“How many of these artifacts are there?” At least Derek was ready to get them back on the practical side of the conversation.
“Tough to say.” Henry sounded excited by not having a solid fact.
Lack of facts was not helpful now. The consequences of Nate and his crew having access to tools to snatch souls were too great to wing it. “We need to know how many people could be stealing people’s souls, Henry. How many could show up at the cathedral and steal from the well.”
Derek’s hand began to rub her back in small circles before she’d even finished speaking.
The priest bristled. “The artifacts wouldn’t get you into the well. We’ve never let Nate in. You know that.”
Sure, he’d told her that before. She also barely knew him, and was pretty sure Derek had also promised to punch Henry in the nose after that meeting. She was beginning to understand the urge.
“What do you mean the artifacts won’t get you inside? They can pull and push souls from a host, can’t they?”
“From a host, yes. Not from the well.” His words came at the pace doled out to two-year-olds.
If he wanted to be that way, she’d prod until she got something useful. “Why not?”
“I’m not certain,” he admitted. His patronization stopped immediately, too. “The journal doesn’t explain the mechanics of why one person is gifted with the flight and others are not.”
“Flight?” She wasn’t a goddamn pilot.
“You.” Was it a priest thing to be cryptic? Weren’t they supposed to explain things to people? Her local priest growing up had been big on interpreting everything for them.
“Excuse me?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward until her wrist was exposed. The nighthawk had changed. The black outline remained, but some of the white that had pooled into the mark when she visited the well hadn’t left. White cut across the throat and ran brilliant near the ends of the wings.
“This,” he said, “is the mark of the nighthawk. Only those who bear this mark can enter the well. Only those who have the ability of flight, who can ferry souls from one realm to another, may bear this symbol.”
“The only people in Gem City and in this state with the nighthawk are you and the Soul Charmer. Only you and he can touch the well. Even if someone with the artifacts could connive a way to get past the requirements to enter the location, those tools would not be able to cross the veil. If you believe St. Petro, and I do,” Henry posted his hand on the desk. His breathing was slow and steady. A man of faith in action.
“We believe you,” Derek said. His expression was open, and not one he’d worn in this room before. The brothers had a tenuous relationship, and this help could be a bridge for them if Callie and Derek could manage to keep the Charmer’s issues from burning it down.
“So if Nate was able to put together at least a van full of souls, he acquired them without the soul well,” Callie said.
Whether that made things better wasn’t clear. Access to the well would have damning consequences for the people of Gem City, but if Nate was harvesting souls from people that was a problem, too. If he was slinging the tainted ones from the Soul Charmer’s shelf of filth, the situation wasn’t prettier.
“Did the journal provide instructions? Like would it have shown someone how to use the artifacts?” If they had any chance of stopping him, Callie needed to know how much Nate had learned about the mechanics of soul magic.
“Of course not. It’s a monk’s text. This is about the nature of the Lord’s work and the tools crafted for the task, but it was not his place to share the inner workings of gifts bestowed by God. The ability of flight is a miracle and one cannot explain how when it comes to wonders.” Henry wasn’t trying to be a dick. This was a normal Cortean response.
There were mechanics to this, though. There were rules and restrictions and dangers. Callie attempted to find solace in the fact there was not actually a guidebook for this shit, because it would have made the Soul Charmer’s ‘let’s set you on fire’ teaching style even more painful.
“We have one of his tools,” Derek spoke only for Callie. “We’ll find out what else he has, and put this to a stop.”
If only it could be so easy.
Callie turned to fully face Father Henry. “How would Nate have even gotten this hands on one of these artifacts, much less several?”
“I wish I could tell you. The Church has housed some of the artifacts, but I’m not privy to everything in our cathedral.” It was a prime gig to work there, but Father Henry was the youngest by far.
“I can’t see Father Giles handing any Cortean relics over to anyone,” Callie said, forgetting the others didn’t know she’d met with him more than once.
“No, he wouldn’t. Not if they weren’t affiliated with the Church.” Henry’s words came slow, but were solid. “Though Nate does have connections to be in more private areas of the cathedral.”
“How private?” Derek asked. His hand stopped moving.
Father Henry’s answer was plain. “If he arrives with the Ford family, he has the same access they do.”
“Which is?” his brother nudged.
“Everything. The Ford family is the largest patron to our church, and they are paramount in upholding the tenets of the faith.”
Callie and Derek shared a look. Henry folded his arms and unfolded them twice. “What?”
“You really don’t know who they are?” Callie asked.
“He doesn’t,” Derek answered her, and then to his brother he said, “The Ford family are mobsters, Henry. I know you can’t spill the details of what people confess to, but you aren’t much of a liar either. They can’t be paragons of the fucking faith if they aren’t spending hours in that box unloading their goddamn souls. Soul renters can’t be your perfect parishioners.
