Darius and Kam would head out to the beach at night to try to find anything indicating where the bastard was hiding out. The area was likely to remain a crime scene for a while, so night was a better option for avoiding the police.
“Also, Darius is the only one of us who can fly,” I said, tapping my fingers on the kitchen table. “So, once you change over to mothman at sunset, I need you to fly over the area and see if you can find anything unusual, while Kam does the same from the ground.”
Kam pulled a pencil and pad from her tasselled handbag. “Unusual like what?” She held her pencil poised above the paper, ready to take notes. “Rocks shaped like David Bowie’s face? Shells with eyeballs poking out? Strange, talking doors?”
Maurice snorted. “Kam’s been watching Labyrinth again.” They reached across the table and high fived each other.
I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Sure. Whatever you find that looks like it doesn’t belong.”
Kam scribbled something on her notepad, frowned, erased, then wrote something else. “Got it.”
I had no idea what she could be writing. It wasn’t like I’d given intricate directions. But it was Kam, so I let it go. Who knew why she did anything?
I redirected my attention to Maurice. “You and Sara stay here with Mom. Watch the driveway especially. Mom, I need you to follow the news. Keep the TV on, but try to stick with the local stuff on the Internet, too. Watch for anything strange, especially if it has anything to do with kids, though let’s not assume Shadow Man will limit himself. The less assumptions we make, the better prepared we’ll be for his next move.”
Sara nodded, one silver brow raised. “And what are you and Riley up to in the meantime?”
“I thought we’d pay a visit to Pastor Wendell at the Church of Hidden Wisdom. Those cultists who attacked us four months ago started out as part of his congregation. If anybody knows what they’re up to now, he will.”
* * *
Riley and I headed out to the little church in Nicasio, about forty minutes away. The building was deceptively run down on the outside and hidden along a dirt road that ran past farmland and ended at the edge of a wood. Once a beautiful structure with a giant golden cross, a bell tower and tall steeple, the cross now leaned sideways, the bell was long gone and the steeple had collapsed and hung precariously over the front steps. Most of the windows were long gone, including large chunks of the colored mosaics that once told Bible stories with the sunlight streaming through them.
The whole thing was a mess—on the outside, anyway.
Inside, the building was bright and clean, the bell sounded every hour and the intact stained-glass windows depicted stories no Bible had ever contained. Certainly not the human Bible.
The door creaked as we closed it behind us. We made our way down the carpeted aisle, past the wooden, velour-cushioned pews and the windows showing minotaurs fighting a golden three-headed snake, flowery dryads cavorting with oak trees and dragons snoozing in fields of red poppies. At the green-silk-covered podium, we hung a right and followed a series of lit candles down the hall to the pastor’s office.
We got lucky. The pastor was in.
Pastor Wendell was an elf. He stood approximately three feet tall, wore a goatee the color of the sky before a thunderstorm and had a weird tic that caused him to sniff, then flare his nostrils every minute or so. He’d been very helpful last time we’d visited, though, so I was hoping he’d help us out again.
He sat behind his desk, swinging his feet, nose buried in a paper he was writing with a big wavy peacock feather as a fountain pen. The pen was taller than he was and jutted over his right shoulder. I rapped my knuckles on his office door, and he peered up at us through thick spectacles.
“Yes?” He blinked several times, then lowered his glasses on his nose to peer over them. “Ah! Miss Donovan. Mr. Banks. Please.” He waved us toward a couple of chairs on our side of his desk. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”
I perched on the edge of my chair, a little uncomfortable in the ripped jeans and baggy, lemon-yellow sweater I’d thrown on without thinking. It was a church. This was a pastor. Regardless of what religion—or species—he was, this was not appropriate church wear for anybody. I glanced at my chipped, hot pink and green nails and folded my fingers into my palms. Obviously, I hadn’t thought this through.
Riley, thoughtfully dressed in a navy polo and khakis, took the seat next to me. “We’re sorry to bother you, sir, but we were wondering if you had any current information on the small group we contacted you about a few months ago.”
The little man sniffed, flared his nostrils and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If I remember correctly, we’re talking about a handful of folks who split off from my church to worship an idea of the Last Hidden or some such. Yes?”
I nodded. “That’s them. They caused a lot of trouble, but we lost them when their high priest let the zombies loose. The cultists sort of took off, and we didn’t see them again.”
Wendell’s swinging legs stilled beneath the desk, and he cleared his throat. He gave us each a long look, then removed his glasses and busied himself polishing them with a handkerchief. He addressed us without looking up. “Sometimes lambs go astray. Unhappy hearts can be manipulated by bad souls. But over time, those lambs will often wander home, a little wiser, a little less uncooperative and much happier for the homecoming.”
I gave Riley a questioning look, and he shrugged. No longer ashamed of my inappropriate nail art, I leaned forward and rested the tips of my fingers on the pastor’s desk. “Are you saying they came back to your church?”
He replaced his glasses securely on his face, sniffed and flared. “I’m not saying anything. Why are you looking for them, exactly? It’s been several months.”
Riley leaned in closer, too. “Sir, the Last Hidden has made threats against us, and now he’s in the area. We just want to be aware of whether we’re fighting only him or if we’re fighting his people, as well.”
“We’d really appreciate your help.” I added a hopeful smile for good measure.
Wendell’s brows rose and his upper lip twitched. “I’m sorry. I’m certain I misunderstood you. I thought you said the Last Hidden was here.”
“Yes, sir.” Riley’s face was solemn. “That’s what I said.”
Sniff. Flare. “That’s absurd. Whoever you’re dealing with is an imposter.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s the real deal,” I said. “The First Hidden warned me that Shadow Man was coming. We’ve been waiting four months for him to appear.”
His eyes grew wide. “You’ve spoken to the First?”
“She sent visions to my mother and me.”
He took his glasses off and polished them again, though they couldn’t possibly be smudged already since the last time he’d done it. “What you’re saying is impossible, Miss Donovan. By the very nature of you, yourself, saying it. The Last Hidden can’t emerge while the last Aegis still lives. And there are still...” He gave us a questioning look. “Two of you?”
I fought the urge to do some twitching of my own. I didn’t care for his condescending tone. “Yes. Two of us. We’ve been through this impossible-type scenario a few months ago when the zombie portal opened without Mom and me being dead. The Last Hidden—Shadow Man—doesn’t play by the rules.” I pressed my lips together to keep from adding how he hadn’t lifted a finger to help, though part of the problem had been his own parishioners gone rogue.
Twitch. Nostril flare. Sniff. “This isn’t natural. If this Shadow Man really is the Last Hidden, he’s forced himself into the world prematurely.” Under the desk, the pastor’s foot bounced in a frenetic pattern. The laces on his dress shoe bounced and flailed.
I lowered my mental shields a bit and reached my empath ability toward him. Nervous energy pelted me like bits of gravel, and fe
ar oozed down his legs and into the drab brown carpet. He took a deep breath and went still.
The elf sat staring at us for so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. He shifted, then rested his chin on steepled fingers. “Whatever this creature is, Final Hidden or pretender, you’re concerned that those lost sheep who followed his voice four months ago are following his flesh now. Correct?”
His fear was still there. I could taste it at the back of my throat. But it was different now—a subtle change to the quality of his fear. He was afraid for others, not for himself. “Yes. That’s correct. If the cult is still in existence, then Shadow Man has minions he can rely on to do some of his dirty work.” I paused. “Do you know that yesterday he kidnapped six children who were on a field trip?”
Sniff. Flare. Sniff. Twitch. He sighed and dropped his hands to his lap. “Look. I can’t believe I’m even considering telling you this.” Sniff-flare. “I need to know I can trust you two. I want no police action taken. Promise me before I continue.”
That didn’t sit well with me. Whatever was going on, I wanted the local Oversight and General Rule Enforcement (O.G.R.E.) squad available as backup. The team was fairly new, but this time, I’d screened them all myself—and I hadn’t held back on using my empath powers to check them out—so I knew I could trust their honesty, if not their capabilities. The last squad had been run by a priest of the same cult we were hunting. That hadn’t gone well at all. But things were good now. Safe. Giving up that safety net for information I didn’t yet have was difficult.
I glanced at Riley, and he gave me an encouraging smile. Apparently, he had confidence either in the pastor’s forthcoming information or in his own ability to keep us safe. I didn’t feel anything hostile or sneaky from the elf, only his concern and fear for the wellbeing of those he was protecting.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll agree. No O.G.R.E. involvement.” I tilted my head and glared to show I meant business. “Provided our silence doesn’t put anyone else in danger.”
Lip twitch-sniff-sniff-flare. The guy had enough tics his face was almost like performance art. “After the regrettable events of four months ago, the lost souls who went astray came home. Not all at once, mind you, and I admit, one never returned. But the rest came to me, one by one and in groups, contrite, afraid and broken. I’ve been working closely with them ever since.”
I knew who hadn’t come back. Pansy, Maurice’s gargoyle ex-wife, had sort of been the ringleader at first, until we sat her down and had a long talk. “Your missing girl is safe,” I said. “She changed her tune and ran off with her bridge troll lover.”
He lifted his chin. “Ah. That explains it.” He shuffled some papers and tapped them against his desk to neaten the pile. “I’m afraid that’s really all I have for you. I apologize for the secrecy, but those people came to me for help. I couldn’t risk you bringing in the police and charging them for their past crimes. By church law, they are absolved and doing good works to make amends. I assure you, they’re not worshipping anything outside the tenets of this church, and they pose no threat to anyone.”
The finality of his tone was intriguing. He’d gone from mildly helpful to terrified, then moved straight into closed-off asshole in five minutes. He must’ve been exhausted. I know I would’ve been.
As one of the last two Aegises—the one with the badass reputation—I had a measure of authority that most Hidden recognized. As the leader of a church—regardless of how archaic and little-known the religion—Pastor Wendell had authority of his own. We were at a standoff.
I thrust my hand into my magical, brownie-made purse without looking and pulled out a scrap of paper and pen. Without breaking eye contact with the elf, I reached in again and wiggled an entire lap-desk—with cup-holder and folding legs—from the much smaller confines of my bag, set it across my legs and jotted my phone number across the paper.
The elf’s left eyebrow rose. Sniff. Flare. “Impressive. You have a bag of holding.”
I gave him my sweetest smile and slid the paper across his desk. It wasn’t the first time I’d pulled something outrageous out of my magic bag to impress someone. “It was a gift from a good friend. Will you call me if anything changes, please?”
While I whisked the lap-desk back into my bag, he stared at the number I’d given as if it were a chunk of gristle I’d already chewed. He recovered his neutral facial expression and offered me his business card.
“I’d appreciate the same courtesy, Miss Donovan. While I don’t believe this person you’re concerned about is the actual Last Hidden, I believe he’s trouble. I can’t keep my people safe if I don’t know what’s going on.”
I rose and extended my hand, which I was half surprised he shook.
“Pastor Wendell, I feel exactly the same.”
We made a quick retreat through the eerie, quiet church and out to the car. As I slid into the car, I peered up at the deceptively ramshackle building. A board slipped from the bell tower, revealing a watchful set of glowing eyes.
I smiled and waved, and the eyes disappeared.
“Subtle,” Riley said, pulling his door shut. “Did any of that in there seem weird to you?”
I clicked my seatbelt and started the car. “Very. And the one question that kept bugging me the most was the one I didn’t actually ask him, because it seemed rude at the time.”
“Who’s his tailor?”
I stuck out my tongue. “No. What exactly are the tenets of his church?”
Chapter Four
By the time we made it home, the sun had set, so Darius had changed form into a mothman, and he and Kam were at the beach looking for clues.
Mom had the TV on, a commercial for a local car dealership blaring. Sara sat curled on the couch with her laptop. Maurice was on his hands and knees next to a bucket of soapy water, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows, scrubbing the baseboards with a sponge.
“What are you doing?” I dropped my keys on the table next to the door.
Three heads popped up, and three voices spoke at once.
“Watching a cooking show. I’ve always wanted to make my own mozzarella.”
“Searching the Internet for any missing children in the area, in case the beach wasn’t the first incident.”
“Honestly, Zoey, did you not clean at all while I was gone?”
I’d kind of meant the question specifically for Maurice, and he was the only one who didn’t answer me straight. I shrugged and stepped away from the doorway to let Riley in.
“They’re baseboards, Maurice. Most people never even notice them, and the few who do barely bother with them once or twice a year. You were only gone a few weeks.” I strode across the room, laughing, and bent to plant a loud kiss on his cheek, then turned to Sara. “Find anything interesting?”
“They’re thinking of doing a remake of Saved by the Bell.”
I scowled. “No.”
Sara smirked without looking up from her screen. “I don’t think they asked your permission.”
“They should.” I dropped onto the cushion next to her. “Anything else? Anything relevant?”
Riley’s voice—along with the sound of fridge rummaging—came from the kitchen. “I think a Saved by the Bell remake is relevant.”
I ignored him and peered at Sara’s screen. “You’re on Facebook. How is that research?”
“It’s not. I have to harvest my crops on Farmville.” She clicked on the link, and a large plot of cartoon land loaded.
I glanced around the room. It had been funny at first, but I was losing my sense of humor. “Seriously, guys. Shadow Man is here. Isn’t anybody alarmed by that fact? Nobody’s doing anything.” Exasperated, I folded my arms and glared at the entire room.
Sara chuckled and patted my leg. “Chill. Your mom’s got the TV on a local station. If anything new comes u
p, we’ll find out. I’ve already checked all the local websites for anything that might be Shadow Man related and came up empty. Yesterday was his first move. In the meantime, I’ve set up alerts for anything new.” She clicked on a cow, and her little Sara icon hustled over to milk it. “What did you find out?”
Riley wandered in chewing a cookie. “The pastor of the church has mood swings and a face full of bumblebees.”
I frowned, wondering where my cookie was. Riley grinned and handed me one.
I took a bite, letting the buttery goodness melt in my mouth before speaking. “We found out the cultists went back to the church and found safe haven there. We can’t touch them for their past crimes—I agreed to that—and he assures me they’re no longer associated with Shadow Man.”
Mom turned down the TV. “Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t feel any deception from him. Mostly he felt afraid. But I think it would be a good idea if we knew more about the church than we do. Can you check the books in the cottage tonight and see what you can find?”
I’d spent months scouring the books at the cottage for clues, but the books belonged to Mom. She and Aggie had always been better at finding useful information than I had. Mom had tried to help me before, but maybe it was time for her to take a look without my inept hands getting in the way.
On a previous visit, I’d managed to snag the diary of Marjorie Willenstock, a late 1800s Aegis girl who didn’t want the title. It was the only book I refused to return to the library. Marjorie hadn’t shared anything helpful about our present dilemma, but she felt like a friend to me now, despite being long dead. Her diary followed her journey from reluctant trainee to seasoned elder. I wished she were still alive so I could ask her what she thought about this whole mess. She’d lived nearly a hundred years. She probably would have had some fantastic advice.
Phoenix in My Fortune (A Monster Haven Story Book 6) Page 4