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Back The Salt in Our Blood Save as PDF
Chapters (41)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. I.
  4. II.
  5. III.
  6. IV.
  7. V.
  8. VI.
  9. VII.
  10. VIII.
  11. IX.
  12. X.
  13. XI.
  14. XII.
  15. XIII.
  16. XIV.
  17. XV.
  18. XVI.
  19. XVII.
  20. XVIII.
  21. XIX.
  22. XX.
  23. XXI.
  24. XXII.
  25. XXIII.
  26. XXIV.
  27. XXV.
  28. XXVI.
  29. XXVII.
  30. XXVIII.
  31. XXIX.
  32. XXX.
  33. XXXI.
  34. XXXII.
  35. XXXIII.
  36. XXXIV.
  37. XXXV.
  38. EPILOGUE
  39. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  40. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  41. About the Author

He hands the bottle over, and I sniff it. It smells exactly like the mouthwash Moony used to buy me. I could hurdle some pews to bypass this guy, but I’ve always been a fan of the path of least resistance. “If I take a sip of your stupid drink, will you please get out of my way so I can leave?”

“But of course.” He gives a little curtsy. “I’m a gentleman after all.”

“Yeah, and I’m Mother Teresa.” I knock the bottle back, thinking I must be crazy to give in to this guy, but it’s obvious he knows my mom—it’s the only way he could know about Moony—and I didn’t smell anything off. Still, I keep my lips pressed tightly together, so only a little manages to make it into my mouth.

He actually says, “The body and blood of Christ,” as I take my sip, just like a priest giving communion.

I hand the bottle back to him. “Happy?”

“As a clam.” He slips the bottle back into his pocket and turns to one side, gesturing with his arms for me to pass.

I nearly sprint to the door. Just as I grab the handle, I hear him say, “Cat? Don’t be a stranger now.”

I shake my head and slip out into the waiting heat. I’ve had enough of this cathedral and enough of this city for one day. As the sun chases my chills away, I feel foolish. I shouldn’t have taken that drink, even if I kept most of it out of my mouth. This city is getting under my skin, weakening my judgment. I remind myself that grief does funny things to people. But I still feel unchecked.

I see my mother waiting for me across the square, waving a purple scarf over her head. My temples throb and my cheeks burn. That, in there, that rush to entertain the ravings of a madman? That’s a Mary thing. Not a Cat thing. And definitely not a Moony thing. I am prickly all over as this registers, like a mad cactus. Two days in her presence and she’s already influencing me. I can’t stop thinking about the cards, the letters, and the secrets in between. Bone up, Cat, I tell myself. You will need skin like an armadillo if you want to keep the city at bay and survive the next year with her. But it’s the parts that have already gotten in that worry me most as I wipe the last traces of peppermint from my lips.

VIII.