The Original Sinners: The Red Years. Tiffany Reisz

dad, he caught me…” He took a hard breath. “I had stuff in my room he found. He saw the bruises and burns. He said he refused to have a sicko for a son. He left a couple of months later. Mom—she’s not okay anymore.”

      “That isn’t your fault,” Nora said. “Your father’s the sicko, not you. And he left for his own reasons. My family’s fucked up, too.”

      “I know. Father S. told me that, too. He said we had a lot in common. I couldn’t believe it when he told me he knew you.”

      “You knew who I was before he told you?”

      “Yeah,” he said, blushing. “I’ve read your books.”

      Nora ran her hands up and down the boy’s forearms. She traced the scars with her fingertips.

      “He said if I went a whole year without hurting myself, then he would let me meet you,” the boy said in a whisper. “Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me from trying again.”

      Nora’s heart dropped. She hated how much Søren’s unusual mercies made her feel in one breath all eighteen years of her love for him. She looked up and met the boy’s eyes. They shone like polished silver; his pupils dilated.

      “What’s your name?” she asked.

      “Michael.”

      “Michael…Michael was God’s chief archangel. Michael, has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

      He blushed and shook his head. “No.”

      “You are, angel.” Nora reached out and ran her hand through his long black hair. Michael sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes. He opened them again when Nora pulled her hand away.

      At the back of her mind Nora knew Zach was out there alone with Søren, but she wouldn’t rush this moment or this scared boy, not for the world. She knew she shouldn’t be here, knew she shouldn’t have left Zach at Søren’s mercy. But she remembered how Søren had saved her a lifetime of misery when he’d told her what she was, what she could be. She understood why Michael had tried to kill himself. She’d never been tempted to kill herself but she couldn’t deny Søren had saved her life a time or two. As Nora studied Michael she told herself it was her duty to stay, to help him any way she could.

      “Michael, I’m going to take your virginity tonight.”

      If she had any doubts that the boy was too young, too fragile, they evaporated when he looked back at her and met her eyes without blinking and for the first time without fear.

      “Father S. said that’s what you would do.”

      * * *

      Nora’s priest proved to be a somewhat taciturn tour guide. Zach sensed Søren was waiting for him to speak, testing to see how long he’d remain silent. Nora must have learned that trick from him. Zach followed him through the bar exit and down several long hallways and corridors. Although Søren said little, Zach was not left in silence. Many of the doors hung open and Zach could see what was happening inside the rooms. They passed another door, this one closed, and Zach heard a woman scream. He stopped, unsure what to do, but Søren, who had surely heard the scream, as well, continued as if such a sound was commonplace and beneath his notice. Which it probably was.

      They turned another corner.

      “I know what you’re trying to do,” Zach finally said. “Trying to intimidate me with the personal tour of hell. Nora’s already told me she’s a Dominant. She’s told me everything. I know you’re just trying to scare me away from her. It won’t work.”

      Søren smiled coldly and Zach realized that the man was untouchable.

      “Eleanor does seem very forthcoming, doesn’t she? She’s always followed the philosophy that the best place to hide is in plain sight. But I take offense at your insinuation. I would never try to dissuade you from being with the woman you most desire. Eleanor is the woman you most desire, isn’t she?”

      Zach didn’t answer. He tried to stare Søren down but the priest only smiled and kept walking.

      “We have more to see. Come along.”

      Reluctantly Zach followed.

      “You may ask any questions you like, Zachary.”

      “Your voice,” Zach said, wondering if the priest would answer questions about himself. “You have an English accent. A very faint one, but it’s there.”

      “Very good,” Søren said with approval. “You would notice. Most Americans don’t. They simply assume I’m overeducated. I was born in America, but I attended school as a child in England. My father was English. And he was evil. I pray daily that it is only the trace of his accent I’ve inherited.”

      “You seduced a young woman in your congregation. You don’t think that’s at all evil?”

      “Since I became a priest, Eleanor is the only woman with whom I’ve been sexually intimate. No children, either, I assure you. But you are welcome to ask Eleanor if she ever once felt taken advantage of or abused. I believe you’ll find her answer enlightening.”

      “Why do you keep calling her that?” Zach couldn’t reconcile his Nora with the priest’s Eleanor. “She changed her name to Nora years ago.”

      “She was born Eleanor and it was Eleanor with whom I fell in love. She has made decisions in her life that I do not approve of these past five years. I prefer to remember her for who she was, not for what she’s become. She can forsake her name and her past. I never will.”

      Søren’s words stirred another memory. “She hasn’t forsaken it,” Zach told him, wanting to prove he knew something about Nora the priest didn’t. “Not entirely. I went to one of her book-signings not long ago. She was reading to some children. They called her Ellie.” Zach glanced at Søren’s face, but other than a glint of a smile, the revelation seemed to have no impact on him.

      “Yes, well,” Søren said as they passed under an archway into another hall, “Eleanor always did have a way with children.”

      * * *

      Nora slipped off the bed and brought Michael with her. She bade him stand still while she knelt down and reached under the bed. She pulled out a metal briefcase, entered the numeric combination and snapped the locks open.

      “Are you scared?” she asked.

      “A little.” Michael looked down at her.

      “Here, I’ll give you something to help with the fear. It’s called a ‘safe word.’”

      “I’ve read about safe words…in your books.”

      “Good. Since you’re an angel, yours will be ‘wings.’”

      “Wings,” he repeated.

      She dug through the briefcase for all the supplies she needed—rope, condoms, scissors. “If at any point you want to stop everything and just go home, you can say ‘wings’ and we’re done. We’ve all safed out. It’s completely okay.”

      Nora shut the suitcase and slid it back under the bed. She rose up and faced him. With him in his bare feet and her in her high heels, they were almost the same height.

      “Let’s practice,” she said. “I’m going to ask you to do something and you’re going to say your safe word to stop everything. Okay?”

      “Okay.”

      Nora took a step back and looked him up and down.

      “Take your clothes off,” she ordered. Michael raised his arm and grasped the neck of his T-shirt.

      “Wait,” she said and he stopped. “You’re supposed to say your safe word, angel.”

      He lowered his arm slowly.

      “But what if I don’t want to?”

      Nora