Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Despite my hatred of this town, I loved this place. It’s history. The allure of its secrets and traditions. The mysteries that survived the years and the architecture. So many nooks and crannies to get lost in, not only with places like the catacombs or the Torrance garden maze that used to be open to the public once a year when I was a kid, but the way every avenue and piece of coastline seemed to have a story.
A building out in the world was a building out in the world. Designing something in Thunder Bay wouldn’t just stand on its own. It was being a part of something bigger.
I worked on my design, getting close to finishing, even though we still had weeks left. I wanted to raise the Bell Tower again, make it taller, so you could climb it and take in more of the sea, and I wanted to add more bells.
And maybe a light. A flickering light at the top.
“Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch,” I recited as I sketched. “One, if by land, and two, if by sea…”
But it wasn’t “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” poem that popped into my head next. I stopped, thinking.
Or maybe…like a candle—albeit electric—perpetually lit for Reverie Cross up at the top.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head clear of the idea and dropping my pencil down.
Stupid.
I looked down at my school bag, reaching down and taking the strap.
I lifted it up, digging in the pocket and finding that shiny, bronze bauble someone left tied to my tree last night.
Pulling it out, I dropped the bag and leaned my elbows on the table, inspecting it.
Studying the skeleton key, rusty and worn, I looked again for any markings that might give me a clue as to what it was for, and then I threaded the chain through my fingers, taking a look at the keychain attached.
It was some kind of pot. Or incense burner, maybe?
I turned it over in my hand, confused. Why would someone give me this and then not tell me what it was for? I didn’t think it was Will who’d left it. He would’ve just given it to me when he saw me last night.
And that car parked outside my house…
The only other thing I could think of was that this was evidence and someone was planting it on me, but that was reaching.
Then I noticed it.
The slits on the keychain. In the incense burner.
Like vents.
This was a thurible. They were used in churches.
The cathedral in town had one. A big one that swung like the clapper of a bell.
I rolled up my blueprints, stuffed them into my cubby, and grabbed my bag, running out of the classroom.
• • •
I stepped into the cathedral, my eyes going up every time I entered this place. I always liked coming here. It was peaceful, and you didn’t feel weird about being alone in a public place here. It was expected.
Of course, I’d love it if Thunder Bay had a temple on the rare occasion Martin, my grandmother, and I attended, but no such luck. We had to drive to Meridian City for that.
It worked for me, though. If I needed to hide for a while, Martin would never look for me in a Catholic church.
“Emory?” someone said behind me.
I turned, seeing Father Behr. Everyone knew him.
“Here for confession?” he teased. “I’ll need to baptize you first.”
I chuckled, gripping the strap of the bag over my chest. “I’m still working out how to be an agnostic Jew, Father. Let’s not complicate things.” I smiled at him. “Good to see you, though.”
He came to stand beside me. Some devotees were kneeling in the pews, while a couple of others sat in thought, the candles lit in devotion flickering at my side.
The stations of Christ lined the walls around us, and I tipped my head back, admiring how the columns seemed to split into the ribbed vaulting and flying buttresses the way a tree trunk spread into branches. A fantastic mural adorned the ceiling.
“You’re in here a lot,” he told me.
“It’s the architecture.” I kept my eyes on the ceiling. “And it’s quiet.”
He sighed. “Sadly, yes.”
He sounded unhappy about that, and I realized it would be better for him—and the church—if it were busier.
He patted my shoulder. “Roam,” he said. “And take your time.”
“Thanks.”
He left, and I took out the key again, studying the kind of lock I was looking for. Rolling the miniature thurible between my fingers, I looked up and took stock of the big one, probably half as tall as me and twice as wide. It hung from a rope and was secured to the side of the church, near a pointed arch above the chancel.
Then I lifted my gaze, seeing the gallery above it. There was a door up there.