In the dimmer lighting, I could make out the faintest of glows around Cameron’s hands as he prayed, and it spread slowly from his fingers to the metal of my sword, oozing along the blade like syrup. It met in the middle, gained in intensity for just a moment, then sank into the weapon and vanished. His hand trembling, the priest dipped his fingers into a small bowl of water and spattered it across my sword. The water sizzled when it touched the metal, apparently to his satisfaction. Cameron took a shaky breath and leaned hard on the altar.
“You all right?” Magic—
Luckily, things like wards and protections were fairly minor on the magical spectrum. Defensive spells had minor costs. Not like the big flashy stuff. That’s why even those champions who had magic didn’t use it in combat. No great wand duels or fireballs. That’d kill a champion faster than any demon.
“I’m fine. Just gotta catch my breath between, you know?” Cam gave me a small grin that faded when he remembered we weren’t quite friends. “Let’s get the armor next.”
I traded out my newly blessed sword for my pile of tarnished mail armor and padding, Cam clearing more space on his altar for the heap of metal. As he reset some of his supplies, he casually asked, “So, why is Mira not doing this for you?”
“She just isn’t.” It was none of his damn business.
He gave me a flat look. “I heard Bridget talking to her on the phone.”
“I know that.” I’m not stupid, I swear.
“Are you excited?”
That was a damn good question. I mean, I love my daughter. She’s one of the most amazing things in my life. And I’m sure I would love any other kids that came along just the same. But was that being a responsible parent, bringing another kid into this mess? Poor Annabelle, she was here before I got involved in the lunacy. But another kid? It was a daunting prospect.
“Can we just save our male bonding for another time when I’m not freezing my balls off?” When I’m uncomfortable, I snap. Sorry.
Cam went to work without answering me, spreading his fingers to touch as much of my armor as he could. Again, the faint blue glow started at his palms, trickling through his fingers and into the gear in front of him. Topping the pile of armor were my leather bracers, and I could see the sigils on the inside surface flare brightly when Cameron’s magic passed over and through them. Mira’s runes, carved by Marty’s hand. In the pile of chain, tiny sparks danced in the links, adding a metallic hint to the clove-scented air. I didn’t remember seeing that happen when Mira worked her stuff. Interesting.
Watching the priest work over my armor, it occurred to me what else Marty’s absence in my life would mean. Damn, where was I going to get my armor worked on when it was damaged now? The stocky blacksmith had crafted every link with his own two hands, fitting and designing it by trial and error over the course of the last four years. It wasn’t like I could just drop it at the drycleaners and pick it up a couple of days later. I could ask Cam, sure, but I’d rather choke. Maybe I could call Avery, out in San Fran. Surely he’d know someone…
The spells on the armor went much the same as the blessing over the sword, except there was just more to cover and thus it took longer. It cost us the last lightbulb, leaving us with the torches and the increasingly smoky air, and despite the icy temperatures, Cameron was soaked with sweat when he finished. As he recovered from the second round of hoodoo, chugging a can of energy drink that I didn’t see him bring in, I grumbled about the lack of ventilation. “It’s actually a safety mechanism.”
“How’s that?” I eyed the shadowy ceiling and the murky layer of smoke that was accumulating up there.
“Eventually, we’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.”
“And that’s
“If you’re unconscious, you can’t pray anymore. Better to wake up with a raging headache than not wake up at all.”
He was right. Even magic use had its addicts, and apparently the church wasn’t immune. There were those who would simply cast and cast until they fell over dead, and they would do it willingly. Power of all kinds corrupts.
Armor and sword sufficiently tingly to my senses, Cam went about arranging a few other things for me. Lengths of the thick string became portable wards—or so he said. He blessed my demon-mace canister on my key chain, and gave me a charmed disk to add to my collection that was supposed to change color in the presence of danger. I didn’t bother to tell him about my own ingrained danger sense. Mira insists it’s the one vestige of magic I possess. I don’t care what we call it, so long as it works.
All the while, the air got thicker with smoke and clove-scent. My eyes burned, and I wasn’t sure if it was the torches, or the magic. And with every spell he cast—wait, sorry, prayer he said—Cameron’s face got paler, and the shadows under his eyes got darker. When his hands were visibly shaking, I stopped him.
“That’s enough. I don’t need anything else.” For just a moment, I thought he was going to argue with me. Like I said, power is tempting, even for a priest. I guess maybe I don’t really envy them after all. Finally, he nodded and I started helping him pack up his gear. “You can’t drive home like this.”
Cameron shook his head. “I’ll stay here for a bit, have some coffee with Ricky or something. I’ll be fine.”
“What are you gonna tell Bridget?”
He snorted. “I’m gonna tell her you took me out back and kicked my ass. What do you think I’m gonna tell her?”
Okay, I had to smile at that. I left him down there, making sure I propped the outer door open so there would be a little fresh air.
Esteban was right where I’d left him, but he was leaning back in the seat instead of being all hunched over his clasped hands. There was a sense of peace in his face that hadn’t been there before, and for a moment, I wished I could have that too.
