When my legs cramped the first time, I’d walked around. An old woman passed me as we approached the candle rails. She lowered herself carefully to the kneeler, bowed her head, and clasped her hands. I stepped away to let her remember and pray in peace.
The deacon approached, wringing his hands as I resumed my uncomfortable seat. “I’m sorry, Miss Kelley, Father Robicheau called to say he won’t return until much later. I’ll be glad to call you when he returns.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll wait.” I tried to feign a relaxed posture.
The deacon, who’s name I’d already forgotten, glanced over his shoulder at the sacristy door. “It would be b-best if you, uh…”
“He’s in the sacristy and told you to get rid of me.”
Nothing could have been more confirmation than the way the deacon’s head whipped around, or the way his blue eyes bugged out of his head. “Wha… I don’t—no, that’s not, he’s visiting—”
“Infirm and unwell congregants,” I said. “Right. Got it. How about you take me to his office. He has something for me. I’ll take care of two errands at once.”
His forehead wrinkles deepened as he looked over his shoulder again. The lack of hair above the laurel wreath of spare strands crowning his ears made sense. Poor guy probably worried off every strand. “It’s against the rules to admit you to the sacristy or private offices.”
I stood to his almost comical relief. “Rules are meant to be broken,” I said. “That’s what parochial school taught me.” With a wink, I walked around him and his astonishment to the sacristy door behind the altar.
The commotion of hurried footsteps on creaky wooden floors greeted me before I opened the door. I grinned. If he was running, discovering what the good Father had to hide might actually be fun.
Sister Betty would be the first to warn me not to do it.
The door opened on silent hinges. I hesitated, my foot hovering over the threshold.
She’d warn me that nothing good came from lone wolf hunts. That “a Scooby-Doo crew of at least two means back up and safety for you.” She’d even made me recite the stupid rhyme from memory. But Marty knew where I was, and this wasn’t a monster hunt.
“Miss Kelley, I assure you, I will call you when Father Robicheau returns.” The deacon tugged at my shoulder, but the taller man had no chance of moving me without my consent or participation. Superior muscle mass for the win.
“That’s fine.” I shook off his grip and continuing down the hall. “I’ll just get what I need from his office while I wait.”
He argued.
I ignored.
The office door was closed, but unlocked. When I opened it, a red-faced Father Robicheau sat behind his desk, his hands primly folded on the calendar. “Miss Kelley,” he said, a little breathless.
“Tsk tsk,” I said to the stammering deacon behind me. “‘Thou shalt not lie’ is a commandment, isn’t it? Seems like the Father has been here all along.”
The deacon cringed.
“No, Miss Kelley, Deacon Paul wasn’t aware I’d returned from my visits.” Father Robicheau stood, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Father, I’m s—”
“Thank you, Paul. Please leave us now.” The strange harshness in his voice silenced the other man. Every nerve in my body tingled, though I couldn’t figure out why this felt so wrong. “Bad cleric” was such a cliché that it couldn’t possibly be what was going on, yet the “hinky” was undeniable. Once the door closed, Robicheau turned his rigid smile back to me and sat. “How can I help you today?”
“How were your visits?” I sat back and watched him.
The brittle smile wavered with the unexpected question. “Fine, fine. Our devoted members who cannot make it to Mass still require spiritual support. Like Mrs. McGillicutty. Devout woman in her nineties. She’s fortunate enough to still get around, but getting here is challenging most of the time.” He picked something from his sleeve, his shoulders relaxing. “That and her toy poodle requires more attention as it ages.”
I nodded. “Sounds like tending to your flock’s a full-time job.”
He bristled. “Of course.”
“Then we’ve got something in common.”
“Perhaps.” Sitting back in the chair, he clasped his hands, elbows resting on the arms of the chairs. “Though I nurture the spiritual well-being of the faithful, not to enable their sinful behaviors. As a matter of fact, I still have things to take care of, so while I hate to rush you, I must ask again, how can I help you?”
Oh, this would be fun after all. I “enabled sinful behavior”? This might run deep and require some assistance from Marty, but what fun it would be to unravel. I might even consider this part of my vacation. Watching him struggle with calm, I tried to hide my amusement. “Of course. I’d like another chance to go through Sister Evangeline’s cache. We encountered the Black Dog last night and need to adjust our plan. As well as address another challenge we encountered.”
“Oh?” He shifted, his face a kaleidoscope of emotion.
Bait taken. “You may be able to help. Do you know who has access to the keys for the Saint Louis Cemetery Number One? Anyone who might have been there last night?”
He shook his head, lips pursed. “Not that I can think of. The Archdiocese controls access, both for tourists and family of the departed. No one should be there without authorization. How do you know someone was there?”
“Would you be able to get a list of those with access?”
“Why should I do that, Miss Kelley?” A red flush crept up his neck and colored the tips of his ears. “That’s not relevant to your assignment.”
“As of last night, it is.” I shrugged, trying to keep a casual posture as he bristled. “Part of that challenge I mentioned.”
He opened his right-hand desk drawer and took out the key without getting up. “Of course, I’ll provide support, but I don’t see the need for you to have an access list.”
“If I can’t get it from you, I’ll reach out to the Archdiocese.”
Something flashed in his eyes too fast to catch. “Do as you feel you must. I’ll protect my flock as I see fit.” He dropped the key in the drawer. “And all of God’s creations, as well.”
Interesting.
I stood, my hand out. “How about I look through the stash and get out of your hair?”
“No, I think you’ve taken all you need for now.” With a smile, he slammed the drawer and folded his hands on the desk. “I’ll discuss appointing a more appropriate local liaison with the Archbishop.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “What do you mean, Father?”
“My job is to protect God’s creations. You destroy them. I see us at odds.”
I laughed. “Monsters. I hunt monsters responsible for harming your congregation.”
“That’s how you see them. I don’t.”
“And how do you see them?”
“As the perfect, righteous justice of God, of course. If He created them, they have a purpose. Perhaps that purpose is culling the sinful. Perhaps they’re more holy than all of us.” He stilled, his composure returning. “We’re not meant to know all, only to obey and submit to His will.”
Before I could ask a question, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.” Father Robicheau didn’t hesitate.
“Father, Sister Bridgit from the Holy Order of the Sisters of Mercy of Saint Brendan to see you.”
My heart jack-rabbited. Both Father Robicheau and I straightened.
In the doorway, she loomed behind Deacon Paul slightly taller than the thin man. The stark white of her coif and the rich black of her veil intensified the sharpness of her dark eyes. Even without makeup, those eyes pierced me to my very soul.
I swallowed the lump in my throat with as much grace as I could.
Father Robicheau’s poise flittered away. “Sister Bridgit,” he said as she stepped around the deacon and crossed the room, her hand ext
ended. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Where there’s a crisis, I follow.” With a perfunctory smile, she shook the limp fingers Robicheau offered. “A pleasure.”
“This is Miss—”
Sister Betty pulled me against her for a quick hug and muttered, “Play along,” before returning her attention to the man in the black frock. “Caitlin and I are well acquainted. She’s my protégé and will eventually assume my role in the Order.”
We’d been working toward it for years, but hearing her say it to another person made it real. Anxiety over Rome welled in my stomach, but I managed a smile. Time to doubt my ability to take over for her later. I had time to get better. Stronger. Never again would someone die if I could stop it. No matter what it took.
Robicheau blinked, his mouth agape. “I…didn’t expect…”
“God works in mysterious ways.” Sister Betty flashed an innocent grin. I almost choked as heat poured through me. That woman. “Now,” she said, “let’s talk business.”
10
Sister Betty crossed her legs under her tunic.
The reprimand I’d have expected from anyone else didn’t happen. Robicheau barely had the guts to hold himself together against her, never mind assert himself against impropriety.
“I assume you and Caitlin have worked out access to the armory?” She smiled her dangerous smile. Her words rolled out in a disarming purr disguising the threat of impending menace.
Father Robicheau sat squarely in her sights, and he had no idea.
“Yes, in fact,” he opened the drawer and produced the key, “she’d just requested access it again. Which I was about to permit, of course.”
“Great.” Her foot bounced, making her tunic sway.
I accepted the key, now so readily given, and sat back, waiting for the drama. “Thank you, Father.”
“Thank you for your support,” she said, her voice low and sultry.
He avoided looking at her, maybe pretending not to see the unseemly wiggle of her tunic. Kudos to him, but maybe it distracted me more since I knew what was underneath. I bit the inside of my cheek to subdue a giggle while trying not to squirm.
“Of course.” His sour scowl fought to be a professional, emotionless expression, but lost. He blinked several times, tugging his cleric blacks. “Was that all?”
“Not. Even. Close.” The threat in her slow, staccato words stopped him, mid-rise. “There’s something foul in your house, Father, and I’m here to clean it out.”
“No, no, you’re mistaken,” he said, his words tumbling over each other, his eyes wide. “I’m just serving God by tending the New Orleans flock.”
Sister Betty’s predatory grin reminded me why she was one of the most terrifying hunters the Church had ever known. She sat still as a vampire, her eyes locked on the cleric behind his desk. “Are you sure?”
“This is highly irregular, Sister Bridgit!” Father Robicheau pushed back in his chair, sweat rolling down his forehead.
Sister Betty stood, aiming a quick gesture at me to do the same, and we rounded the desk in opposite directions. “Please. Call me Betty. Everyone does.”
Robicheau’s head swiveled between us, a trapped animal looking for escape. “What is this? Why are you doing this?” Finding nowhere to retreat, he dropped into his seat, cowering.
“You know why. And you’d better start talking before things get…” She leaned over him. Her white teeth, flushed cheeks, and pink lips belonged in a magazine rather than a religious order.
Then there was her stance over the cowering man.
Lethal and sexy.
I swallowed hard, unsure if fear or arousal would win the war within me.
“…serious.” She stretched the word, the long sibilant hiss of a snake ready to strike.
Father Robicheau shuddered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How about we talk about Sister Evangeline’s death?”
Had there been color in his face, it would have drained away. Instead, his skin yellowed, as if aging thirty years before our eyes. I expected him to have some kind of heart attack. “I don’t like to talk about it,” he finally managed.
“Hard to discuss it without incriminating yourself?” I asked.
“No, no, that’s not it, I don’t like talking about it because she died—”
“Serving God?” I offered.
His face hardened, wrinkles like rigid cracks as his mouth twisted in distaste. “You have no idea what it is to serve God.”
“Funny.” I glanced at Sister Betty without letting him out of my sight. “Last I checked, I work for the Church.”
The priest huffed. “You have no idea what God’s work really is.”
Sister Betty laughed. “Enlighten me.”
The Father fidgeted. “It’s shepherding your fellow man and leading sinners to repentance. But not all sinners are repentant, and some will never seek God’s light.”
As if on some kind of divine cue, a shadow crossed the window over his head. I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out my cellphone.
“Put it on the desk, Miss Kelley.”
I hadn’t seen Robicheau draw the gun he pointed at me. All I could do was blink and stare. Where the hell had it come from?
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The hardness in his eyes didn’t replace the sad droop around the corners. Even though the bastard had me, I still pitied him a little. A very little, but it was there.
“Father,” I placed my phone face down on the table, “we’re on the same side.” As long as he was focused on me, Sister Betty might pull off some kind of miracle. What exactly, I had no idea.
That was up to her. I had to give her time and opportunity. And take it if it came my way.
“This isn’t part of protecting your congregation,” Sister Betty added, her hands hidden in the sleeves of her tunic. She had to have some gadget, or weapon, hiding up there.
“Who are you to judge me?” Robicheau’s color returned in a rush. “You,” he pointed with the gun, “cloistered away in…wherever you hide from the world. You have no idea what it’s like, what it takes—”
“You’re harming them by hindering us,” I said.
The gun swung in my direction along with his scowl. “I leave judgement to God.”
“Do you know what we do?”
“We?” He scoffed. The sleeves of Sister Betty’s tunic wriggled. “You say you serve God, yet when His creations punish the sinful and unrepentant, you kill the means of His justice. You. Kill. Them.” He punctuated his words with thrusts of his gun. “Thou shalt not kill.”
I flinched to keep his attention on me. Letting him believe he had the upper hand was so simple, it might actually work. “And yet,” I said, “you’re ready to kill us.”
“Like you killed Sister Evangeline,” Sister Betty said.
“Her death was a tragic accident. She—”
I held up both hands, the gun thrusting in my face again as soon as I moved. “Right, seatbelt, banking helicopter, got it. But you knew. You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”
A sinister smile oozed across his face. The hair rose on my arms. He didn’t have to say anything else.
“You did. Whatever you did, you made sure she died.” I heard my own astonishment. How had I not seen it? How had I not suspected something as odd as falling from a routine helicopter ride, especially someone as tactically experienced as Sister Evangeline?
“Shut up.”
I caught the glow of Sister Betty’s cellphone screen through her tunic.
“You killed your local monster hunter.” Marty owed me for being right. Again…
“Shut up!” His arm shook, and he leaned over the desk, the muzzle of the snub-nose .38 dancing inches from my face.
“You murdered your mentor because she protected innocent people from monsters who threatened them!” I leaned in close enough to smell the gun oil, daring him to fire, demanding his full attention. “You murdered her and t
ell me not to kill?”
“She interfered with God’s design. She questioned His decisions and intervened!” He pressed the gun against my forehead, face flushed and breathing in ragged gasps.
“And you’re doing the same with us.” My words were almost a whisper.
He recoiled. “I am not.”
“Aren’t you?” I leaned forward again to keep his attention on me. “You’ve got a gun in my face because I protect people, repentant or sinful, worthy or unworthy, from the monsters who hunt them. So, who’s interfering with God’s plan, here? Who’s really their brother’s keeper?”
He squared his shoulders in defiance, the gun no longer wobbling.
We locked eyes.
Time to take the bastard down.
I felt the quick shift in the energy before I saw anything, but as Sister Betty moved, I dropped.
The report of the gun drowned out Robicheau’s surprised yelp. My ears rang as I rolled to regain my footing. Hearing only a screaming echo of the gun’s report, I shook my head and scrambled around the desk, struggling to keep my balance. In the narrow space between the desk and abandoned chair, Sister Betty and Robicheau became a tangle of flailing, struggling limbs and too much black cloth. Of course, I jumped in, struggling to pry the gun from his hand. His wiry fingers were far stronger than they looked, so I went with the only feasible option.
Breaking them.
The suggestion of sound broke through the howl of deafness, probably Robicheau’s scream since he released his weapon. I slid it across the floor and pinned his arms. Maybe I tweaked his broken finger a little more than necessary, but the bastard had threatened me with a gun. And fired it. A little manhandling balanced our debt. Sister Betty’s knee seemed to be taking her due with his holy jewels.
A hand on my shoulder.
I twitched, wrenching another finger to keep Robicheau subdued. Another spike in the roar of non-sound.
Standing over me was my new bestie, Officer La Fontaine, red faced and sweating, his gun pointed at me.
Awesome.
Half a dozen cops in body armor filled the room, some clustered around the desk, weapons pointed at the wriggling clerics, a few more in the hall, weapons aimed at me.
Caitlin Kelley--Monster Hunter, #1 Page 7