She cried because she was afraid for him out there alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. And though she didn’t know his thoughts, she knew they were dangerous company.

“Keep him safe, God,” she prayed aloud. “Don’t let him forget how loved he is. I love him and Kingsley loves him. Protect him and bring him home.”

These were simple prayers, children’s prayers, but they were all Nora had.

Usually, she prayed and went home again. But tonight her prayers felt insufficient. She needed something more. Not for God’s sake, really, but her own peace of mind. She left Gmork lightly snoozing on the floor by her pew and walked through the nave to the narthex, where she found a bank of votive candles and matches on an iron stand.

She stuffed a twenty into the offering box. A dollar for the candle. Nineteen dollars as a guilt-offering for all the dog hairs Gmork left behind.

With a practiced flick of the match, Nora lit a votive candle and whispered her brief prayer as she touched the tip of the flame to the wick.

“God, bring Søren home to us.”

Nora left her little prayer burning and slipped out the side door, Gmork at her heels. She saw almost no one out and about as she walked back to her house, Gmork at her side, keeping her safe from all the ghosts and goblins and dangerous drunks of New Orleans. Where Kingsley lived in a six-thousand square-foot Italianate mansion, she lived in a much smaller house, painted red and nearly hidden by a wrought iron fence and an enormous oak tree. The fence and tree were both festooned with Mardi Gras beads.

The beads were there when she bought the place, and she’d left them there since they were colorful and pretty. She assumed they’d wear out and drop off at some point, but mysteriously they’d multiplied. She never saw anyone adding to the beads, but there were undeniably more beads now than when she’d moved in. Reds and blues and purples and gold and black and white. But mostly silver.

One of these days, she was going to catch someone in the act of beading her house and she’d ask them why her and no one else on the street.

And why silver?

So far, no luck. But she could live with a little mystery in her life. Kept things from getting boring. Søren had taken a few strands of beads off her tree once and tied her up with them. It had been Mardi Gras in her bed that night.

“Søren,” Nora said to herself as she unlocked her backdoor. “Hurry up and get home, please. I miss you. My pussy misses you…”

That was not a prayer.

It was a cry for help.

Nora entered through the back door into her kitchen and flipped on the lights. She had mail—a handful of junk mail flyers. An electricity bill for her dungeon. A vet appointment reminder. The book she’d ordered (The Power and the Glory)…and a check from her publisher. A large check. After paying her bills with it, she’d have enough left over to buy that Harley-Davidson SuperLow in Iced Pearl she’d been eying. One step closer to being a Hells Angel than Søren.