“Callie,” Father David said in a tired voice. “We were just speaking of the horror last night. Please, take a seat in the lobby. We can speak once I’m finished.”
I nodded, beginning to turn away when Pastor Benjamin spoke up. “Actually, would you mind staying? Perhaps you have some input that may help,” he said as if struck by a new idea. I arched an eyebrow at him as Desmond nodded his agreement. “Much of the community is of your age, as were most of the protestors last night. Perhaps your input could be invaluable here.”
I shrugged, and walked over to a nearby chair. “I can try to help however possible, but I’m not very good at social events,” I lied.
Father David shot me a discreet look, but didn’t speak. And the other two were too busy looking at me to notice.
“You were at the Fundraiser last night, though,” Desmond said with a frown. “For the Vatican, right?”
“I told them of your other duties,” Father David said, sensing my anger.
I bit back my scowl, wanting to slap him. I turned to Desmond. “Yes, but that’s just as a figure piece. I’m not there trying to convert anyone or to make a case for our views. Just to show we are a presence.”
Pastor Benjamin nodded. “Simply being seen at an event lends credibility, oftentimes.”
“Look, what happened last night was terrible,” I began, my anger at his congregation getting the best of me. “I’ll be the first to say it. But I won’t be paraded into the spotlight to make people feel better. We don’t even know what happened. For all I know, some of your crazy followers tried to get extra credit last night,” I snapped.
Benjamin and Desmond both reeled at that, eyes widening in shock. I realized I was breathing heavily, and leaned forward with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I just… I was jogging last night and got wrapped up into it. I saw the crowd. They were not peaceful. Trust me. I had to answer questions last night and this morning. All because I wanted to take a jog. My fuse is very short right now.”
Pastor Benjamin nodded, not looking pleased, but at least conciliatory. “And you aren’t pleased about the message we preach…” he said softly.
“I’m not a fan of any kind of hate speech.”
“It is not hate speech to repeat God’s word,” Desmond said politely, but defensively.
I locked eyes with him. “Tell me how spreading fear leads people to God. Oh, wait. That’s not a new tactic, is it?” I asked with a low snarl.
Father David cleared his throat. “Callie, perhaps you need to go take a walk,” he said softly.
I leaned back into my chair, closing my eyes as I took a few deep breaths. “No, I’m fine. He’s right. I don’t like the message. But I’m not being stubborn just to be a jerk. That crowd was full of hate, not peace. During times of fear, pouring gasoline on the fire is the worst solution.”
Benjamin leaned forward, studying me. “Perhaps you are right. What would you think of a luncheon of some kind? Where we provide food and drink to the community. An open house of sorts. No hate speech. No messages of fear. Just love.” He turned to Desmond. “I believe Callie has already been invaluable in this conversation,” he said with a faint smile.
Desmond looked doubtful, but he finally nodded.
“That could work,” I said carefully.
He clapped his hands excitedly, rounding on Father David. “What do you think? A joint effort between us to promote the message of peace. We don’t condone the actions of a few zealots,” he said in a stern voice. “Let’s make sure our flock knows this.”
Father David thought about it for a long moment, and then finally nodded. “At worst, we help those hurting and afraid.”
Benjamin nodded, steepling his hands. “And earn their trust in the process.”
I grunted. “Is this just a marketing stunt to you? I know your church is new, but that’s just low.”
“Callie…” Father David began.
Pastor Benjamin held up a hand to Father David. “She has a fair point.” He turned to me, eyes apologetic and kind. “It is really no different than attending social functions like fundraisers, galas, and auctions,” he said softly. “We all do what we must to guide those less fortunate to the truth. You see it as a sales tactic, I see it as an opportunity to save souls.”
I grunted again, my patience gone after my long night, my talk with Roland, and my priority of finding Yuri. “Don’t try to make us look the same. I do it because it is requested of me, not because I want to scare people into joining the church.”
Father David settled his head in his hands, seeing a train wreck in slow motion.
“I don’t accuse you of anything. I’m merely pointing out that – although it might not be your choice – the Vatican is doing the same thing as I’m proposing. Making sure the citizens are aware of their presence.” He shrugged innocently. “We aren’t selling steak knives, Callie, we are investing in souls…”
Desmond nodded matter-of-factly.
I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I finally muttered. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. Even though he hadn’t given me any personal reason to hate him, I didn’t like him. His congregation was out of control thanks to his flyers, and he hadn’t accepted responsibility for that. Sure, he was kind, nice, rational-sounding, and sweet. But he looked like a shark in a clerical collar. Like one of those mega-church pastors. This man had goals.
Or I was a broken soul and saw the worst in everything.
I didn’t know anymore.
But something was off about him. Choosing those types of messages for his flyers didn’t sit well with me. Father David was solid, and although he knew about the supernatural, I was pretty sure that he had never spewed hatred at us before learning of us.
Either Pastor Benjamin secretly knew of us and hated us, or he was simply using fear tactics to grow his fledgling church. There was always the possibility that he genuinely believed these things, but to me, that was almost worse. Like one of those fabled snake-oil salesmen. Find a reason to make people buy, and then pounce on it.
“I think we’ve strayed far from the point. Death is death. It is not something to capitalize on, but something to comfort. For those left behind. That is my goal. To establish a safe perimeter for those who are scared. I think we can agree on that, right?” Father David asked gently.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. We hope you can join us, Callie, but understand if you can’t make it,” he said in an accepting tone, but his eyes let me know the truth. He had heard the tail-end of my conversation with Roland, and understood that these killings likely involved me, and that I hadn’t simply been out for a jog last night.
I dipped my head and stood. “I wish you luck.” I left before I screamed or did something to convince them I was possessed. I felt their eyes follow me from the room. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, letting out a breath.
Was I overreacting or was I the only sane person in the building? I could imagine Roland’s stern glare if he had heard the conversation. Well, I wasn’t some dainty flower to go with the flow, and Benjamin had been right. Me debating them had been beneficial. A theory without argument and adequate defense was weak. Ideas needed to be challenged and defended.
But maybe I would leave the challenging to others next time.
I began to realize that this angry wizard needed a nap.
Chapter 24
I woke from a dead sleep, feeling as if I had only just closed my eyes, but also as if I was being born for the first time. This might sound odd to some people, but my naps were like that. An instant unconsciousness, where either ten minutes or ten hours could go by, and I wouldn’t know without looking at a clock.
I glanced over at my phone, which was blaring at me from within the pages of the book tucked into the pillow beside me. The book Nate had bought at an auction and given to me. It still smelled like him, as did the stuffed unicorn next to it. The one he had named Grimm.
I wiped my eyes and mouth, chuckling. Those commercials with b
eautiful women waking up glorious, limned in rainbows and lingerie, hair perfectly styled, and make up unmarred…
Were a big fucking lie.
The Nyquil commercials were more honest.
At least when it came to me, and how I felt when I woke up.
I snatched up the phone, answering it without looking. “We have another one,” Beckett grumbled. “This one knew his way around a dentist’s office.”
“What year is it?” I rasped. “I just woke up.”
“It’s after two in the afternoon!” he said incredulously. “But I have coffee,” he said, changing his tone to sound like he was offering a complimentary full body massage.
“Mmmmm…” I purred, and too late, realized that it probably wasn’t appropriate for coffee.
But I hadn’t been thinking just about the coffee. A skilled masseuse might be nice…
“Get your ass down here,” he pressed. “I think we might be on borrowed time.”
“Where are you?” I asked, snapping out of it, registering the time.
“Near the coffee shop by your place. In one of the alleys on the East side of it. Use your hocus pocus to get here—”
I hung up, jumping to my feet. Luckily, I had slept in my clothes. I snatched up a mint toothpick – one that was labeled as impregnated with tea tree oil – before whipping my hair into a tight ponytail. Then I opened myself to my magic and Shadow Walked.
I appeared in an alley behind the coffee shop, knowing it was typically deserted, and heard a startled gasp behind me as a faint cracking sound echoed off the walls around me. I thought I had muffled it better, but I turned to see a homeless man rubbing his eyes and staring at me.
I waved at him. “Sorry. I threw a stick at the wall and didn’t think of the echo,” I said grinning impishly, hoping to use my looks to abolish his concern. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go ask the coffee shop for a drink on me. Tell them to add it to Callie’s tab.”
And then I was running, glancing down alleys as I searched for Beckett. I could hear sirens in the distance, racing closer, so tried to determine where they were heading by where they were, avoiding that direction. I stumbled into an alley and saw Beckett staring at a brick wall, shooting nervous glances over his shoulder where the sirens were closest. He held two cups of coffee.
He saw me and sagged in relief, motioning me closer. “Hurry!”
I ran his way and saw a man kneeling before us, as if praying to the golden cross in front of him. His chest was a fan of wet blood, and ivory reflections decorated his head in a ring like a garland. Upon closer inspection, I saw it really was a garland of string.
Adorned with teeth. Vampire teeth.
I shot Beckett a questioning look. He grimaced, but finally nodded at me to do whatever necessary. I heard car doors slamming in the distance. I snatched up the garland, inspected the scene one last time, and then ran back the way I had come, not bothering to grab the extra coffee he held. I heard Beckett walking towards the oncoming police, shouting them his way like a game of Marco Polo before I rounded a corner, out of sight. I felt eyes on me. I looked both ways, but saw no one. I held up my middle finger for good measure, deciding it was one of my stalkers, and that I couldn’t do anything about it with police nearby. I pocketed the string of teeth, and then I shuffled off to the coffee shop I had told the bum about. The same one where I had met Claire yesterday.
I saw no one on my way, and even better, no police outside the coffee shop. I pushed open the door, eager for some caffeine. The homeless man stood just inside, fidgeting uncomfortably under the scrutiny of several regular patrons. Mr. Light Eyes sat in the same chair as yesterday, studying the homeless man thoughtfully. The dreaded Three, Benjamin’s churchwomen, were also present, and they didn’t look pleased. The homeless man winced upon seeing me, but I strode right up to him, placed an arm around his shoulder, and gave him my winningest smile.
“Let’s get something to eat, shall we?” I said. “What’s your name?”
He tried to shy away from me, but I pulled him closer, staring into his eyes. Surprisingly, he didn’t smell, although his face was dirty. His clothes were obviously filthy and threadbare, but he didn’t have body odor. Maybe he had found a fountain to bathe in. Kansas City was nicknamed the City of Fountains. The man finally blushed, averting his eyes. “Arthur,” he answered.
He had thick, shaggy, brown hair, an equally thick, unkempt beard, and bright blue eyes, much lighter than Beckett. He had faint crinkles near his eyes, but didn’t look very old. Maybe late forties. His posture was bowed and slack, as if exhausted and broken from life on the streets.
“Where are you from, Arthur?” I asked, leading him towards the counter where Ramsey was shooting me a very uncertain look.
“I… don’t remember anymore. It seems like I’ve always lived on the streets…” he whispered. His voice was deep and soothing, like a documentary commentator. Some voices were just like that – compelling. Like Morgan Freeman and Anthony Hopkins. “But I don’t need any help. I don’t think they want me here,” he said, casting furtive looks at the other patrons, who were openly holding their noses.
I accidentally bumped into one such table on my way by, spilling three cups of coffee over the Abominable Three, as Benjamin had called them. The three very well-coiffed churchwomen.
So, you could say I was defending Arthur from their judgment. But you could also say I was being petty towards their hypocritical churchiness. Both would be correct. One would be truer.
They squawked and spluttered, but I had made it very obvious that the stumble and fault belonged to me, not Arthur. “Whoops. Did I get your novels wet?” I asked, pulling Arthur closer to me companionably while motioning at their wet bibles. Their faces purpled at my comment, but they were too angry to reply. They quickly mopped off their books and clothes, then stormed out with disdainful sniffs.
I made sure to remain beside the table, not helping them, until they were gone.
Mr. Light Eyes began a slow clap, staring straight at me with an approving nod. I smirked back, dipping my head. Everyone else was suddenly very interested in their coffees, no longer displaying an opinion on Arthur’s presence. We made our way to the counter.
I ordered more than we needed, asking Arthur’s input occasionally, but otherwise splurging on anything his eyes rested on for longer than a second – which was almost everything in the display case. Then I asked for a bag, and had Ramsey set everything inside.
Ramsey was smiling the entire time, loving the drama. I glanced over his shoulder to see the manager poking his head out of the kitchen in back. I smiled at him politely. He looked somewhat mollified by the fact that at least I was getting everything to go.
I lifted a finger dramatically. “Actually, Ramsey, we’ll take a plate for the muffins,” I said glancing at the last two items. Ramsey almost choked, grinning wide enough to show teeth. The manager’s face instantly tightened at realizing we would be sticking around for a while.
Arthur spoke up. “It really isn’t necessary. I don’t mind eating outside—”
I placed a finger on his lips. “Well, Arthur. I’m not as polite as you. I’m actually rather delicate, and would rather eat inside, like the other paying customers,” I said, loud enough for the manager to hear.
He looked like he had swallowed something rancid, but plastered on a fake smile as the door jingled behind us. I turned to see a pair of cops enter the shop. I smiled, and turned back to the manager. His teeth now sparkled with compassion.
Arthur looked extremely uncomfortable, but Ramsey winked at him, smiling brightly as he handed the bag to the homeless man, not me. “Have a wonderful day, Arthur,” he said. “And thank you for your business.”
Emily, the normally gothic, emo barista, was openly smiling, staring at me as if she had never seen me before. The cops watched us thoughtfully as we turned to face them. I smiled pleasantly and guided Arthur past them. I picked up one of the sodden religious pamphlets on my way by, wiped it o
ff with a napkin, and then dropped it off on Mr. Light Eyes’ table. “Thought you might want some reading material,” I said casually as I continued on.
He burst out laughing, but I didn’t turn to look as Arthur and I sat down at a table.
Arthur clutched the bag like a miser, eyes darting from the patrons, to me, to the manager, and finally to the police, looking ready to bolt. I was sure to sit between him and the door, to prevent his escape. Fuck the police and the snooty patrons. Arthur seemed like a cool guy.
And he was an excellent alibi.
“So, Arty. We met in the alley, you were nice to me, and I walked you back here. Because an ex-boyfriend made me angry enough to throw a fit, which rudely woke you from a nap. Then you chased him away, defending my honor.” I grinned at him.
He studied me thoughtfully, and finally smiled. “That’s about how I recall it.”
“Good. Tell me the story of your life, old one. I have a wish to hear an adventure.”
Arthur’s eyes twinkled with tears and a very sad smile. Then he dropped his head, staring down at the table. In a whisper I almost couldn’t decipher, he spoke. “No one… has ever asked me that before. At least, not that I remember…” When he lifted his eyes, I saw trails down his weathered cheeks, washing away some of the grime.
And what I saw underneath was a face of justice. A face that had seen more, lived more, and stood for more than anyone I had ever met. Kind of like Roland. But it looked like it had been so long ago that he had forgotten it. A shadow of his former self.
My compassion had woken something inside Arthur, and I could tell it had been years since he had experienced even the most accidental form of kindness. He probably hadn’t been looked on as another human being in years. Simply another piece of trash in the streets.
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