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“But the flames come first with the Church. Questions second. It’s a dangerous time to be female.”
Witches do not worship our Lord and Savior, nor do they acknowledge the holy trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. They glorify another trinity—an idolatrous trinity. The Triple Goddess. Even if I hadn’t grown up in the Church, every Chasseur learned the witches’ evil ideology before taking his vows. “Maiden, Mother, and Crone,” I murmured.
“An embodiment of femininity in the cycle of birth, life, and death . . . among other things. ’Tis blasphemous, of course.” He scoffed and shook his head. “As if God could be a woman.”
“You’ve been in a pub?” he asked, flabbergasted. “But you’re a woman.” It took every drop of my willpower not to roll my eyes. Whoever had taught these men about women had been heinously out of touch with reality. It was almost as if they’d never met a woman. A real woman—not a ludicrous pipe dream like Célie.
Thank goodness Father Orville hadn’t yet noticed my pants. He’d probably have had a fit and died. I stuffed the coin into his palm. “I pray you’ll accept this indulgence to alleviate my sentence.”
“Trust me, if I would’ve had any say in the guest list, you would’ve been there.” “Maid of honor?” “Of course.” Slightly appeased, Coco sighed and shook her head. “Married to a Chasseur . . . When I heard the news, I didn’t believe it.” A small grin touched her lips. “You’ve got balls the size of boulders.”
He cracked an eye open. Upon seeing me safely beneath the foam, he relaxed—or relaxed as much as someone like him was capable. He had a permanent stick up his ass, this husband of mine.
After the library fiasco, I’d thought it, ah, prudent to accept my husband’s invitation to evening Mass. Though I didn’t know if he believed Ansel’s and my story about learning scripture, he’d latched on to the idea, and I’d spent the remainder of the day memorizing verses. The most diabolical of all punishments.
Lou glared at him. “I like you, Ansel, but this had better be something good. Emilie and Alexandre just had a moment, and I swear if they don’t kiss soon, I will literally die.”
“‘Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from you.’”
Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.’”
C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans espoir de retour. That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return. —Albert Camus
