“What is it? What are you afraid of?”

Nora swallowed a lump in her throat.

“I’m not leaving the man I love. I’m not. I won’t.”

“I would never tell you to.”

“You already did.” She reached out, picked up the card of The High Priest.

“Your lover is a priest, isn’t he?” Mercedes asked. Nora nodded slowly. “You’re the mistress of a warlock. No wonder there’s so much power around you. You’re sleeping with a warlock.”

Nora laughed out loud. Rude? Yes. Unbelievably rude. But she couldn’t stop herself. It was all too ridiculous. Søren. A warlock.

“Laugh all you want,” Mercedes said. “Laugh all you can. I know you think I’m crazy. It’s all right. I’m not the one sleeping with a priest. Even I know better than that.”

“What’s wrong with sleeping with a priest? Other than I’m not supposed to do that and neither is he.”

“Priests have power. Too much of it. You can’t go around sticking your fingers into light sockets and not expecting to get shocked. But be the Fool if you like. There’s a place for them in this world, too.” She held up another card—The Fool.

“You’re not going to make me leave the man I’ve loved my entire life. The only reason I came here was to make sure I didn’t need to be afraid of you. I can tell I don’t have to be, so I won’t be. Although if I were you, I’d stay away from my house from now on. We’re installing a security system.”

“I’ll stay away.”

Nora stood up though she didn’t want to. The shop felt as comfortable as a soft warm bed and leaving it just as hard. Mercedes stayed at her table, staring at the cards before her.

“Nora,” Mercedes said. Nora turned back. “Just so you know, I’m more scared of you than you are of me.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Okay, so Nora had been right. Going for a run with Søren? It was a trap.

The first mile was okay. Cyrus could do an eight-minute mile, no problem. He could do an eight-minute mile for a mile. Mile two got a little tougher. For Cyrus, that is. Søren kept on running, feet pounding the pavement like clockwork, breaths pumping steady and hard as a locomotive. But that couldn’t last, right? Not running eight-minute miles.

Mile three? Holy shit.

Cyrus actually said, “Holy shit!” out loud when the run stretched into mile four.

“You need to stop?” Søren asked.

“Two minutes.”

They jogged to a stop and stepped off the trail. It had been Søren’s suggestion they run the Mississippi River trail, something he’d been meaning to do. Cyrus had assumed they’d run a couple miles of it, maybe make a loop.

Seemed to him like Søren was intent on running all 60.8 miles of it. That morning.

“Are you all right?” Søren asked.

Cyrus glared at the man. They’d both shown up at the start of the trail wearing t-shirts. Cyrus paired his with his favorite Nike shorts, while Søren wore black running pants. Cyrus had stripped out of his t-shirt by the end of mile one. Søren was still wearing his. Cyrus was breathing hard, eyes burning from sweat. Søren wasn’t even winded.