We’re too fucked up for this shit, right?
I give him a small smile—a silent acknowledgment. A silent agreement.
He and I are the same. The man with the onyx eyes, dimples, and a heart of gold dipped in black.
And me—the woman his father ruined.
Not Today, Satan
Evelyn Snow
Paris,Present
I hold my head high as the five of us enter Notre Dame Cathedral the next day. As the security guard holds the door open for us, I hesitate for a second, pulling my cardigan closer, a chill permeating the air. It’s the perfect, Paris fall day, albeit quite brisk. Looking around, I’m not surprised it’s exactly the same as it was all those years ago. The old stone that gives history a distinct smell. The burning incense, and the pungent smell of the wood used for the ancient pews. An organ plays softly behind us, and as I look around, I can picture the last time I was here so clearly.
Father Monsignor, giving his nightly sermon. His white robe billowing behind him as he stalked up to the altar. Father Monsignor was Auguste Martin. I remember the screen lowering behind him, and the murmurs of the crowd. And shortly afterwards, the shocked gasps.
“My name is Evelyn Snow. On December 31st, 2014, I was abducted by a man named Auguste Martin. You all know him as Father Monsignor, and he stands here before you today. He raped me on numerous occasions. He sodomized me, and he sold me to the highest bidder. He made me have sex with strange men every night. Sometimes several at a time. He trapped me in his sex trafficking ring—thirteen other girls and me. He’s not just an evil man; he’s the worst kind of human. And he will pay for what he did.”
“You okay?” Lily asks, taking my hand as we congregate at the altar. A priest—an older man with wispy, white hair awaits us.
I sense no traces of Auguste here, but the memories flood through me. He was here—he worked here, helped people here—while keeping me locked up a couple of miles away. It’s the double life, the dichotomy of his actions, that always unnerves me. Who else is hiding dark secrets beneath the surface?
I glance at Benedict, but he’s talking with Bastian, Salem’s father.
“I’m just remembering the last time I was here,” I mumble, standing straighter.
Salem, who is holding Delilah on his hip, stops and turns to me. “I’d be more than happy to postpone her christening so we can book another cathedral,” he interrupts, giving me a concerned look. I have to give them credit. They had booked another church, but it was at my insistence that they do it at Notre Dame. Plebians are hardly ever allowed to be christened here anyway. They were able to get in thanks to Salem’s privileges as a part of the clergy, and his past service to the church. I didn’t want them to miss out on this experience because of my own demons. I know how much this cathedral means to them, and by proxy, Delilah.
It’s because of this church that she exists.
I shake my head. “No, it makes sense to do it here. With your history and everything,” I add, looking at Lily. “I’m more than fine. And now, to see my goddaughter baptized here…” I trail off, looking around again. “This is a happy visit. A reminder that life perseveres, despite the bastards who try to take us down.” I smile and give Delilah a peck on the cheek. She’s wearing a white christening gown that was once Salem’s, and it hangs a few inches past her tiny little feet.
“I love you,” Lily whispers, taking my hand.
“Love you, too,” I whisper back. But it’s much deeper than that. It’s because Lily never gave up on me that I’m alive today. She kept looking, even when others had believed I was dead.I owe her my life.
After saying hello to Bastian, and Salem’s two brothers, Killian and Felix, as well as their respective families, the priest starts the baptism. The Tempest family is sitting in the front row, as are a few of Lily and Salem’s Parisienne friends. I glance over at Benedict, but he’s looking straight ahead at the front door with his jaw clenched. This place is likely just as monstrous for him as it is for me. In fact, according to Lily and Salem, he’d attended a few of Auguste’s sermons during the time when Salem was the deacon. The interconnectedness of Salem, Auguste, Benedict, Lily, and I never ceases to amaze me. I don’t believe in a higher power anymore, but I definitely believe something universal brought us all together. While I hope I never see Auguste again, I can’t help but be grateful for Lily meeting Salem. If she hadn’t, who knows where I’d be now?
“Push someone, and they will break, Auguste. Your time is up. We have all the proof we need, and we’ll make sure everyone remembers you as the monster that you are.”
I look at my shoes—a pair of practical, leather loafers that go with my business casual pants, shirt, and cardigan. If I know Salem like I think I do, he will have us strolling all over Paris after this, so I came prepared with practical shoes. The priest begins, and I see Lily subtly reach for Salem’s hand.
I look at Benedict, and he’s watching me with an intense, fiery gaze. My heart rate speeds up, and I suck in a shallow breath. I have to look away, instead choosing to focus on the front door as the priest drones on and on. He asks Lily and Salem a few basic questions, and then he turns his attention to Benedict and me. Before I can protest, he asks us to stand next to each other. Benedict moves to the spot next to me, and I get a whiff of wood smoke. He reaches out and takes my hand without warning and it jolts me. I grind my teeth and ignore the heat pulsing through his palm into mine, the white-hot energy transferring seamlessly between us. The roughness of his hands and fingertips. The way his thumb tenderly brushes across the space between my thumb and index finger. The heat from his body radiating outwards, causing my whole body to flush.
“Are you both willing and able to fulfill your duties to bring up this child in the Christian faith?”
“Yes,” we murmur at the same time. I see him look over at me for a second, but I keep my eyes on the priest, who places his thumb on Delilah’s forehead and makes the symbol of a cross. It’s very formal. I guess when you decide to baptize your daughter at fucking Notre Dame de Paris, it’s going to be more formal than the average christening. When I glance over at Lily, her eyes are twinkling playfully. She’s trying not to laugh. I smile and look at my shoes again, trying not to stare at Benedict’s strong hand enveloping mine in a tight squeeze.
Why is he still holding my hand? And why is my palm so sweaty?
There is a quick prayer, and then the anointing continues. Delilah is starting to get antsy. She’s blowing raspberries with her mouth and giggling as her spittle hits Salem in the face. Salem is trying to shush her, but he is pulling his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing.
The priest turns to Delilah. In a normal infant baptism, the parents and godparents are asked the questions, but since Delilah can answer them herself, he goes straight to her.
“Do you renounce Satan? And all his works? And all his empty promises?”
“No,” she replies, causing Lily to burst out laughing, who then proceeds to immediately clamp a hand over her mouth and apologize profusely. Salem is trying to keep his cool as he whispers directions into Delilah’s ear. “Okay, fine,” she adds, looking at the priest like she’s bored and ready to leave.
