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there. Can you believe it? My goodness.
    That’s dedication. To be buried where you work.”

    I smiled. Something told me she would be volunteering the same damn thing if they still did burials on the grounds.

    “Imagine that.”

    “Come on, Shelly, let’s go find Father. You’ll love him.”

    The pep in her step indicated she might have beaten me to it. She might already love Father.

    ***
    Oh baby, baby. No wonder she loved him. Father Joseph was about six three and broad. His shoulders reminded me of the football team in high school. He had dark brown hair and sparking blue eyes. And stubble. The stubble did me in, and twisted my tongue in horrible knots when I tried to speak.

    “Shelly, so good to meet you. If you’ve made it this far, you are impressive to be sure. Edna does not suffer fools gladly. Or non-gladly for that matter.” He took both of my hand in his and I felt electricity shoot from my hands to my pussy. I shifted and squeezed my thighs together. It was not good to lust in a church, let alone lust after the man. The head honcho. The Father.

    I was blushing. My cheeks were hot, and I swallowed.

    “Nice to meet you too, Father.”

    “Joseph, please.”

    “Oh no,” I yelped. “I couldn’t.”

    “You won’t burn in hell for it,” he said, still holding my hands. The electrical current zigged and zagged under my skin and, on top of the attraction, I felt a skitter of magic in the mix. The Father was magical. Not just magical; he had practiced magic. Shocking.

    “Father Joseph it will have to be,” I said firmly. “My mother would have my head if I called you anything else.”

    “And you are here to escape,” he said softly. When he looked at me warmth spread over my skin like warm honey.

    Strike first impression. Father was not just magical. Father was magical and a bit psychic.
    Peeking in my head. No fair.

    “What did he do?” He gazed out the window and my gaze followed. Together we watched a murder of crows gathered in the cemetery. A particularly large one landed on a stained, stone angel. I swore it was staring at me.

    “He was unfaithful,” I said softly. I was talking to the crow.

    Or that’s how I felt. It was so silent in his office, like a small womb in the large stone building.

    “And you can’t share?”

    The question was both startling and completely normal. A second crow joined the first. “He never asked me to share.

    Not to begin with. It’s the lying that does it. Besides, he doesn’t want to share. It’s not about that. It’s about getting away with something. Stealing. Stealing time away from me, sex without me. It’s only good if it’s not good. It’s only exciting if there’s pain involved.”

    Now that the good Father had asked, I really thought I could have shared. I could have suffered other women had I been asked; had I been involved. Women. Men. It wasn’t about me being selfish; it was about him inflicting pain.

    That was what hurt, the deliberate cruelty.

    “We are supposed to love all, love many. But you’re right.

    His unkindness is not acceptable.” Father Joseph ran his hand up my back and my whole body reacted with a wash of pleasure. I liked his touch. Very much.

    “So what’s out there? I kept seeing shadows but didn’t say anything. Ms. Francis did not look like she’d take kindly to me saying anything about anything other than you and this job.” I smiled. The smile stayed on my face when his hand dipped lower on my spine. I didn’t fight the images that rose up in my mind, me bent over a pew while the good Father fucked me to merry hell and back. Figuratively speaking of course.

    He was peeking in my head again because he smiled, his eyes bright. What sounded like a low growl sounded in the back of his throat. “Dogs. My dogs. I have three. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”

    “The Three Musketeers,” I laughed.

    “Very good. What can I say? I’m a classical kind of guy.”

    “No Larry, Moe and