“Excuse me, Father.” I was so happy priests wore uniforms, or else I would have never seen him.
He made the sign of the cross and looked at me. “Good morning—or is it good afternoon?” He was an older priest, maybe in his late sixties, with a fabulous head of white hair. If he grew a beard, he could pass for Santa Claus. He even had dimples on his cheeks.
“I don’t think it matters, Father.” He just smiled at me. He had a contagious smile, and I smiled back.
“Oh, good. It’s been years since I wore a watch. Telling time by the sun is really hard.” He looked at the sky, and I followed. This poor priest needed a cell phone or maybe a better secretary.
“I bet, Father.”
“How can I help you, dear? I’m sure you’re not here to indulge an old man in his fancies.”
Oh, good. At least he was direct. Now, how to explain this. I doubted that Constantine had sent him my info.
“Father, my name is Isis, and I have a few questions for you. They might sound odd.” Odd was probably an underestimation as well.
“Isis, my dear, we’ve been expecting you.” I didn’t think it was possible for his smile to get any bigger. It was so brilliant. He could have passed for a human flashlight.
“You were? Why?” Honestly, that was creepy. I had never been to this church. How did he know who I was?
“Father Francis mentioned you might be coming.”
“Oh, thank God for Father Francis. So you know who I am and why I’m here?”
“Yes, dear, I do.” He was still smiling, but not as brightly. I really liked Father Francis. This just made my life so much easier.
“Great, ’cause we’re running out of time. Father, have you seen anyone around here?”
“You look a little flushed, dear. How about we stand under a tree and get out of this hot sun?”
“Sure thing. Thanks.” I was starting to sweat. The Texas sun was no joke, even in late September. The weird thing was, the priest wasn’t sweating. He was probably used to wearing so many layers already. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sorry, dear. I’m Father George.” He extended his hand.
“A pleasure, Father.” His hand was freezing. Father George probably needed the sun.
“We had some strangers stop by a few months ago. They were wandering the grounds during the day and came back at night. This church is my place of duty, and I will protect it above all else.” He looked over the grounds with a sad smile on his face.
“Did they come back?”
“No, dear. Once they realized I was here, they stopped coming.” He directed his sad gaze at me.
“So if both the Catholic churches are secure, there’s no way they can get into purgatory, right?” Purgatory was very confusing to me, and I was Catholic. At least I could use the excuse that I hadn’t been a Catholic all my life.
“I wish, dear. The gates to purgatory are always open at the churches, but you can force a hole to it at any other location.” He was very matter of fact.
“How is that possible?” Between the dogmas of the church, other religions, and now the supernatural world, it appeared my education was very limited.
“Think of a house. It is always easier for a thief to break in through a window or door. What happens when all those are secure and well watched? What would a thief do?”
“If he wanted something bad enough, blow a wall up or dig a tunnel. I guess like those bank robbers in movies.” That would be extreme. I would just rob a different house.
“With enough energy, and the boundaries between the worlds thin, you could do almost anything.”
I slapped my hand on my forehead. Father George just smiled.
“Of course. Hence, the equinox.” I really hated those witches.
“Remember, Isis, faith makes the impossible possible. Hence, purgatory. This equinox is especially dangerous because it falls on a Saturday.”
“How could they use that to their advantage?” Why did it matter at all?
“Not only are the Wiccan communities celebrate the equinox, but Catholics and Jews hold their services at that time on Saturdays. They will be tapping into the collective power of the universe.” Father George was looking thoughtful again.
“Great. No pressure at all now.” I was so screwed.
“No pressure, Isis. They’re going to be even more dangerous once they’ve tapped in to all that energy. Please be careful.”
“Thank you, Father. How do you know all this? Father Francis wasn’t this helpful.” No offense to Father Francis. I really liked my priest.
“I’ve been around longer. Nowadays, people just talk to me outside confession. I don’t have the same vows to keep, and I can share information more freely.” Who would be dumb enough to give that much information to one person—even a priest?
“Thank you again, Father. I really appreciate it.” I wasn’t too excited about shaking hands with him again.
Father George saved me the discomfort. He raised both of his hands over my head and did a silent prayer instead.
“Go in peace, my child.” With those last words, he walked away. He headed across the cemetery toward a couple who were crying by a tomb. I felt creepy watching, so I left.
The voices, mercifully, had stopped. They could start calling somebody else.
I headed outside the cemetery, and a light breeze picked up. It was as if time had stopped, and the only thing I could feel was the sun. For some strange reason, my heart was racing. I was staring at the ground when I almost ran into a lady on the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” This was the second time in less than two hours that I had been surprised by people because I was lost in my thoughts. According to the army, complacency kills. They should add absentmindedness to that list.
“It’s OK, dear. Are you OK? You look upset.”
I had never met my grandmother, but I imagined she looked like this
