Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  Dawn sat beside Mallory, and the young woman appeared nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof as she observed the silent battle. There was food laid out, but nobody ate. It was by far the most solemn "party" Claudia had ever attended, and she wondered how it could even be considered a celebration without a birthday cake.

  Something had to be done.

  "I don't see what all the fuss is about," she grumbled, and made the bold first move towards the munchies. Chewing on a crudité, Claudia then gestured around the table, carrot stub in hand. "Some bald-headed mouth breather arrives, and you make him a cuppa. He eats a crisp or two. We all drool over the bloody damned diamond, and then he whisks it away into the night. Am I missing anything?"

  Everyone seated did a slow turn towards her, their faces pictures of varying shock, disdain, and humor. When there was a knock at the front door, most made a mad dash to escape, and answer it.

  "No, I don't think you've missed anything, Claudia," Mallory scoffed, and crossed her arms. "Unlike the time of the ceremony on your wedding invitations."

  The dig at the printer's error had Claudia quick on the defensive. "Yes well, we wanted a smaller wedding anyway. Less people will miss us when we move – nnnngh," she grunted as Elisabeth squeezed her thigh beneath the table.

  The intentionally spilled information made Mallory's face screw up in anger, and pain. "Move?! Whatever do you mean?" she blurted out, and reached towards Elisabeth. "What nonsense is this?"

  Elisabeth looked dolefully at the ceiling, and released her grip on Claudia's thigh. "February 28th, Mallie. We're going to Norway for the honeymoon on February 15th, and our things will already be packed to be moved by the 28th. I'll only be coming back to say goodbye, and supervise."

  "Goodbye?" Mallory questioned, folding in on herself before Claudia's eyes with the weight of sudden sadness.

  "Ah geez, Mallory," she interrupted, abashed at the turmoil she'd created with her mouth. The woman's responses were harder to anticipate ever since she began therapy, and they were giving Claudia whiplash.

  Elisabeth had warned her that Mallory's moods ran the gamut from irascible to immature and back again in the blink of an eye, and Mallory had only been to two appointments.

  Granted, Dr. Sheehan had insisted on a rapid course of action once she saw the way Mallory tore up her own neck. They'd traveled back and forth to some fancy clinic in Scarborough that the doctor trusted, and the "treatments" had been hours long.

  Claudia refused to be blamed by Dawn or Elisabeth for being the cause of yet another one of Mallory's moods today. It was the harridan's birthday, after all.

  Sighing dramatically, she tried to backpedal, and fast. "It's not like Dawn hasn't sent out applications to universities in the States. Half of them are in Washington D.C., or Virginia. We'll come and visit, when we can."

  Their conversation was discontinued when guests poured back into the kitchen, chatting loudly. Along with them were a wind-blown Dr. Sheehan and, as fate would have it, a balding man in a dark suit.

  The gemologist had beady eyes behind thick glasses, and he wiped a sweaty forehead like a pompous arse with his handkerchief. Looking at Mallory like she was a viper, and he the prey that had stumbled upon her den, the stranger somehow managed to collect himself enough to bob his shiny head in deference.

  "Miss LaFey! I mean – " he blundered over his introduction and gave a throaty, uncomfortable laugh.

  When met with silence, the man tried again by offering a hand to shake. "Miss Moore. Miss... Mallory Moore. My name is Tim Reardon, and it's quite an honor."

  With a stare that conveyed the suffering at the reminder of who she really was, and promised agony for the gemologist who dared speak it, Mallory declined the handshake. She pushed aside a bowl of crisps and reached into her pocket, dragging out a diamond wreath with an even larger pendant, and dumped it on the table like spare change.

  Both Dawn and Mr. Reardon had similar reactions to Mallory's careless treatment of the bauble, though the gemologist was more comical. Gasping aloud, he brought a fist to his lips like he wanted to bite it, and whined pathetically for the words he dared not speak.

  For her part, Dawn merely gasped Mallory's name in exasperation. The fact that Mallory allowed her to do so without batting an eyelash at the young blonde spoke volumes, and Claudia took note of it.

  The remaining guests took this moment to take their seats again, though Dr. Sheehan placed a supportive hand on Mallory's shoulder.

  It was promptly shrugged off, and Mallory almost growled at the poor sod, who was still standing. "Well, get on with it, would you? I have a birthday to celebrate."

  "Of course, ma'am," Reardon assented, and produced a brand new pair of white gloves from a crisp plastic sleeve inside his briefcase. Slipping them on, he lifted the necklace from the table with great reverence, and cradled the pear-shaped diamond like the Christ child Himself.

  After attaching a magnifier to his thick glasses, Reardon squinted down at the gem, while hefting it over in his hand. "Ehm, if I could have some assistance?"

  To Claudia's bewilderment, Dawn piped up first.

  "I'll help you, Mr. Reardon," the bubbly girl volunteered, and rummaged through the briefcase like an old professional. She snapped a portable lamp together with ease, and handed the man what appeared to be a gauge of some sort.

  "Thank you, Miss Rose," he smiled genuinely, and measured the length and width of the diamond with the tool. Next came the lamp, which glowed golden against the wooden tabletop, though the bulb itself was blue. "Everyone might want to look away for this bit. I'm used to it, but..."

  Elisabeth and the other guests did as Reardon suggested, but Dawn, Mallory, and Claudia looked on. Four pairs of eyes watched as the gloved hands slipped the jewel beneath the light, transforming it from an ordinary chocolate brown into shades of glittering orange fire.

  "Jesus H!" Claudia exclaimed, averting her gaze from the prisms and fractals that shone off the diamond like lasers. "What the fook is that?"

  Grinning broadly at her, the gemologist took the necklace from beneath the lamp and tucked it into a blue velvet case that Dawn produced. "The Chrysanthemum. She glows like the passion of Heaven, and the fires of Hell," he spouted off like a crazed cult adherent.

  Mallory snorted indelicately, and the back of a hand smacked softly against her shoulder.

  Dawn's face pinked with an embarrassed smile. "Stop that," she giggled.

  The she-devil looked up at her girlfriend and hummed a short reply, cheeking her own smile for the radiant young woman that called her bluff.

  "Well?" Mallory raised her brow towards Mr. Reardon, and leaned back to cross her arms again.

  "It is her," he assured, more to himself than anyone else. "The firm will attend its auction per your request. I believe you're asking for three quarters profit?"

  Nodding her agreement, Mallory finally took the opportunity to grab a carrot from the plate, and munched it slowly. She was well aware of how the wait would set the man on edge. "Starting bid?"

  Reardon took his kerchief out to pat his sweaty brow once more. "Thirty million," he offered. "It's a solid launching point."

  A sharp inhalation was the start to Mallory's first retort, but it seemed to flicker out by the time it reached her tongue. "Done," she relented, and made a haughty shooing motion with her hands. "Remove it from my sight."

  She may have been attempting to hide her fear in allowing the diamond out of her possession, but Claudia knew that Mallory only brought out that prideful attitude when really, truly afraid. She had seen it when Elisabeth threatened to end their friendship, and thrown Mallory out of their home. It had been the same expression that met her when she chased a fever-crazed Mallory around this very cottage with a syringe of Orfimev.

  The gemologist did as he was ordered, and packed his briefcase with the blue velvet box, and his tools. When the case was closed, he produced a set of tiny keys from a chain attached to his belt, and locked it shut.

  "
Now, let's get this party started," Dr. Sheehan interrupted the silence, and produced a two layer chocolate cake from her bag on the floor. Sliding it onto the counter, she went about removing the confection from its protective box.

  The guests all whooped with glee and excitement, but Mallory shrunk from the cake as Dr. Sheehan placed it in front of her. "Margaret, you didn't!"

  "You promised to try," the psychologist reminded Mallory over her protests. "Just try."

  Dawn, with her kind and understanding heart, sat as close to Mallory as she could without crawling into her lap. Taking two candles from the doctor's hand, she pressed them into the top of the cake, and lit them with a match offered from Robin Flaherty.

  "See? Three," she whispered, choking on withheld tears. "… and zero. Thirty."

  "Happy Birthday to you..." the nun started to sing, twirling her fingers in the air to carry the tune.

  Eventually, all but Mallory and Claudia joined in. This time, when their gazes met across the table and a single tear worked its way down Mallory's cheek, Claudia tried to look sympathetic.

  Mr. Reardon leaned against the wall, crying openly as he warbled his way through the song. Claudia scrunched her nose at the man who acted just as proudly as someone singing the national anthem. He sure was a daffy bloke.

  Once the tune ended, Mallory closed her eyes, and refused to look at the burning candles any longer.

  Leaning her head against Mallory's shoulder, Dawn released a slow, patient sigh. "Make a wish?" she coaxed. "You have to make a wish."

  Taking a giant breath in, Mallory held it for a few seconds as her eyes opened to dart around the room. At long last satisfied with what she saw, her eyelids drifted back shut.

  Extinguishing the flames with one blow, she made her first birthday wish in sixteen years.

  Chapter 28: Devotio (Devotion)

  Three Years Later

  Mallory stared, steadfast, into the mirror of her dressing table.

  The oohs and aahs echoing from Isla’s bedroom down the hall, where Dawn was getting ready, had Elisabeth’s head turning in that direction every few minutes.

  Clearing her throat got her best friend’s attention, and Mallory tried to aim her baleful glare at the ceiling instead of the startled blue eyes that looked into the mirror from behind her. “Are you going to help me, or did you fly twenty-one hours to be distracted by women gushing over Dawn?”

  A hand squeezed her shoulder gently, and before Mallory could protest, Elisabeth stuffed herself onto the bench beside her.

  “That kind of temper is usually reserved for when you’re nervous,” Elisabeth teased while nudging their shoulders together. “You aren’t nervous, are you? You’re the one that proposed on Christmas morning, and stole the poor girl’s thunder.”

  “That was a promise ring,” Mallory muttered. “If you’re going to natter on about my stealing anything, rewind two years and eleven months from Christmas, and tell the story right.”

  “You stole her heart long before then, and you know it Mallie,” Elisabeth bit back, and took one of Mallory’s hands that were rubbing lotion in a wringing motion for far longer than needed. “Anyway, she wouldn’t let you get her another ring. Dawn knew what you meant by it – same as you wear the ring set that she got for you that year.”

  With an irritated huff, Mallory stopped and turned to face her confidante for the better part of twelve years. Though it pained her confess it, being honest with Elisabeth was far easier than anyone else, save her fianceé.

  “I’m sorry for being difficult. If you must know, of cour – ” she choked on her admission. “Of course I’m nervous.”

  Elisabeth changed the subject. “I know what you need!” she snapped her fingers, and stood up. “You need to get ready. Then if I have to chase you, other people will help me.”

  “And why would they help you do that?” Mallory drawled, and rolled her eyes at the flawed logic.

  “Nobody likes to see a runaway bride,” Elisabeth retorted. After wandering over to the walk in wardrobe, she unzipped the dress bag that hung from the door, and fluffed out the silk gown with lace overlay.

  It was form-fitted, with a plunging neckline, but to her eye somewhat plain for a wedding dress. That was the way Mallory had wanted it. She didn’t much care for the idea of everyone staring at her today, and preferred the spotlight on the one whom she considered far more deserving of it. The only thing that gave the dress away was the color – white.

  Taking it off of the hanger, Elisabeth bunched the bodice in her hands, and held it out. She turned to see Mallory already standing in the middle of the bedroom, her arms stretched upwards.

  Mallory decided to play nice – whatever that meant for today – and conceded that Elisabeth might be a little bit correct. If she put the dress on, the tension gnawing at her gut might go away.

  Without another word, Elisabeth had rushed forward to stuff the dress over her arms, and tugged it down once Mallory had slipped the straps over her shoulders. A flurry of pale blue chiffon and braided blonde hair moved behind her to zip up the dress, and she pulled her hair over a shoulder to assist.

  “At least you’re wearing white today. I had expected you to do something more non-traditional,” Elisabeth murmured. “You wore red to my wedding, for Gud’s sakes.”

  Mallory brushed her fingers along imaginary imperfections on the dress bodice. “It was burgundy, I’ll have you know. Dawn convinced me that wearing black would be too disrespectful.”

  Elisabeth tugged at the back of the dress more harshly than was needed to fit the clasp together securely, and Mallory hissed. She heard the smile when her friend issued her own reply, verbally this time.

  “I don’t pretend to know why you and my wife don’t get on. You never have.”

  “I didn’t disapprove of your choice of bride, Elisabeth,” Mallory chuckled. “We just disapprove of each other in general.”

  Crouching down carefully to slip a pair of low-heeled satin sandals onto Mallory’s feet, Elisabeth spoke under her breath, but loud enough to hear. “You make absolutely no sense some days, Mallie.”

  The only thing that made sense to Mallory today was seeing Dawn at the end of the pathway to their garden. Everything else in her mind was a jumbled mess, and so she let the statement slide.

  After wriggling her toes to secure her step, she walked forward to the dressing table and opened the top drawer to reveal a pair of folded black opera gloves. These Mallory took out, and slid them fluidly up each arm. They would be her only adornment, and she’d set her mind to it long ago.

  “I knew it!” Elisabeth crowed from her spot a few feet away, her face screwed up in distaste. “Black leather gloves on your wedding day, and not a stitch of jewelry besides your rings. Only you would do such a thing.”

  An ear-splitting screech of happiness sounded from the other side of the cottage. While Elisabeth winced at it, Mallory grinned.

  “Three… two… one…” she counted aloud, and the noisy pounding of little feet stopped just outside her door.

  “Mallory, she’s so beautiful!” Isla yelled. “See you outside!”

  _____________________________________

  The day had passed in such a whirlwind that Dawn could scarcely believe it happened.

  In the morning, she had been primped and polished to the point of frustration by her friends from university, Serena, and Eileen. Dawn only considered the job done once she had received a hug and a teary kiss from her sister Isla.

  The eleven-year-old had then tore down the hallway in a blur of ballet pink gossamer, to yell at Mallory through their bedroom door.

  Isla’s flower girl dress had been a nod to Dawn’s own gown, which was a dreamy confection of tea stained blush pink layers of sheer fabric, gathered into tendrils of free form roses everywhere. It floated behind her when she walked, and made her feel like something out of a fairy tale. Mallory had agreed with that assessment to a degree.

  “You look like a fairy princess,” t
he vision in stark, simple white declared before Dawn could catch her breath from walking down the garden’s improvised aisle. Mallory’s lips were bare, save a little gloss, but her smile had been blinding as Dawn walked towards her.

  Handing her bouquet over to Isla, Dawn stood next to Mallory under the gazebo. It had been her birthday present last year, and she couldn’t imagine being married anywhere else. Her hand slipped into Mallory’s, and she was startled by the touch of buttery-soft leather beneath her fingers.