A Wolf at the Door

It sounded oddly like the conversation I’d just had with Mira, only with a lot less “angry” in it. I think it just made me dislike him a little more.

Cameron was a part of the Ordo Sancti Silvii—the Order of St. Silvius. You ask any Catholic about that saint, and they’ll look at you like you’re crazy. It’s a saint that doesn’t, as far as most of the world knows, exist. The men in the order were champions, like me, who operated under the direction of the Catholic church. They tended to look down on the more secular champions, like me, and in return, I usually referred to them as the Knights Stuck-up- idus.

A few months ago, Cam’s superiors sent him to KC to keep an eye on me. Too bad none of them bothered to tell me that the demons were gunning for me. I had to admit, without Cam we’d have all been zombie chow, but I still didn’t appreciate the deception. Especially when it involved him lying to a woman I greatly respected.

If the jerk hadn’t seemed to genuinely care for Dr. Bridget, I’d have probably kicked his ass months ago. As it was…I couldn’t bring myself to break her heart like that. Maybe I’m a big ole softie on the inside.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help, better known around Kansas City as Redemptorist Church, was one of the most amazing churches I’d ever seen. What I know about architecture you could fit on the head of a pin, so I couldn’t tell you if it was Gothic or Baroque or whatever. I could tell you that it looked like a medieval castle with spires and turrets sweeping to the high heavens. The stained glass windows were amazing, and the sun cast multicolor images across the parishioners as they sat in their quiet prayers. It seemed like there might just be angels lurking in the shadows of the vaulted ceilings, listening to those prayers.

Yeah, I know. I don’t really believe in god-with-the-big-G, but if I did, this was what church should feel like. Like there was something so much bigger than me out there, looking out for us.

Luckily, we’d just missed the midmorning service, and I slipped in the door feeling like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Esteban paused to dip his fingers in the font, making the sign of the cross like the good Catholic boy he was, then we walked up the center aisle toward the altar.

Damn, were my boots always this loud? I shifted my equipment bag on my shoulder and I swear it sounded like I had a herd of Santa’s reindeer in my bag, jingling away. Even the slightest footstep seemed to echo off the cavernous ceiling. There were only a couple of people still in the church, their heads bowed as they tended to whatever spiritual needs they had. They never looked up at me, so maybe it was my imagination.

I glanced at the kid, but he was gazing around with wide eyes, entranced by the ornate beauty. “I wish mi madre could see this. She would love it so much.” Even his quiet awe seemed to reverberate in hushed whispers from up above.

“Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” Both Esteban and I flinched at the soft question, and the priest who’d snuck up behind us smiled his apologies. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I am Father John.” He was seventy if he was a day, bristles of white hair sticking out above his ears, but leaving the rest of his head shiny and bald. Smile lines were etched deep around his pale blue eyes, and his face was simple and kind. I can think of no other way to describe it.

“It’s okay, no harm done.” Though it was a good thing the sword was in Esteban’s arms, or things coulda got nasty there, real quick. Don’t startle the paranoid guy, ’kay? “We’re just waiting for someone to meet us here.”

The priest’s eyes swept over my duffel bag, and the bundle clutched to Esteban’s chest, but he didn’t ask. “Well, our next service isn’t until tomorrow morning at seven, and we take confessions a half hour before all of our weekday masses.”

“Thank you.” Geez, the things I could confess would probably turn the man’s hair white. Y’know, if it hadn’t been already.

Deciding that perhaps we weren’t potential parishioners, Father John excused himself, leaving the kid and me standing before the altar.

“Um, Jesse? Would it be all right if I sat here for a while?” I raised both brows at the kid, and he studied his toes intently. “I have not been to church since Miguel died. I think perhaps I should spend some time.”

“Yeah, kid. You do what you gotta.” I thumped him on the shoulder once and he gave me a very small, grateful smile, handing me the bundle containing my new sword. I mean, what was I gonna say? The kid really hadn’t had a chance to deal with his brother’s murder, almost a year ago now. If he wanted to sit and commune with God or whatever, who was I to question?

Esteban found a seat in the front pew and clasped his hands, murmuring quietly to himself. I turned away. It seemed too private to watch, this whole religion thing. Thankfully, I spotted Cameron coming in the big double doors, which saved me from trying to figure out what to do with myself in the interim.

The incognito priest also stopped to dip his fingers in the holy water, making the sign of the cross, then strode down the center aisle toward me. “Where’s E— Oh.” He spotted the kid, I guess.

“He’s dealing with some stuff. I’ll grab him on the way out. So where do we do this?”

“I need to let them know I’m here; they’ll have a place available, I think.” Cam hefted a black duffel bag on his own shoulder, eerily similar to mine, and I followed him toward the recesses of the big church.

Behind the scenes, the church looked just like any other generic building. There were several doors that opened into what appeared to be classrooms. A janitor’s closet. And several doors that simply had nameplates on them. We stopped at one labeled REV. RICHARD STRONG and Cam rapped lightly with one knuckle.

The man who opened the door wasn’t as old as I was expecting. I’d been picturing another elderly fellow, like Father John, but this guy was young. Ish. Forties, maybe, athletic build, sandy hair. In a blue polo shirt and khaki pants, I never would have guessed he was clergy.

Reverend Richard’s eyes lit up, landing on Cameron. “Cameron! Damn, it’s good to see you!” They traded rough, backslapping hugs, while I was pondering the concept of cussing in a church. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come see us.”

Cam chuckled and shrugged. “The life of a busy man, you know how it is. Um, Jesse, this is Ricky. Ricky, Jesse.”

“Pleased to meet you.” I had to juggle stuff so that we could shake hands, but once managed, I found the reverend’s grip nice and firm. I also noticed the calluses, the sign of a man who worked with his hands. And I mean worked hard. Either this man was only pretending to be some administrative lackey, or he had some really interesting hobbies.