The Angel

Michael sighed, flipped his palms upward and thrust his wrists out meaningfully. She didn’t need to see his scars to know that’s what he meant.

“Yes,” Søren said with sympathy. “Father Karl is not pleased that we are home to—”

“A walking mortal sin?” Michael completed for Søren. Nora wrapped her fingers around Michael’s wrist. She slipped her index finger under his wristband and lightly stroked the raised white scar she knew lurked underneath. A little over two years ago, when Michael was only fourteen, his conservative father had found out that Michael had a real and burgeoning interest in BDSM. Much like her when she was a teenager, Michael often hurt himself simply for the sexual thrill of it. Unlike her, it was his own judgmental father, not his empathetic priest, who caught him at it. Michael’s father had laid such shame and guilt on him that Michael had slit his wrists one day and nearly died. Some Catholics, especially of the older generation, considered suicide the most dire of all sins. No doubt Father Karl thought Michael should attend another church. Preferably one that didn’t still sport Michael’s bloodstains on the hardwood.

“Father Karl’s opinion of you both has nothing to do with his visit today,” Søren continued, making it clear in his tone he couldn’t care less about Father Karl’s opinion on anything. “The reason for his visit today had only to do with me. As you both may know, Bishop Leo has colon cancer and will soon retire.”

“And Father Landon is replacing him, right?” Nora asked.

“Father Landon was replacing him. Until three days ago when certain allegations came to the fore.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Nora groaned. “Why priests can’t keep their holy cocks inside their goddamn pants is beyond me.”

Michael inhaled sharply and Nora grimaced. She looked at Søren and smiled apologetically. Søren arched his eyebrow at her.

“Present company excepted, of course,” she said.

“Of course.”

Søren stood up and came around the desk. Nora looked up at him and stared at his face. Everything about him was so aristocratic and aquiline. Even in Denmark, where pale blond hair and blue eyes were the rule and not the exception like here in America, Søren still stood out for his height and his undeniable male beauty.

“With Father Landon’s transfer there remains the question of who will replace Bishop Leo.” Søren paused. The implication of his words hit Nora harder than a rattan cane across the thighs.

“Oh, shit. Søren.” Nora covered her mouth with her hand.

“Well put,” he said, nodding.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “This is bad, right?”

“Very bad.” Nora turned to Michael. “Our Father Stearns might be the next bishop of the diocese.”

Michael looked up sharply at Søren.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t disagree. That Father Karl came here in person means I’m at the very least on the short list of candidates.”

Nora closed her eyes. Bishop … if Søren became the bishop he’d be the priest to all the priests in the diocese. He’d have to leave the Sacred Heart rectory where a few hundred trees gave him near-total privacy and move to a home he’d have to share with other priests. His already busy schedule would turn hectic and she would rarely if ever get to see him. And that’s if he got the job. Which he would, unless they found out about her and Søren’s extracurricular activities.

“Can’t you just tell them no?”

“Not without raising both ire and suspicion. This is supposed to be a great honor.”

“Honor my ass,” Nora said and saw Michael suppress a laugh. “I don’t mean that literally,” she said to him and noticed again what a gorgeous young man he was turning into. “Okay, maybe I do.”

“Eleanor, five minutes of decorum is all I ask,” Søren said.

“I’m sorry,” she said and meant it. “I’m just a little bit terrified. What’s the plan?”

She knew Søren. He wouldn’t be freaking her out with something like this unless he already had a plan.

“Usually the vetting process for a new bishop is one to two years. With the bishop growing weaker every day, they will attempt to have a new bishop installed by August at the latest.”

Today was May 16th.

“So what do we do for the next two and a half months?” she asked.

“You two will do nothing.” Søren eyed her and Michael. “I will handle this. The diocese will investigate me, of course. This is not a concern. Even if they do discover something about our personal life, Eleanor, the Church will do what it always does when faced with imminent scandal.”

“Hush it up,” Nora supplied, and Søren didn’t disagree. “But?”

“But tomorrow morning an article will appear in the Times about Father Landon. The press will likely descend on the diocese and involve themselves thoroughly in the investigation.”

“The press, huh? Explains why you were on the phone with Kingsley already today.”

Kingsley had a fascinating relationship with the press—fascinating in the way the sack of Rome by invading Barbarian hordes was fascinating. A reporter once threatened to run a story exposing one of Kingsley’s clients—an internationally renowned human-rights attorney—as a transvestite with multiple sexual fetishes. Two nights before the story ran, a sex tape that the reporter and her husband had made played in an endless loop on every computer in their six-year-old’s exclusive private school. The video was unremovable. All two hundred computers had to be scrapped and replaced.

The story never ran.

“I’d rather not resort to any of Kingsley’s methods to keep our private life private,” Søren said. Søren might be a sadist but he only hurt people consensually. “But his information is often invaluable. Rest assured, Eleanor, I will find a way to avoid becoming the next bishop. That is not why I called you both here.”

“I’m already dying not to know why you called us here,” Nora said. Something in Søren’s gray eyes warned her that whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it.

“You and Michael are the only two members of Sacred Heart who know who and what I am. The press will come, and they will ask questions. I cannot ask either of you to lie for me. And as I know neither of you will tell the truth when asked—”

“Damn straight,” Michael said under his breath, and Nora said a prayer of thanks for Michael’s loyalty. She knew Michael credited Søren with saving his life. She’d never heard the whole story, but she knew Søren had risked his career by telling Michael the truth about himself and his relationship with Nora. The night she and Michael spent together over a year ago was Søren’s reward to Michael for going an entire year without harming himself again. Although an unusually wise and mature teenager then and now, Michael had been fifteen the night she’d taken his virginity. Sixteen, not fifteen, was legal age in Connecticut and New York, and that made their night together a crime. She’d done the deed not knowing his age, but Søren had made the introductions.

“Okay. So Michael and I aren’t allowed to lie about you? Vow of silence then?”

Søren smiled. “You taking a vow of silence, Eleanor, is as likely as you taking a vow of celibacy. No, I think it’s best that you both leave town while this is going on. Together.”

Silence descended on the room like a shroud.

“Can I talk to you alone for one minute please, sir?” Nora asked, and Søren released a much put-upon sigh.

“Michael, would you mind?”

Michael stood up and left the office.

“Are you insane?”

“Little one, who owns you?”

Nora sunk back into her chair.

“You, sir. But you really want—”

“Eleanor, if a reporter asked you if we were lovers what would you do?”