Lessons in Sin by Pam Godwin

CHAPTER 6

MAGNUS

Shoving past the main doors, I burst outside at a clipped pace. The darkness wrapped around me as I hooked a finger beneath my collar and tugged it away from my throat, pulling, yanking, trying to breathe.

What the hell had just happened?

I let a student get under my skin.

That was a first, but I had it under control. It’d taken me by surprise was all. No harm, no foul. Tinsley was oblivious, and I hadn’t crossed any lines.

My only interest in her was on a nonphysical, nonsexual, academic level.

It wouldn’t happen again.

I just needed to walk off the buzz circulating through my body.

“Hi, Father Magnus!”

A group of senior girls approached from the left, heading toward the building. I turned right without responding, and they went on their way, accustomed to my surly temperament.

I took the long way to the campus gates, trekking around the backside of the main building. As I passed beneath the turret connected to my classroom, I searched the ground for a dead bat. The light from my phone aided my hunt, an effort that proved pointless.

Just as I’d suspected, the bat had flown off.

My mind gravitated to images of fearful blue eyes, pale skin, and trembling hands, curled like claws ready to draw blood.

I shoved it down and focused on tomorrow’s agenda—church, curriculum planning, and Tinsley’s placement tests.

Gravel crunched beneath my shoes, and the nighttime air cooled my skin. Clean, fresh, pure mountain air. So unlike the stench of octane and concrete in New York City. I missed the city, but I loved the tranquility here.

Veering off the path, I crossed the manicured lawn and followed the wall that bordered the campus. Constructed of stone to shoulder height, the wall didn’t restrict the visibility of the village or the picturesque mountainscape beyond. Instead, it provided a sturdy foundation for the high-security fence that was erected on top of it. From a distance, the wires that ran between the black posts were transparent. Up close, one couldn’t miss the voltage signs posted every few feet.

Touching the fence wouldn’t kill a human, but a zap would knock a rebellious teenager off his or her feet. Every year, at least one imbecile tested it.

Nine years ago, Sion Academy was headed into bankruptcy. The primary reason was its failure to keep St. John’s male students out of the girls’ dorms. Teenage pregnancy and poor management had led to a detrimental decline in student enrollment.

When I bought the boarding school, I invested a substantial amount of my wealth into turning the place around. I added the security walls, replaced most of the faculty, created a highly competitive curriculum, quadrupled the tuition, and marketed the school to high-profile families.

Within two years, Sion had a waiting list a mile long.

The school’s core values remained the same, focusing on the development of intellect, personhood, and spirituality. But I ran the enterprise like a cutthroat business, and in business, money talked.

So when Caroline Constantine offered a seven-digit endowment, she bypassed that waiting list.

I arrived at the gate—the only way in and out—and entered my code in the keypad. The lock buzzed, and I exited the campus.

With the nearest town miles away, most of the staff lived on the property in separate housing. A single paved road ran through the village with Sion Academy on one end and St. John de Brebeuf on the other.

A three-minute stroll along the quiet street brought me to my private rectory. Most of the other priests shared a house, but I required my own space.

The door creaked as I entered the one-story residence. A kitchenette and sitting area made up the front room. A short hallway led to a bedroom and bathroom. A crucifix hung on the otherwise bare walls. Dark drapes on the windows. A threadbare couch. Wood-burning fireplace. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Modest.

Humble.

Some might say it was an inglorious step down from my penthouse in the Upper East Side. But that penthouse didn’t define my worth. My actions did.

My life had been in deficit for years.

I emptied my pockets at the table and stared down at Tinsley’s locked phone. I didn’t need to access it. The report from my investigator had provided everything I needed to know about her.

The Constantines were the jewels of Bishop’s Landing, the royalty of high society. But like most powerful families, they were involved in shady affairs, including a long-standing feud with the Morellis—another affluent family with an even dirtier underbelly.

When Tinsley’s father died six years ago, it was rumored that the Morelli patriarch had ordered a hit on him. But that was never proved, and the death was ruled an accident.

There were no surprising revelations about Tinsley herself. She was the princess of the family—innocent, sweet, and primed for a marital union of Caroline’s choosing. No doubt Caroline had been working that angle for years, positioning her daughter to marry into a family that strengthened her empire.

The thought made me sick. No one should be used that way, but it happened. Hell, it had been happening for centuries.

I stepped to the cupboard and removed a glass and a bottle of whiskey. As I started to pour, a knock sounded on the door.

“It’s open.” I grabbed a second glass.

“Thought you might want some company.” Crisanto’s lightly accented voice carried through the room.

“Bullshit. You’re here to get juicy details on the Constantines.”

“Indeed. Tell me everything.”

I turned to pass him his drink, and as always, it was his smile that greeted me first. He had a great smile. Warm and genuine, it lit up his whole face.

He wore casual clothes tonight, trading his priest collar for a T-shirt and jeans. The white of his shirt accentuated his dark skin and black hair.

When he was ten, he moved to New York from the Philippines with his mother. I remembered the day he showed up at my Catholic grade school. Couldn’t speak a lick of English. But he learned quickly, laughed easily, and shared my love for skateboarding.

We’d been best friends ever since. Inseparable until we graduated high school. Then he went to seminary to become a priest, and I took a very different path.

I carried my whiskey glass to the couch and drank deeply, savoring the smoky burn. “The meeting went as expected. Caroline threatened me. I threatened her, and now my hopes for an easy year are shattered.”

“The last time you had an easy year, you were unbearable.” Crisanto settled in beside me. “You were bored out of your mind. Grouchy. Whiny. Picking fights with the groundskeeper—”

“I don’t whine.”

“You don’t like anything to be easy, Magnus. That’s never been your style.”

I reclined back, drinking, my mind swirling with everything I needed to do tomorrow.

“Is she as beautiful as the photos on the internet?” he asked.

“Caroline?”

“No, idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “The daughter.”

If another teacher asked me that, I wouldn’t trust his intentions. But Crisanto was a priest first and cherished his living relationship with Jesus Christ above all else. Unlike me, he’d been called for a higher purpose, and he served with his whole heart. I’d never known a human being more honest and incorruptible than this guy.

Which was why I came here nine years ago, seeking his counsel.

He didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. He told me what I needed. Then he convinced me to stay. Not just to save Sion Academy, but to save myself.

“She’s a brat.” I removed my collar and loosened the top buttons on my shirt. “An uncooperative, disrespectful, sharp-tongued hellion.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“She’s pretty for an eighteen-year-old.”

With eyes that glowed like faerie fire when she was emotional. And her boldness? God help me, her feisty spirit made my blood run hot.

I was fascinated, and that fascination made me exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Crisanto…” I stared into my glass, swishing the amber contents around and around. “I had a relapse.”

“Okay.” He set his drink down and twisted on the couch to face me, instantly sliding into his priest role. “Is this a confession?”

“No. It was just a feeling. A thought.”

“The craving.”

That was what he called it. I called it a sickness. He was the only person alive who knew my struggle. He knew every ugly secret I carried.

“Yeah.”

“The mother triggered it?”

“Not this time.”

“The daughter, then.” He released a relieved breath.

“Your exhale is not reassuring. You put too much faith in me.”

“Attraction is human nature. We all experience it, and any priest who tells you otherwise is hiding something worse. We lead a lonely life. Going to bed every night alone. Growing old alone. It’s the sacrificial nature of our vocation. But I’ll be honest. I’ve been praying for the day that you sort out your preferences. Because let’s face it. You have terrible taste in women, my friend.” He shuddered dramatically.

“You’re an asshole.”

He laughed, loud and hearty, and grabbed his whiskey.

Only he would dare to find amusement in my flaws.

He’d been at my side since the beginning. While the other boys at our school were chasing after girls, he watched me chase after their mothers and teachers.

There were no traumatic events in my childhood. No inherited traits from my boring, law-abiding, white-collar parents. Nothing in my upbringing to pin this on.

My sexual predisposition was simply part of my nature.

“Listen.” Crisanto sobered. “You have more patience and determination than I ever will. You’ve been a godsend to this community. The money and time you’ve put into the school is admirable. Selfless. Second to none. You’re a good man, Magnus.”

I grunted. “You know that’s not true. I’ve never been a good man.”

“I’m not talking about then. Sure, you’re still as ruthless as ever. And downright scary when pushed. Maybe I don’t agree with all your teaching methods, but when it comes to motivating the unmotivated, fear and guilt are effective tools.”

“Spoken like a true Catholic.” I held up my whiskey.

He clinked his glass with mine and drank, regarding me over the rim. “What’s different about Miss Constantine?”

“She saved a bat.”

“Do what now?”

I told him the story, sending him into another fit of laughter. Then we talked about his challenging schedule at St. John’s, debated world events, and drank too much.

By the time he stumbled back to his rectory, I felt lighter. More levelheaded. Energized for the new school year.

I was ready to lay down the law for Tinsley Constantine.