Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

apple was still there, sitting innocuously at the edge of the shelf. He'd leave the podium to last, Corin decided, and then wash around the apple if he had to.
    Maybe it had been there before? How much attention had he really been paying to the podium earlier? Maybe he'd looked at the bottom shelf and decided the top shelf was empty as well? Corin glanced at the podium again—the apple wasn't on the edge of the shelf like he'd thought, but six inches back, shadowed by the sides of the podium.
    He was being as bad as Karli's dramatics again, Corin thought, rising to his knees to reach higher on the candelabra he was cleaning. The apple was probably some priest's breakfast snack. Except apples weren't in season, Corin's traitorous mind told him. How would a perfectly ripe apple exist this far away from fall? Corin's stomach flipped again, and a chill raced down his spine. He stared resolutely at the candelabra, refusing to give into the urge to check if the apple was still there.
    The sound of footsteps on the dais brought Corin's head around, and he stared at Rafferty for a moment before turning to check the podium. The cubbies were completely empty again, and Corin's stomach settled, the uneasiness disappearing as suddenly as it had come. What in the world was going on?
    "Come with me, please," Rafferty said, breaking into Corin's thoughts. He looked grim, and Corin wondered if he'd done something wrong. He'd been doing what he was told, cleaning the dais. Scrambling to his feet, Corin dropped his rag into his bucket and obediently headed after Rafferty, his mind racing.
    The apple had been there. He knew it had been there, even if it hadn't been there when he'd started cleaning the dais. Running a hand through his hair in agitation, Corin didn't pay any attention as Rafferty led him out of the sermon hall. Maybe he had been seeing things. It wasn't as though he'd been sleeping well lately. There was every chance that his lack of sleep was playing games in his head.
    Rafferty stopped suddenly, and Corin barely stopped himself before he ran into Rafferty's back. Rafferty pulled out a key and unlocked the door in front of him and then pushed the door open. He stepped inside, holding the door for Corin. He shut the door firmly, and Corin clearly heard the lock slide home, leaving him once more feeling unsettled.
    That feeling didn't abate as Rafferty started chanting softly, rhythmically, and Corin took a few steps further into the room, away from Rafferty, as though that would do him any good if Rafferty were about to kill him or do something dire to him. Rafferty didn't look particularly murderous, Corin admitted, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Rafferty chant at the door.
    Rafferty was handsome, Corin admitted to himself. He had bright, golden blond hair that was tied back at the nape of his neck. His eyes were hazel, bright and sharp as he chanted. He had a strong chin and high cheekbones, and Corin was staring. Turning away, Corin stared at the room, trying to distract himself. Nothing about this felt right—from the apple to Rafferty's chanting at the door.
    The room was small and smelled of soap and dust. It had two large windows overlooking the fields below. A small writing desk was set against one wall with a matching chair. A shabby blue rug marked a circle across the stone floor. Other than that, the room was empty, sparse and quiet.
    When Rafferty stopped chanting, Corin turned back towards the door where Rafferty stood. He looked pensive again, not happy, and Corin crossed his arms, waiting for whatever bad news Rafferty had. It was obvious he had something to say to Corin, and it wasn't going to be happy, judging from the expression on his face.
    "Have a seat, please," Rafferty said quietly. He gestured towards the chair by the writing desk, and Corin obediently crossed the room, sitting down. His stomach sank. He wasn't allowed to contact home, but what if something had happened to his mother or one of his sisters? Surely they'd tell him that, and what else would Rafferty pull him away from everyone else to tell him? The chanting was still strange, though.
    "I need your help," Rafferty said, his voice still quiet as he walked over to the windows. He touched a finger to one of the panes of glass and started chanting again. The windows turned darker, as though they had a sheer black curtain covering them. Corin stared, but he wasn't seeing things. The windows were definitely darker, as was