply because he was.

He nods and looks towards Mary. “Laura is a beautiful soul,” he says gently. “And I can see her in your eyes. Why didn’t she come with you today?”

“She’s gone,” I say simply. “She died recently.”

I don’t mention that I killed her with a phone call, that it’s my fault.

He blinks. “I’m so sorry. She’s with the Lord now, though. She’s at peace. Did she receive Last Rites, child?”

My breath leaves me. “I don’t know. She couldn’t have, I guess. She died in a car accident. Is that bad?”

Father Thomas rushes to reassure me. “No. In that circumstance, it is understandable. Don’t fear, child. God in His merciful love isn’t bound by sacraments. He blesses his children and forgives them, and bestows everlasting life to the faithful. Your mother was faithful.”

I don’t want to tell him that she wasn’t a practicing Catholic, that I’d never even seen her attend a mass. Although now, the fact that she’d given Finn a St. Michael’s medallion makes sense. I feel it now, chilling the skin on my chest.

“You must be v

ery sad,” he observes, and the way his face is turned in the light startles me, because I’ve seen him before and I didn’t know until now.

“You were with Dare in the café the other day,” I realize. “You were upset.”

Father Thomas’ eyes widen a bit, then he masks his expression. “It was nothing,” he assures me. “We were just chatting over coffee. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

But his eyes tell a different story.

The priest is lying, but why?

I pull away my hand and he notices.

“What is wrong, child?”

His demeanor is still soft, still gentle, still inviting, but I’ve been surrounded by secrets for so long that I can’t accept that from a man of God. I tell him that.

He’s pensive as he studies me.

“I understand, Calla. But you have to understand, too, that I’m told things in confidence. I have given my word, to God and to the members of my parish, that I won’t break those confidences.”

He’s so kind, and his eyes are warm.

“I see you pray to St. Michael.”

I hadn’t even noticed that I’d pulled the medallion out of my shirt and have been turning it over in my hands.