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The Kept

    Sommer Marsden

    I wanted to work at the Rectory because it was a natural power source for magic. And I was trying to escape. I needed to be near an accessible magic portal just in case. In case my magic got out of control from grief or just in case I wanted to turn Todd into a frog or something.

    I am totally joking. Okay, sort of joking.

    “And what do you think you can bring to Father Joseph, Ms. Pierce?”

    “Shelly, please,” I said to Mrs. Francis. She was round and stout and had severe gray hair that made me think of Sister Francis from grade school. If the secretary had taken out a ruler and smacked me with it, I don’t think I would have been a bit surprised.

    She frowned at me and I twisted my fingers into the hem of my thin, gray dress. “Sorry. Um. I think I can bring…a good attitude to the Rectory. To Father Joseph. To the place,” I stammered. Damn.
    The woman was making me a nervous wreck.

    “Well, we can all do that, now can’t we?” Mrs. Francis said.

    Not you, sister. A good attitude isn’t in your bag of tricks. I almost laughed but swallowed it.
    Something passed by the low window outside. Mrs. Francis’s window overlooked an old cemetery. Her office and the grounds outside were part of the original church, or so she had told me. I blinked but whatever had passed by the window was gone. She turned and glared at the glass and then back at me. I blinked again, feeling slow and stupid.

    “Yes, of course. It’s really just an assistant position. At least that’s what the ad said. I would be assisting him in thank you notes, menus, decorating, cleaning. All the stuff you don’t…” Her eyebrows went up and her fat, freckledfingers steepled under her pursed lips. Oh, she was just waiting for me to step in it. “All of the things that you are too busy to do. I imagine it is a lot of work to single-handedly handle the affairs of a church and its grounds.

    Goodness me,” I said, affected my best doe-eyed, naïve voice, “births, deaths, weddings, charity events. It’s so much. You must be swamped.”

    For the first time, Mrs. Marie Francis looked at me kindly.

    She even blushed a bit, a red stain spreading over her pale freckled cheeks. She had to be at least sixty, but no wrinkles dared mar her pale Irish skin. No wedding ring dared dimple her fat little finger either. Shocking. “Well, it is. It really is. Making sure Father has all he needs and everything his handled and runs smoothly. Some days we have a wedding and then a funeral. Really, what a mess it would be if everything wasn’t just so.”

    I nodded, going along with her prideful boasting. “Of course.”

    “I supposed I could introduce you to Father Joseph so he can form his own opinion of your character. I was skeptical at first, but now I think you’re a lovely young woman.

    Married?” she asked, rising from her office chair. She gathered my resume and application and shuffled my paperwork into a neat pile.

    “No, ma’am.” Contemplating homicide. Recently left. Old maid… “Um, I just recently got out of a relationship.”

    “Couldn’t commit?” she asked. The flash of cold anger in her eyes told me why no gold band adorned her ring finger.

    Do you call fucking anything that can’t get away fast enough a fear of commitment? “Pretty much. It just didn’t work out.”

    I felt a tingle along my spine and my nipples went hard.

    Thankfully, I wore a bulky sweater. Ms. Francis struck me as the type who would view hard nipples as wanton and blame me for the involuntary physical reaction to a chill.

    That half shadow passed by the window again and this time I caught site of a bit of blondish hair. A short person? Dog?

    Child?

    Ms. Francis spun and glanced out the window again. Her gaze followed mine and she stared hard before giving a soft humph . “I’ll have to give you a tour outside later. You seem captivated with the cemetery. The original priest and his secretary are buried out