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“In, um, some versions of the myth,” I say, with a final lick of my own lips, “it's after Persephone eats the fruit that she belongs to Hades forever.”
“Then I guess that means you are mine, beautiful one.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
We might be doomed, but right now, it still feels like we can beat this.
We have to.
I take another bite of the pomegranate, and then kiss Odai again.
Odai
Jeffrey and I awake on Thursday morning to discover Mrs. Sherman has plastered the front windows of Mad Madame Mattie’s with fliers.
They are not cordial.
Jeffrey tears them down with fury on his face.
Mrs. Sherman will be dealt with, and her energies are wasted regardless, given my marketing ideas and efforts with neighboring businesses are proving to be even more prosperous than Jeffrey could have… well, wished. It has been agreed upon to reopen some of the tunnels, something I have been preparing for by helping to repair the structural integrity. This will not only procure more patrons but prove safer than in years past.
I try to comfort Jeffrey with this knowledge, but I can tell that Mrs. Sherman’s fliers have effectively distracted him for Thursday night’s tours. Perhaps he is also distracted by his mission to save me. He learned something at The Magic Shop, but he has not told me what. It must be something difficult, something personal, for when I peeked in on him while he was dressing and making himself up for the evening, he seemed fixated on the mirror like he was trying to see something that isn’t there.
Something he wishes was there?
But a wish I cannot grant.
Friday morning comes with the same plastering of fliers, now with mention of official backing from St. Mary’s church. Mrs. Sherman might have lost control over her crowd of protesters the other day, but she retains support. Since the church is also in the way of Jeffrey’s primary wish, they must be dealt with as well.
“You’re going to what?”
“I am going to visit the church,” I repeat, “to propose some promotional opportunities with them like with the other businesses.”
“But they hate us! I thought we agreed to focus on our friends first.”
“And we have. Now, it is time to make new friends.”
I can tell Jeffrey is skeptical, but I have done my research on St. Mary’s just as I have on Mrs. Sherman.
I wear an outfit that fits my tastes but is more professional for today’s meeting, sleeker and monochrome in all beige. Jeffrey insists on accompanying me. He is nervous when we arrive, fidgety as we are made to wait in the office for several minutes before the head priest and Mrs. Boone, the parish administrator, join us.
“Mary Magdalene,” I say, without so much as an introduction.
Mrs. Boone chuckles. “If your intentions are to remind us that the church has a long-standing history of forgiving sinners, Mr. Jinn, I will remind you that they are still required to ask for forgiveness and to attempt to avoid their vices and wrongdoings in the future.” She is a stern woman but does not have the vitriol of Mrs. Sherman. The priest, Father Thomas, does not seem outright hostile toward us either. A good sign.
“Precisely right,” I say. “Mary Magdalene is the most recognizable name of a sinner who exemplifies your church’s beliefs on redemption. I know more such names. Local names. It could benefit us both to feature stories of those who turned to your church in the time of Madame Mattie.”
Jeffrey glances at me. It seems he didn’t know this part of the brothel’s history.
“While our midnight tours aim to entertain,” I continue, “capitalizing on those who enjoy a little crude humor, the purpose has always been to spread the building’s history, to spread the truth of what happened there. The day tours, which are intended as family friendly, could use a few rewrites, if St. Mary’s would like to be highlighted.”
Neither Mrs. Boone sitting nor Father Thomas standing beside her responds, but I have their attention.
“Our objective is to help make our community stronger, to bolster each other. Isn’t that what Mrs. Sherman with her misguided fliers and occasional bouts on a megaphone claims that she is doing? There are several stories of Mattie’s seamstresses and tailors seeking redemption here, along with records of how the church aided the children born of the brothel’s wicked practices.
“Imagine the good press, the good will fostered in this community by turning the other cheek, as it were, and making amends with an establishment you could have otherwise been enemies with. If we can agree on that, we can leave out the scandal of Father Lewis, the priest who fell in love with one of Mattie’s seamstresses and chose to leave the church with a very public denouncing of its practices.”
I see a smile twitch to life on Jeffrey’s face.
