Chapter Text
The bell above the shop door gave a weak jingle as Ben and Father Kent stepped inside. The place was dim but warm, smelling faintly of incense and old wood. Candles flickered on crowded shelves, casting long shadows across jars of herbs and weathered tarot decks.
Ben sighed, arms crossing.
“Seriously, Kent? This is the ‘help’ we’re putting our hopes on? A tourist trap with better lighting?”
Father Kent ignored him, gaze sweeping over the shop’s strange assortment. “I’ve heard great things about her,” he said softly. “Not the kind of things you hear about fakes.” He smiled at Ben, sheepish but insistent. “Just… give her a chance, okay?”
Ben groaned, muttered something about wasted time, but finally threw up his hands. “Fine. But I’m not buying into it.”
You appeared from behind a curtain, voice calm and rich with quiet confidence. “You must be the ones with the… problem.” You gestured them toward a small round table draped in dark velvet.
Ben slumped into his chair with all the grace of a man bracing for disappointment. You lit a candle, trying to focus, reaching out with your senses—yet, nothing clicked. Ben scoffed audibly.
“Yeah, thought so. Smoke and mirrors.”
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood. “I’m gonna step outside before I say something I’ll regret. Have fun, Kent.” The door slammed behind him, leaving the air charged and quiet.
Kent exhaled, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about Ben. He’s… complicated.” He looked down, fiddling nervously with his hands. “Don’t take it personally.”
You tilted your head, gaze sharp. “Does he know you’re not a real priest?”
Kent froze. His blood ran cold, every muscle locked. “What—what are you talking about? Of course I am.”
Your eyes softened, but your words were steady. “No. You work Halloween sales. This costume stuck with you because sometimes, late at night, you wonder if God even sees you anymore. Or hears you… after what you’ve been through.”
He stared at you, color draining from his face. You leaned forward, voice quiet but undeniable. “The secret you’ve carried since you were seventeen. Your father. The beatings. The night you stopped him to save your mother.” A pause, tender but firm. “You killed him.”
Kent’s breath caught. The room spun faintly. “Please don’t—don’t say that. Don’t tell anyone. I’m not broken from what he did to me.”
You reached across the table, voice warm, soothing. “Kent. You’re not broken. And you’re not alone. You did what you had to do. That stays between us. Always.”
Something flickered in his eyes—fear, but also recognition. He realized you were hinting at your own scars, though different in shape. Beaten, but not broken.
Kent swallowed hard, then let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the weight. “You, uh… you really don’t hold back, do you?”
You smirked. “Would you rather I lied?”
“No, I… guess not.” His eyes darted over you, then away, like he was caught. “I just… wasn’t expecting someone so…” He trailed off.
“Beautiful?” you teased, one brow raised.
He flushed, chuckling under his breath. “I was going to say ‘intimidating.’ But… yeah. That too.”
You leaned back in your chair, lips curving. “Careful, Father. You’re flirting with a psychic. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Good thing I’m not,” he shot back, surprising himself.
The air between you shifted—playful, flirtatious, but threaded with something deeper. Every now and then, you felt it: a pulse, a tug, like threads of magic leaking from him unconsciously. He didn’t seem aware, but you felt it—raw, buried, tethering itself to you.
The door banged open. Ben reappeared, looking impatient. “Kent, let’s go. We’ve wasted enough—”
“She’s gonna help us,” Kent interrupted firmly.
Ben blinked, then shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. See you at the mansion. Tonight.” He scribbled an address, tossed it onto the table, and left again.
You rose slowly, stepping close to Kent. You took his hands in yours, gentle but deliberate, slipping your card into his palm and curling his fingers over it. Your eyes locked on his.
“Give me a call,” you murmured, “if you’re interested in possibly finding out what it feels like.”
Kent blinked. “What… what feels like?”
Your smirk deepened as you turned toward the back of the shop. “What it feels like to have your hands on me.”
He stood frozen, heart pounding, watching you walk away.
Did I say that out loud?
“No, Kent,” you called back over your shoulder, lips
curving knowingly. “You didn’t say that out loud.”
His laugh was breathless, awed. “She’s incredible,” he whispered to himself as he finally turned to leave.
Alone, you faced the door he’d just walked through. Slowly, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the unmistakable pull. The tether. Your anchor. Hidden magic, long buried, waiting to awaken in him. And it had found you.