Laurie lingered, fingers tapping on the box. “I’ve got somewhere more comfortable than a church pew for later.”
“The single mattress on the frame you built? If we both use it, we’ll be on the ground before I have a chance to seduce you again.”
Laurie gave a dramatic sigh and finally cracked open the brightly-painted lid. Old tobacco wafted up from the book nestled in a new, red-patterned handkerchief.
Decker joined him, hands skimming down his waist and head resting on his shoulder. “The girls and I just finished it tonight.”
Wax softened under Laurie’s fingertips as he traced over gold lines and leather. A thin layer of beeswax and tallow painted each page. Tiny scars scattered across Decker’s hand, each failed attempt at encasing the holy book engraved on his palm.
“It’s not perfect. There’s some—”
Laurie spun and kissed him. Deep, aching, the gift crushed between them. Decker thought he could believe this was how God loved humanity once. How humanity, monstrous or otherwise, was meant to beloved.
“Thank you,” he said when they broke apart, his eyes gleaming. “I thought I’d have to memorize the scriptures and never be able to read them again.”
“It was Safine’s idea,” Decker said, knowing damn well he’d been the one burning his hands on melted wax. “There’s others like us out there that live easily. We’ll find a way, find others. Strength in knowledge,” Decker said.
They’ll have better ideas than lumpy, tallow-soaked pages.
A smile flickered to life. “The old professor I told you about, Bishop Fontaine, could be like us—” Laurie lit up, his thoughts coming out in fragments. “Just like Sister Inez’s little sister; we’ll bring them here, where it’s safe,” Laurie said, his touch trailing along Decker’s arms with an unbelieving, holy reverence. “Where everyone is safe.”
“A new life,” Decker promised, drawing him in for a kiss.
High above, the pigeons burst into flight, arcing out of the broken stained glass window.
