Lessons in Sin by Pam Godwin

CHAPTER 8

MAGNUS

The buzz of eighty chattering girls filled the front lawn of Sion Academy. I stood at the entrance of the main building, invigorated by the energy in the air.

White shirts and plaid skirts gathered in four groups, representing each of the four grade levels. Each group of twenty students was assigned to a teacher, an escort, who would lead them off campus for the short walk to the church.

I glanced at my watch, and right on time, the groups began to file through the gate. Plaid uniforms bounced and twirled, wriggled and skipped, constantly moving. Teenage girls and their endless energy.

The trail of green plaid streamed through the gate and down the street until one group remained.

I checked my watch. 7:50.

The last group didn’t move.

“Father Isaac?” I met his eyes over the crowd of students. “What’s the holdup?”

The elderly priest adjusted his glasses and squinted at his phone. “I’m missing one.”

“Who?” I made my way toward him, scanning a few of the faces in his group.

Seniors.

I knew who the no-show would be before he said, “Tinsley Constantine.” He looked up at me. “I’ll go get her.”

Father Isaac was a brilliant music teacher, exceptionally attentive and good-natured. The students adored him.

Tinsley would eat him for breakfast.

“Wait here. I’ll deal with it.” I turned to the girl at my side. “Carrie. With me.”

I walked fast, cutting the ten-minute trek in half. Carrie tried to keep up, her shorter legs forced into a jog.

“Have you seen Miss Constantine this morning?” I hit the stairwell and took the steps two at a time.

“Yes,” she panted behind me. “She was with us when we left our rooms. She must’ve turned back.”

I glanced over my shoulder, marking her winded breaths and the sweat beading along her brow. “Add thirty minutes of cardio to your daily routine.”

“I have a full schedule this year.”

“Get up earlier.”

She blushed. “Yes, Father.”

The girl was an extraordinary vocalist in the church choir. Highly intelligent. Strong work ethic. Her mother was the first African American senator in New Hampshire, her father the state attorney general. A powerful political family, and my investigator had yet to uncover any corruption among them.

Carrie was mostly well behaved, but she needed to choose better friends. She spent too much time with Nevada Hildebrand, heiress to the multinational Hildebrand pharmaceutical corporation. Nevada was wild and desperate for attention. I gave her a month before she was suspended.

When I reached Tinsley’s dorm, I pounded on the closed door and stepped away with my back to the room. I wouldn’t put it past her to come out undressed.

She didn’t come out at all.

“Open it.” I nodded at Carrie, keeping my back to the door.

She obeyed and slipped into the room. Her footsteps halted. Then she whispered, “Girl, you’re in so much trouble.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Is she decent?”

“Define decent.”

“Is she wearing her uniform?”

“Yes?”

Why did she answer that like a question?

I turned and found Tinsley sitting on the bed and shoving cookies into her mouth. She hugged a box of them to her chest and reached in to grab another handful.

“If you take one more bite, your punishment will double.” I glared at her.

She glared back and crammed the cookies into her mouth. Crumbs tumbled down her untucked shirt and gathered on her skirt. A skirt that wasn’t long enough to cover her thighs.

“Stand up and join me in the hall.” I clasped my hands at my back with my feet braced apart.

She took in my stance and slowly rose.

Jesus.Most of the skirt had been sheared off. It was so short that only a strip of plaid peeked out from beneath her shirttails.

Rather than hiding the destruction, she held the box of cookies out to the side and struck a pose. “Rate the fit.”

“The fit?”

“Old people,” she huffed under her breath. “The outfit. Rate the outfit.”

Carrie choked on a laugh and quickly blanked her face.

“I gave you an order, and every second you disobey is another strike.”

“You’re no fun.” Tinsley tucked the cookies to her chest, munching on another handful as she marched into the hall.

“Carrie, grab the scissors off the desk and join us.” I held out my hand to Tinsley. “Give me the food.”

She pushed her lips out and stepped back, hugging the box tighter. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. Yesterday.”

“Catholics fast at least one full hour before receiving the Holy Eucharist.”

“I don’t know what that means but…phew. Good thing I’m not Catholic.” She ate another cookie and stared at my waiting hand.

I didn’t move, didn’t look away as I mentally added up her infractions.

Her breathing hastened, and she slowly moved the cookies toward me. I gripped the box, and she held on for a moment, tugging, testing me, before letting go.

Carrie appeared at my side. I took the scissors and gave her the cookies.

“Hold out your hand,” I said to Tinsley.

Her eyes popped wide. “No way.”

“The strikes are multiplying.” I kept my voice calm and my face expressionless. “Each one comes with a consequence. It’s going to be a very long day for you.”

“I won’t let you cut off my fingers. What kind of school is this?”

I lifted my gaze to her long, shimmery, pearl-colored hair.

“Not my hair!” She wheezed frantically and thrust out her arm. “If you draw blood, I’m suing.”

“The other hand.”

She growled and switched arms.

With a snap of the blades, I cut through the delicate diamond bracelet on her wrist and caught it as it fell.

“No!” Her jaw hung open, her breaths bursting out. “My brother gave me that! It’s a three-thousand-dollar tennis bracelet.”

“Now it’s worthless. Just like your uniform.” I tossed it toward the trash can in her room and handed the scissors to Carrie. “Which dorm did you steal the food and scissors from?”

Tinsley stared at her bare wrist, her eyes stark with rage.

“I have infinite patience, Miss Constantine. But right now…” I looked at my watch. “Twenty-one people are going to be late for Mass because of your selfishness.”

Her rebellion was expected, but she was pushing it too far, and she knew it.

“Last room on the right.” She pointed behind her.

“Return the stolen items,” I said to Carrie. “Quickly.”

As she raced off, I leaned in and put my mouth in the space beside Tinsley’s ear. She smelled like lemon drops and vanilla. And stolen cookies.

“I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.” I breathed in her stillness, her helpless fear. “Mommy Dearest forked over a lot of money for you to be here. You’re stuck with me for a year.”

“The best way to motivate me is to tell me it can’t be done.” She turned her face toward mine, the sputter of her exhalations peppering my lips. “Save us both the trouble and send me home.”

Her mouth was too close. I could taste the sugar, the delicious sin that awaited on the other side of that narrow inch. It was just a twitch away. A short, compulsive motion.

Our gazes held, and in that sliver of impermissible nearness, I felt my teeth tearing into the poutline of her lips. I tasted her blood, heard her whimpers, and saw her beautiful pain.

The tread of footsteps ripped me from the reverie.

As Carrie hurried toward us, I straightened, and Tinsley released a held breath.

“Carrie.” I kept my voice smooth and unaffected. “Explain to Tinsley why Catholics practice fasting before Mass.”

“Physical hunger strengthens our focus and creates spiritual hunger for the Lord.”

“Thank you. You can go. Tell Father Isaac to head to the church. Tinsley and I will be a moment.”

“Okay.” She backed toward the stairwell, tossing me a coy smile. “It’s really good to see you again, Father Magnus. I look forward to your Advanced Calculus class this—”

“Mass started two minutes ago.”

“Right.” She spun and took off down the stairs.

Tinsley leaned against the doorframe of her room and slid her fingers along the placket of buttons between her breasts. “What are you going to do to me?”

“That’ll come later. It’ll be unpleasant, but try not to worry about it.”

“What do you mean?” Her fingers quivered, and she lowered her hand.

Delayed consequences had the best effect. The anticipation, the not knowing, was a consequence in and of itself. But it was nowhere near the punishment she would be receiving this afternoon.

A glance into her room confirmed she had four undamaged uniforms hanging in the closet.

“You have sixty seconds to follow the dress code and meet me in the stairwell.” I strode toward the exit.

“Are there any sharp objects along the way?” she asked my back. “So I can throw myself on one of them?”

“Fifty seconds.” I entered the stairwell and leaned back against the wall, seeking the coolness of the bricks.

As I lingered there, my thoughts tried to twist in a dangerous direction. Fifty seconds was too long to stand idle while surges of hot lust became reacquainted with my body.

My reaction to her made no sense. There was nothing even remotely attractive about the little imp.

The lie pricked my heart. Tinsley Constantine was inconceivably beautiful from every angle, unpredictable at every turn, and had a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit. She challenged me, shocked me, and twisted me up. Even if she was just a child.

She’s eighteen. Legal age of consent. Technically, an adult.

That meant Caroline’s parental rights were nonexistent. Tinsley could leave Sion Academy, screw every male in the state of Maine, and there wasn’t a damn thing her mother could do about it. Except cut her off. Caroline could and would take away Tinsley’s trust fund, financial support, and the roof over her head.

Maybe her mother wouldn’t disown her if she were expelled from Sion, but she was taking a huge risk trying to find out.

I refused to be part of it. She was my student, and it was my job to educate and discipline her. Anything else was an abuse of power.

At the sound of her approach, I realized I’d forgotten to check my watch. Had sixty seconds passed? Five minutes? We were already late. At this point, the only purpose in going to Mass was to teach her a lesson.

She couldn’t manipulate her way around the rules. I was far better at this than she was.

When she reached the stairwell, I inspected her uniform. The shirt was tucked in, the buttons closed from throat to waist. Her knee-high socks were pulled up tight, her loafers the appropriate style and color. In the winter, they wore school-issued cardigans. But it wasn’t necessary today.

“Kneel.” I walked a circle around her, noting the tension in her shoulders.

She wanted to argue but did as commanded and lowered to her knees.

“The skirt touches the floor as required.” I flicked a finger. “Stand.”

As she rose, her eyes blazed with outrage. The intensity took me aback. This was more than annoyance about conforming to the rules.

“Get it off your chest.” I crossed my arms. “But choose your words carefully.”

“Okay, well, that thing you just did with the skirt? It’s like so…” She made a sound of irritation. “Patriarchal.”

“Go on.”

“It’s needlessly demeaning. I mean, you can clearly see the length of my skirt without making me kneel for you. It’s an archaic act of shaming so characteristic of a system controlled by men. If I were a male student, I wouldn’t have to kneel during a wardrobe inspection. I wouldn’t even have to wear a skirt. It’s total bullsh—” She took a breath and calmed her voice. “It’s an outdated, sexist practice, one I strongly suggest you discontinue. You know, in the best interest of the students.”

I lowered my arms and stared at her, stunned. In the nine years I’d been running this school, not one girl had presented that compelling argument.

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes, Tinsley. You asserted your belief confidently, respectfully, and convincingly. You convinced me, which rarely happens. I’ll see to it that the practice is ceased by all staff members at Sion.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” I cocked my head. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean that shaming and humiliation won’t be used as forms of punishment.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows knitted. “Maybe I can assert an argument for that.”

Doubtful.“You can try. Another time.”

I led her out of the residence hall, and ten minutes later, we stood before the towering arched doors of the church. A choir of voices drifted from within, marking the end of the second reading. The service was halfway over.

With my hand on the door, I started to pull it open and stopped, looking back at my charge. “Have you ever been inside of a church?”

“I once took an Anusara yoga class in the house of a well-known witch coven.”

“Okay.” I breathed in slowly. “That’s not the same thing at all.”

“It sure felt churchy with all the stars and crosses engraved everywhere. Though they might’ve been inverted crosses.” She shrugged.

“Your goal today is to listen and observe. Follow my lead and sit, kneel, and stand when I do.”

I escorted her inside and spotted Crisanto at the pulpit, reading the gospel. Students from both campuses filled the pews from the front row to midway back. Boys on one side and girls on the other.

Dipping my fingers in the holy water, I made the sign of the cross. Then, to mitigate our disruption, I slipped into the last row with Tinsley at my side. No one noticed. At least, not right away.

As Crisanto moved on to the homily, one of the senior boys sitting a few pews before us glanced over his shoulder. He started to turn back and did a double take, his eyes locking on to Tinsley.

The little shit openly stared at her, stared harder, and continued to do so as his elbow rammed into the guy beside him. Within seconds, the entire row of senior boys was gawking at her.

I gave them the sternest look I had, but none of them caught it. They were spellbound by the Constantine princess. Maybe they recognized her from the press. But I knew it was more than that. The girl was a knockout. Stunning beyond anything these boys had ever encountered.

Out the corner of my eye, she held her palm out and blew them a kiss.

Some of them scrambled to catch it. None were listening to the sermon.

I angled toward her and growled in her ear. “This is your only warning. Do that again, and you’ll earn another strike.”

“Are these strikes given with a strap or a cane?” she whispered.

“Shut up and pay attention.”

Five minutes later, she was asleep, her neck hanging at an awkward angle, bobbing her head.

I grabbed a missal from the book rack and dropped the heavy text onto her lap.

She jumped, her arm flying out and nailing me in the chest.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

Within minutes, her head bobbed again.

And so it went. Through what little of Mass she was actually conscious, she groaned between the kneeling and standing, yawned through the prayers, smiled and winked at the boys, and tested my patience. She did everything wrong.

But she would learn. By the end of the day, she would understand the meaning of a hard lesson.