Page 72 of Heathens
“Benedict is going to help us,” I say, suddenly so, sotired.
I feel him nod against the top of my head. He murmurs something that sounds likegood.
And then— “I’m quitting seminary school.”
Our Salvation
Lily
Present
Despite my protests, Salem asks—insists, really—that I sit in the first car on the train, while he and Father Monsignor take the last car on the train to Monaco. We've been booked on the direct, high-speed TGV—a double-decker train that dashes south and arrives in Monaco, Monte Carlo in just over six hours. We leave my apartment separately, and I don't see him or Auguste as I board the train with my small, rolling carryon—andthedress in a wardrobe bag. He still hasn’t told me why I need a dress that fancy, but I don’t question it. I like surprises. I also took some liberties and bought a short, blonde wig yesterday. I doubt Auguste would recognize me after all this time, but Salem and I agreed—better safe than sorry.
As the woman at the Gare de Lyon ticket counter checks me in and directs me to the first-class lounge, I raise my eyebrows and pull out my phone to text Salem.
First class? Really?
Salem’s response comes a minute later.
Of course. You’ve got your own carriage, too.
I smile ruefully, and as I’m typing a response, another text comes in.
You look beautiful as a blonde, by the way. But... I do prefer the brunette.
I feel my heart start to beat erratically as I touch my short, blonde bob and look around the busy station. People rush around and gather in clusters, saying goodbye to their loved ones. Two pigeons sit on the tracks pecking for crumbs, and as I look past the groups and the vending machines—past the digital signs announcing departure and arrival times—I see him, just briefly.
He's walking behind Father Monsignor, and as my eyes find the back of his onyx clerical shirt, it's as if he can sense my gaze, because he stops in the middle of the flow of people walking past him. Just—stops. And from afar, he locks his eyes on mine, and he winks, giving me a lopsided smile as people brush past him. The rattling of suitcases on the concrete, the announcements over the intercom—it all ceases to process through my brain, and all I can think about is Salem and the way my whole body buzzes with electricity, tingling from my neck to my legs and down to my fingertips.
A soul contract.
He turns back around a second later, but that look from across the benches is enough to make me place my hand on my heart and take a few, steadying breaths. It doesn’t matter that Auguste is with him. It doesn’t matter that my phone could ring at any moment, with Benedict on the other line, saying Evelyn is safe. It doesn’t matter that I’m traveling hundreds of miles just so that he doesn’t feel so isolated and alone in Monaco.
I would run through hellfire and back for him.
I nervously fidget and check my phone every thirty seconds in case Benedict calls. A woman begins to make the boarding announcement, and all of the first-class passengers are instructed to board first. As an attendant directs me to a large, posh cabin, I hold my tongue so I don’t swear. The room is large for a train—with a velvet seat, wooden table, and a small, single bed with crisp, linen sheets. There’s even a tiny, private bathroom. I don’t want to think about how much Salem paid for this cabin while he slums it back in coach. My phone buzzes.
How’s the hovel?
Grinning, I text him back quickly.
Me: It’s a dump.
Salem: That's a shame.
Me: It really is. I was hoping it’d be soundproof, but these cheap, thin walls make it hard to be conspicuous.
I pace around the small room waiting for his response. Finally, it comes.
Salem: That’s quite a predicament.
Me: Yeah. If only you’d splurged on the nice cabin...
Salem: And what if I had?
Me: Well, it's a six-hour ride to Monaco. That's a long ride. If only you'd spoiled me... there are endless opportunities in those big, private cabins that I'm certainly not sitting in at this very moment.
Salem: If only...
