“I went to an all-boys Catholic school.”
“How did you survive that?”
“By sleeping with a teacher.”
“Was she hot?”
“He was, yes.”
Kingsley made a circuit of the exterior of the building. For
all the dirt and decay, it had beautiful old bones. Twelve fiftyfoot high lancet windows adorned the main f loor. The top
two f loors were decorated with jutting corbels that look like
the beaks of birds. The entire building, with its dark exterior and stone plumage, gave off the impression of a great stone
raven, hunched over in the cold and sleeping.
“Maybe we can find out who sold the place,” Sam said. “I’m
sure we could get the real estate agent to show us the inside.
Maybe they can show us another building like this one but
not already owned by a cult.”
“Or we can look inside it now and see if it’s worth stealing.” Kingsley strode to a boarded-up door and kicked. The
door f lew open.
“Damn,” Sam said.
“I know.” Kingsley frowned. He held up his shoe. “I broke
a heel. Petra’s going to kill me.”
He took off both shoes and stepped barefoot into the building. Sam followed.
“What the hell am I doing?” Sam asked herself as she
walked in behind Kingsley. “I’ve never met you before tonight, and here I am, breaking and entering a building owned
by the creepiest church in America.”
“I told you I’d get you into trouble,” he said. “I’m keeping my promise.”
“You know we could get arrested for this,” Sam said. “I have a DA’s wife in my pocket,” Kingsley said. He
reached out and f lipped a wall switch. Surprisingly the lights
worked. The church must have had the power turned back
on already. Overhead a dusty chandelier cast dingy hexagons
of light onto the seedy carpet. “And the DA, too.” “You must have big pockets.”
Kingsley turned and faced Sam.
“What do I need to know about you?” he asked. Sam stuffed her hands in her pockets. “There’s not much
to know about me.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Samantha Jean Fleming. I’m twenty-six. I’m a lesbian.” “You don’t say.”
“Shut up,” she said, laughing. “You have no room to talk,
Dr. Frank-N-Furter.”
Kingsley f lipped another light switch.
“What else?”
“Nothing much else.”
Kingsley gazed at her.
He touched her chin, tilting it up to meet his eyes. “Can I trust you?” he asked.
“I hope so. And if you’re against Fuller’s church, I’m on
your side. I don’t know if that answers your question or not.” “It’s a good answer. On my side is where I need you.” “After what you did for me tonight at the club, I’m yours,”
she said. “Just not in a sexual way. Every other way.” “So, what do you think of the place?” Kingsley asked. “It’s definitely a wreck,” Sam said as they wandered down
the hall. “The newspaper said the church got a deal on it because the city was about to condemn the place. But you can
tell it was beautiful once.”
“I like that it’s not beautiful anymore. I like that it’s been
hurt.”
“It’s kind of big for a BDSM club. Most kink clubs I know
are little shitholes.”
“Well, my club will be a big shithole.”
They entered what had been the lobby of the hotel and
found moth-eaten furniture, fading Persian rugs, layers of
grime on a curved bar—grime and grim everywhere they
looked. Once, the decor had been blue and red and gold, but
now everything had faded to a dull gray. Kingsley opened a
set of double doors, and Sam peered over his shoulder. “It looks like an old concert hall.” Sam pointed up at the
ceiling. “Or a dining hall. Hard to tell.”
She and Kingsley walked through the dining room, step
ping over broken chairs, breathing in dust-filled air. “Is that an elevator?” Kingsley asked.
“Looks like it.” Sam pointed upward. “There’s some kind