ONE
Willow
In the past three weeks, I’ve gone from a boring adjunct college professor dreaming of tenure to seeing my own ghostly doppelgänger around every corner.
All because I got close enough to an ancient book to activate magic I never knew was inside of me.
Now, a secret government organization is trying to force me to wield my power for the vilest of tasks.
Just as they’re about to bring the pain, I’m saved by an honest-to-God—yes,thatGod—angel.
He smells nice. His voice is like spun gold. And when his hair billows in the wind? I’m ashamed to admit…I swoon. But I can’t trust anyone.
Not even a celestial.
I’m so screwed.
Three Weeks Ago
Willow
I shiver,despite the heat of the early October afternoon. When my department chair heard I hadn’t yet visited St. Mary’s Cathedral, he insisted I take the small group of graduate students on today’s tour.
“You specialize in the occult and you haven’t seen the vault at St. Mary’s?”
I didn’t tell Anton that I’d tried to visit the cathedral a dozen times since I’d moved to San Francisco five years ago. But something always kept me away.
Warned me away.
I don’t know where the thought comes from.
“Dr. Saunders,” Ruby says, “we’re going to be late.”
She tosses her dark curls over her shoulder and links her arm with Candice, her research partner. The two women are only a few months away from masters’ degrees in architecture, and Ruby’s writing her dissertation on the great 1906 San Francisco earthquake and how it affected the look and feel of the city.
I stare up at the tower, the Gothic spires piercing the clear blue sky. Time clings to the ancient red brick walls, their cracks and crevices swelling with a power I feel in my bones.
“I wonder if we’ll see any of the ghosts who haunt this place?” Ruby whispers as we step through the heavy wooden doors.
“This is still a working church,” I chide. “No talking about ghosts until after we leave.”
Or…ever.
I might be the only person alive with a doctorate in the occult who gets the heebie-jeebies when she thinks about ghosts.
The doors creak loudly, almost groaning through the weight of their heavy, rusty hinges. Rows and rows of well-worn wooden pews stretch out across the vast, dimly lit nave. Incense—along with something older and way more sinister—fills the air, so thick it’s almost choking.
Along one wall, a rack of votives casts flickering shadows, creating the illusion of movement where there should be none at all.
“Are you Dr. Saunders?” An older nun with a few strands of gray hair peeking out from her habit hurries over, her sensible shoes making almost no sound on the threadbare red carpet. “I’m Sister Cecilia. Father Shin sent me to greet you. He’s still busy with the previous tour group. Welcome to St. Mary’s.”
“Thank you, Sister. Is it okay if my students take a few photos while we wait?”
“Of course!” She beams as she turns toward the sanctuary. “The cathedral is well-loved—and well-used—but she is still a stunning building. When I was first assigned here, I would spend hours sitting in the pews this time of day. The light is breathtaking.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that’s not the word I’d use. That the three frescos painted behind the altar are cast in an eerie glow. The cherubs and angels seem to almost fly off the wall.
The sun beating against the stained glass windows to my left should be warm. But instead, it leaches the heat from my limbs. My stomach does backflips, and I swallow hard. I need to sit down.
