“Good. Just checking.”

When they arrived at their destination, the driver held open the door for them. Sam exited the car first and then held out her hand to Kingsley.

“Might I assist you, ma’am?” Sam asked.

“Who said chivalry was dead?” Kingsley took her hand, and she pulled him—high heels, corset and all—out of the car.

Side by side they stood on the sidewalk in the light of a lamppost, in the shadow of a ghost.

“What are we doing here?” Sam demanded. “This is the hotel Fuller’s church bought, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Why are we here?”

“Because I want it.”

“The city sold the place to them two weeks ago. It’s not on the market anymore.”

“I’ve fucked more married women than I can count,” Kingsley said. “If something’s worth owning, it’s worth stealing.”

“You are an interesting man, Kingsley Edge,” Sam said, watching him as he scanned the exterior of the hotel. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“You seduce straight girls in order to make them question their sexuality. Jury is still out on you, too,” he said. “And for the record, I have had sex with lesbians before.”

“Yeah, how did that happen?”

“One was on an ‘orientation vacation’ as she called it. The other didn’t know she was until after we had sex.”

“Ouch,” Sam said.

“There were no hard feelings. Especially after she told me she was gay.”

They walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the building. It was boarded up and chained. Yellow caution tape warned passersby away. Signs and notices declared it condemned and closed.

Kingsley was undeterred.

“What did the newspaper say about this place?” Kingsley asked.

“According to the Times, it was called The Renaissance. Now it’s The Nothing since it’s been closed for ten years.”

“Why does a church want a hotel?”

“Reverend Fuller wants to expand his empire of conservative family values into the heart of New York City blah blah bullshit et cetera,” Sam said. “In the interview in the paper he said something about how, unlike the righteous Lot who fled from Sodom, WTL Ministries will infiltrate the city of New York and save it from within.”

“The righteous Lot fucked his own daughters,” Kingsley said. “I wonder if Reverend Fuller remembers that part.”

“You know the Bible?” Sam asked.

“I went to an all-boys Catholic school.”

“How did you survive that?”

“By sleeping with a teacher.”

“Was she hot?”

“He was, yes.”

Kingsley made a circuit of the exterior of the building. For all the dirt and decay, it had beautiful old bones. Twelve fifty-foot high lancet windows adorned the main floor. The top two floors were decorated with jutting corbels that look like the beaks of birds. The entire building, with its dark exterior and stone plumage, gave off the impression of a great stone raven, hunched over in the cold and sleeping.

“Maybe we can find out who sold the place,” Sam said. “I’m sure we could get the real estate agent to show us the inside. Maybe they can show us another building like this one but not already owned by a cult.”

“Or we can look inside it now and see if it’s worth stealing.” Kingsley strode to a boarded-up door and kicked. The door flew open.

“Damn,” Sam said.

“I know.” Kingsley frowned. He held up his shoe. “I broke a heel. Petra’s going to kill me.”

He took off both shoes and stepped barefoot into the building. Sam followed.

“What the hell am I doing?” Sam asked herself as she walked in behind Kingsley. “I’ve never met you before tonight, and here I am, breaking and entering a building owned by the creepiest church in America.”

“I told you I’d get you into trouble,” he said. “I’m keeping my promise.”

“You know we could get arrested for this,” Sam said.

“I have a DA’s wife in my pocket,” Kingsley said. He reached out and flipped a wall switch. Surprisingly the lights worked. The church must have had the power turned back on already. Overhead a dusty chandelier cast dingy hexagons of light onto the seedy carpet. “And the DA, too.”

“You must have big pockets.”

Kingsley turned and faced Sam.

“What do I need to know about you?” he asked.

Sam stuffed her hands in her pockets. “There’s not much to know about me.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Samantha Jean Fleming. I’m twenty-six. I’m a lesbian.”

“You don’t say.”

“Shut up,” she said, laughing. “You have no room to talk, Dr. Frank-N-Furter.”

Kingsley flipped another light switch.

“What else?”

“Nothing much else.”

Kingsley gazed at her.

He touched her chin, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

“Can I trust you?” he asked.

“I hope so. And if you’re against Fuller’s church, I’m on your side. I don’t know if that answers your question or not.”

“It’s a good answer. On my side is where I need you.”

“After what you did for me tonight at the club, I’m yours,” she said. “Just not in a sexual way. Every other way.”