“So what brings you in?” Reverend Ricky asked, eyeing the bundle in my arms curiously.
“I need a place to work.” Cam nodded toward his own bag of supplies. “Thought I’d ask if we could borrower your Sanctum?” Reverend Ricky gave Cam a curious look, and a dart of his eyes toward me. Yeah, that was subtle. “Jesse’s fine. He’s one of Zelenko’s.”
“Ah. I was wondering. It’s back here.”
Ricky led the way and I brought up the rear of our odd little train, trying to decide if I was offended to just be known as “one of Zelenko’s” or not. Especially since I wasn’t technically speaking to Ivan, right now. See, that’s what happens when people lie to me. I get all pissy.
Ivan had been lying to me from the moment he’d turned up on my doorstep almost five years ago. I’d seen proof of it last fall as picture after picture scrolled across Viljo’s computer screen. Images of more champions than I’d ever been told about, people who weren’t supposed to exist. It might seem like a small deception, but my life depended on being able to trust Ivan’s information. If he’d lied about that, what else was he less than truthful on?
No, we’re not going to talk about me lying to other people. I’ll struggle with my hypocrisy on my own time, thank you very much.
There were more hallways in the back of the church than I really realized, and then we even found a staircase leading down beneath the building. The air temperature dropped about twenty degrees, and what might have been dampness during the summer felt like pinpricks of frost on my bare face. Yay for being underground in a brisk Missouri winter.
Despite the aged feeling of the natural stone walls, the lighting was thoroughly modern, and pointed our way to a room at the farthest end of the hall. I glanced up, estimating that we were under the nave. Part of me wanted to bang on the ceiling, see if I could scare the people sitting above us.
“Everything should be ready, we refresh the supplies every morning.” Reverend Ricky gave Cam a polite nod, and included me in it at the last second. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He left us down there in the dungeon (yes, I know it wasn’t, but the image was stuck in my head) and the door above boomed shut. Cameron gave me a small shrug and pushed open the plain wooden door, revealing nothing but a dark featureless room in front of us. “Ready?”
“Guess so.” I had to wonder, ready for what?
4
While I had visions dancing through my mind of medieval torture implements and manacles hanging off the walls, when Cameron flipped on the light, it was just another room. Two rooms, actually, and the first one had a row of old porcelain sinks against one wall, a shelf above it holding a row of clay pitchers. The doorway to the second room was low—I’d have to duck to get through it without knocking myself out—and I couldn’t see much except the same stones as the walls, set in concentric circles to make up the floor.
Cameron dropped his duffel bag on the floor and went to select a pitcher. “You should scrub up too, I may need your help.”
“What is this, surgery?” I set my gear down with a bit more care and moved to the sinks.
Cameron ditched his coat, then poured water from the pitcher into the basin in front of him. He dunked his hands in it up to the elbows, so I quickly followed suit with another pitcher from the shelf.
“Jesus freakin’ Christ!” I snatched my hands back just as quickly, splattering freezing-cold water every which way.
“Language, please?”
I glared at the priest as he performed his ablutions in the ice-cold water. “You could have warned me.”
“It’s winter. It’s cold down here.” He glanced at me once. “It’s holy water. You may feel a tingle.”
“After my fingers go numb and fall off, I may never feel anything again,” I muttered to myself, but plunged my hands back into the ice bath. Keee-RIST that was cold!
He was right, though. Once I got used to the frigid liquid, I could feel more than just the cold lancing through my bones. Under that was the telltale prickle, the only trace of magical power that I was able to sense. I brought a handful of water to my face to sniff at it, and caught the faintest hint of cloves. It was distant, but discernible if you knew what to look for. I may not be able to use it, but I could usually tell when it was present.
My scrubbing didn’t take nearly as long as Cameron’s, and I shucked back into my coat so I could pretend I wasn’t shivering. “You guys just leave holy water sitting down here in case someone happens by?”
“Yes.” Apparently, he was clean to his own satisfaction, because he pulled the stopper on the sink and moved to his duffel bag again. “The function of a Sanctum is to be prepared whenever someone needs it.”
“That’s a lot of wasted juice,” I observed, watching the blessed water draining out into the local sewer system.
“Not really. Most novices have enough latent ability to bless the water, even if they don’t know their results have actual power. Faith is an amazing phenomenon.”
“Mmhmm.” Cam and I had discussed this whole magic vs. religion thing before. What it boiled down to, for me, was that my pagan wife’s magic smelled and felt just the same as Cam’s prayers. You can call it an elephant if you want, but for me it all still quacks like a duck.
Cameron was unloading his duffel bag right there on the floor, setting out vials and bells and small containers of unidentifiable powders. “Only take what you need inside the next room. Leave your bag out here, the wrappings on the sword, that kind of stuff.”
Hey, I don’t ask. I leave the whys and the how-comes to the magic folk. I unpacked my gear, like he said, managing somehow to carry all my armor and padding with one arm, leaving my other hand free to carry the precious new sword. It was heavy as hell—the armor, not the sword—and it took only a few minutes for my arm to start complaining.
