“You know you can’t rip my Father’s head off if things go south,” I caution.
“Of course not. I have no interest in taking what’s rightfully yours.”
My given right to kill my Father… How dreamy.
We round a corner and come to the little limestone chapel built into the museum. I never understood how or why a little corner of a French chapel ended up in Detroit, but I do appreciate workmanship, the stained glass painting the corner in kaleidoscope colors. Tonight, moonlight shines through the glass, illuminating the floor.
Holding Rosier’s hand, I step into the little chapel, then look back at him. “Are you able to stand in here?”
He rolls his eyes before taking a big step onto the limestone, though not yet standing in the chapel proper. “What did you think would happen?”
Before I can answer he takes a step into the chapel proper. We enter the alcove, and red and blue hues dance across the floor, across our bodies. Rosier releases my hand before burying his hands in his pockets.
“Is there a reason you brought me here?”
I chuckle. “Yes, I think it’s very funny to have a devil standing in a chapel.” It’s a joke, but I do also have a reason… even if I didn’t realize it till right now. “I want a contract.”
To my delight, Rosier doesn’t groan or swivel his head around his neck. He looks at me intently but doesn’t speak.
“Are you going to give me what I want?”
He shakes his head a little, chuckling. His eyes settle on the golden altar encased in glass in the center of the chapel. I follow his eyes, the image of a Mother holding her child greeting me. These faces mean nothing to me; I never went to church. Some coven members use saints in their rituals, but I never learned the figures’ names. The Mother holds her child close to her face, their eyes almost touching, flat yet somehow filled with love.
“I want a peaceful death.” I can sense his eyes on me, but I’m still focusing on the golden image before me. “Regardless of the risks I take, of the danger I put myself in, I want to die painlessly. Quickly, if possible.” Rosier clicks his tongue. Finally, I look at him. “You can do that for me can’t you? Just promise me when my time comes, it’ll be easy.”
“And then Hell awaits you. So what does it matter if your death is simple?”
“It matters to me,” I tell him.
“Because of the curse.”
It takes a second for the shock to hit, to let it really fester within me. I never told him the details of the curse, I never even told him about it directly, but it sounds like I never had to.
“You’ll die young,” he reminds me. “Young and in pain. Yet you’re only trying to avoid the pain? How unlike you, Minnie. Your appetite for pain is one of the things I admire most about you.”
The inferno is already starting, embers beneath kindling, spilling out of the hearth but not yet evident. I turn my head, lifting my chin to look up at him. I ask again, “Will you give me what I want?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“Why?” I shout, my voice bouncing off the stones. “Why won’t you take me?”
“I won’t damn you. I won’t damnusfor eternity.”
“Why do you care?” I shake my head. “You need souls. You’ve got mine.”
He huffs, scratching his eyebrow with his thumb, avoiding my gaze. “Does thewhymatter?”
“I’m not your Mother!” I snap.
He laughs at me, a deep good-hearted chuckle.
“I chose this! No one damned me except myself.” I stand up on my toes, wishing I was eye level with him–as if that would make him listen to mefor once. “I’m not a little mortal girl for you to weep over. I never have been.” I fall back onto my heels and storm out of the chapel, my shoes clicking against the stone.
Rosier grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, holding me against his chest. “You said to me that first night, you want retribution for your Mother.” I writhe against his body. I try to get away, but his hold on me tightens, pushing all the air out of my lungs. “You’ve turned your mourning into revenge.” He kisses the top of my head. “Revenge is a sword forged in the blood of its wielder. I want you to mourn and be reunited with the ones you love.”
I stop struggling, his hands now running up and down my back. He holds me like he did the other night in bed, and I let him believe whatever fantasy he has in his head, just long enough for it to hurt when I push him away. I take a few steps back before hissing at him, not like a cat or even like a snake. It’s like something not of this world.
The rage inside me fuels my words, steam practically pouring from my mouth. “You’ve gone soft.”
