“I have to—go,” I say, stilted. I need a Bible and a cross in my hand. I need a priest to put an end to carnal wants and to remind me what I am doing here. “Where?” Leo says. Leo, with that honey-thick voice, and scent like something dark and aged: by God, he smells like church, like incense and old tomes. But if I keep thinking about that, I will stay. “To pray,” I say truthfully. “To pray. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And then I am gone.
