medal?”
“What do you mean, what kind?”
“What did it look like? Did it have anything on the back?”
Callahan nodded. “Some initials and an etching of a beetle.”
LaLaurie stiffened. “You’re sure about that?”
“Why? Does that mean something?”
“It could change everything.”
“How?”
“I need to see it. Right now.”
“I just told you, somebody took it.”
“And you don’t have any idea who?”
As a matter of fact, she did. She doubted Alejandro had the emotional energy to do much of anything at this point, so that left the housekeeper. Rosa.
Turning, Callahan moved back through the bedroom and down the hall, LaLaurie at her heels. She called out Rosa’s name, and a moment later, the woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, a quizzical look on her face.
Callahan said, “Gabriela had a Saint Christopher medal in her prayer room. Did you take it?”
“Yes, Senhorita. In preparation for the funeral.”
“For the funeral?”
“Yes. She told me if anything ever happened to her, she wanted it buried with her.”
“Did she say why?”
“I think it was very important to her. Very personal.”
No kidding. Callahan told the housekeeper to bring it to them and Rosa disappeared down another hall, returning a few minutes later with the necklace in hand.
“You won’t keep it, will you?”
“We just want to look at it for now,” Callahan said. “But I can’t make any promises at this point.”
Rosa handed her the necklace and Callahan passed it on to LaLaurie.
He nearly froze in place as he took it, staring at it intently. Then he turned it in his fingers, looking at the etching on the back, his hands trembling, his face going through a dozen different changes before settling on complete and utter astonishment.
“CSP,” he said quietly. “I was wrong about Gabriela. This is about much more than a summoning gone haywire.”
“You know what those initials stand for?”
LaLaurie’s face was pale again, but there was an odd excitement in his expression, as if he’d stumbled across a cache of hidden jewels.
“She was
“What the hell is
He turned the disk in his fingers again, gaping at it, then looked up at her.
“I think it’s time for another drink,” he said. “Something a lot stronger than orange juice.”
19
Have you ever heard of Archbishop Jacobus de Voragine? Or the Golden Legend?”
Callahan had decided to let this play out a little longer, mostly because LaLaurie had been so bowled over by the discovery of the medallion that she couldn’t help getting caught up in his passion.
Maybe she’d been too quick to judge this guy. LaLaurie’s belief in otherwordly phenomenon didn’t make him any different than half the world’s population, so what could it hurt to practice a little patience, buy him a drink and see what else he had to say? There might be something amidst all the nuttiness that she could actually use.
She took him to her hotel bar. LaLaurie had ordered Tullamore Dew, and Callahan had settled for a glass of the house pinot.
“I’ve heard of the Golden Rule,” she said. “Do unto others and all that?”
“This is different. The Golden Legend is a collection of stories compiled by the archbishop in the thirteenth century. Stories about the greater saints of the Catholic church.”
“Like Saint Michael.”
He took a sip of his drink. “He was one of them, yeah. But the one we’re concerned with right now is Saint Christopher. Do you know his story?”
“I know he’s the patron saint of travel, but that’s about the extent of it.”
“According to de Voragine, Christopher was a Canaanite warrior who wandered the countryside in search of a great king to serve. But when he finally found one, he quickly discovered that the king lived in fear of the Devil- which, to Christopher’s mind, meant that Satan must be a greater king.” He paused, took another sip. “So Christopher threw in with Satan, only to find that despite all of his power, the rebel angel was deathly afraid of someone called Christ.”
“So let me guess,” Callahan said. “He became a Christian.”
“Right. And to serve Christ, he spent his days down at the river, helping people cross against a dangerous current.”
Someone near their table laughed, and LaLaurie shot him a look, annoyed by the interruption. He waited a moment, then continued.
“Then one day, a boy walked up to Christopher and asked for his help to cross the river. So Christopher hoisted him up on his shoulders and gave him a ride. But despite his size, the boy was heavy. Christopher nearly lost his footing and barely managed to hang on. Once they were safely across, the boy kissed his forehead and thanked him. Then he said, ‘I am the king you serve.’ ”
“Jesus?”
LaLaurie nodded. He had been holding Gabriela’s Saint Christopher medal in his hands as he spoke. Now he it held it out, pointing to the etching of the man carrying a child on his back.
“And that’s why Christopher was named a saint.”
“Okay,” Callahan said. “But what does this have to do with Gabriela’s death, or her being-what was it?”
“
“I’m afraid so.”
“Sounds like a crappy eighties’ kid show.”
“Far from it,” LaLaurie said. “And by most accounts, they’ve never existed. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything about them in the usual literature. But there are one or two fringe accounts out there. You just have to know where to look.”
“So who are these guardians?”
“A group of men and women who are said to have been chosen by the Archangel Michael to help those who want to make the journey from sinner to servant, just as Christopher did.”
“Are they all Catholics?”
LaLaurie shook his head.
He flipped the medallion over, pointing to the beetle etched into its back.
“This scarab symbolizes the promise of resurrection for all human beings. A symbol you won’t find on any other Saint Christopher medal. In fact, if you ask most religious scholars, they’ll tell you these don’t even exist.”
“So how do you know this isn’t some kind of mock-up? A forgery?”
“The same way I knew how to find Gabriela’s secret room. I can feel its energy.”
