“If it will help heal Ysabella, you should,” Stella said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Maybe if you brought Reverend McGlazer here to offer prayer,” Maisie answered. “Your little girls too, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Is it that obvious that…I’m not?”
“What kind of mother would you be if all this didn’t worry the hell out of you?”
As Stella rose to leave, Maisie clasped her hand tighter. “We all have to move fast now. Halloween is coming.”
Maisie took the keys to the Mercedes and drove to Violina’s rented house.
* * * *
Yoshida stared at his noisily working coffee maker like it was a crossroads.
He thought of the film DeShaun and Stuart had coaxed him into watching, the only horror film that had utterly scared the hell out of him—The Exorcist.
But it wasn’t the demon Pazuzu that worried him. It was himself.
It hurt Yoshida to his core that he had caught himself trying to kill Mr. Purrfect.
The faces of his friends—Stuart, DeShaun, Hudson, The Outlines—appeared in his mind’s eye as mangled corpses, a glimpse of the future and the victims of savage impulses he could not control.
A fist battered his door. “Open up, already!” Dennis Barcroft, polite as ever.
Yoshida found Dennis at the door holding his keyboard case, and Pedro with his bass, regarding Yoshi like he was the rudest host they had ever met. They entered without invitation, knowing they didn’t need one.
“You look pretty hairless to me,” said Pedro. “Like a twelve-year-old girl.”
“What?”
“Stuart and DeShaun told us,” explained Dennis. “But don’t get sore. They were worried.”
Pedro muscled past Yoshida on his way to the kitchen. “Yippee, it’s a sleepover!”
“Took the liberty of calling in to work for you,” Dennis continued. “Hud says for you to get some sleep, even if we gotta knock your ass out.”
Yoshida followed Dennis to the kitchen, where Pedro was busy extracting beers from his refrigerator and emptying them down the drain. As with the invitation, no explanation or apology was needed.
“You guys are staying over?”
“Duh,” answered Pedro. “You got any soft-core? Full penetration makes me squeamish.”
“Some…Japanese pinku,” answered Yoshida, catching on fast. “What are you dudes hoping to accomplish, exactly?”
“Keep an eye on your ass,” said Dennis. “Figure out your malfunction.”
Pedro tossed two empty bottles in the trash can. “You really think you’re hulking out at night?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Let’s find out together,” said Dennis, handing Yoshida a bag of candy corn. “You’ll have the privilege of hearing us practice our new tunes.”
“Where’d you stash those silver chains?” Pedro asked. “’Cause you’re about to get ‘blinged,’ as the young folks used to say.”
* * * *
Reverend McGlazer’s dream was frightening, distressing, confounding—but not surprising.
He was at the altar of Saint Saturn’s, giving communion and tending his eager flock, like Jesus at the Mount, as they stood in line to receive his blessing.
First came Hudson with his family: Leticia, DeShaun, Wanda. They stood side by side and looked up at him with sad expressions. “We’re leaving now,” said Hudson. DeShaun extended his hand. “You come too. We’ll drop you off.”
When McGlazer did not take his hand, DeShaun smiled with understanding and withdrew it. Hudson patted the reverend on the shoulder, and they shuffled off.
Then came Dennis. McGlazer spun fast to take the silver tray of communion wine to the side exit, where Stella took it, opened the door and dashed away toward his office.
Dennis waved and walked away.
Next was Candace. She was holding Emera, who had regressed to infanthood. Candace pointed toward the wooden cross mounted on the back wall.
He faced front to find Elaine and Stuart Barcroft standing there. McGlazer held out his hands to touch them and found thick mud on his fingertips. The Barcrofts closed their eyes and waited. McGlazer gently rubbed the mud around their eyelids. The mud dried and fell off, then mother and son nodded their thanks. McGlazer started to make the sign of the Eucharist, but Elaine stopped his hand halfway through and kissed it.
“Abe,” called Stella. When he turned toward her voice, he found himself sitting in his office, looking at his phone, which rang like church bells.
McGlazer woke from the dream in his parish bedroom and answered the telephone on his nightstand.
“Abe,” Stella repeated. “Please come to the Blue Moon. Ysabella is very ill.”
“Oh…”
“We need to form a prayer group for her, but…judiciously.”
McGlazer understood the need for discretion, but…“Prayer group, you say?”
“I’m gathering the girls. Bernard too.” McGlazer was relieved by this. He had wanted to speak with Bernard for some time. “I’ll call the Lotts. Please get here quickly.”
McGlazer hung up and stared at his coat and collar hanging on the closet doorknob, then left without them.
* * * *
Ever the gracious hostess, Violina mixed light drinks and raised brows of concern, directing Maisie to sit in the rental home’s antique rocking chair. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Doing so was going against Ysabella’s wishes. But there was no other way. “Ysabella collapsed.”
“Damn. I was afraid of something like this.”
“Stella came to look her over. She’s resting in her room.”
Violina came back and knelt before Maisie on the rocking chair, taking the girl’s hand.
“I need your help,” Maisie said, her voice cracking. “We need to do something. We have to help her.”
Violina hugged her, stroked her hair, commiserated. “She’s too valuable to us. To the world.”
“Will you come and help me chant over her?”
Violina considered. “She doesn’t want me to know she’s weakened. If she sees me—do you really think it will help her?”
“She’ll see, like I do. She’ll see that you care.”
“And then what? She’ll go to work trying to save the town. And she won’t stop till it’s done. Or she’s done.”
Maisie slumped with despair.
“We can’t let our love for her cloud our judgment. We have a duty to this town. And to her.”
When Maisie nodded her agreement, Violina continued. “Let’s go to the church. Let’s do what she would want
