Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Neal
Once we got to Mass I finally felt Sorcha relax beside me, something in her uncoiling after the utter horror of the last eighteen hours.
The church was quiet and dim. And, unlike every other inch of the city, felt calm and peaceful rather than eerie and uncanny.
In stark contrast to Reverend Whittaker’s revival back in Austin, not a single person had come up and talked with us, and no one had tried to touch her belly.
“You see why I said the last one wasn’t a real church service?” she whispered to me with a smirk. I nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll remember the difference next time, don’t worry.”
When Sorcha got up to go take communion, Ansel slipped into the row behind us and tapped my shoulder.
“Notice anything?” Ansel whispered.
“That my pregnant wife is calm for the first time in, what? Thirty-six hours?” I replied. “After you physically assaulted her? And told her she was incompetent? Yeah, I noticed that.”
“No cult symbols,” Ansel replied. “Not one. Not on any of the parishioners.”
“It’s a church,” I said. “Of course there’s no occult symbols.”
“This priest is doing something right,” Ansel said. “We’re talking to him after Mass.”
“It’s almost seven, Ansel,” I said. “After Mass we are getting food and going to bed.”
“Just as soon as we talk to the priest,” Ansel insisted.
We didn’t have to seek him out, because we’d barely left our pews before the priest found us.
“You’re new,” he said, “and you’re coming to weekday Mass.”
“We’re very pious like that,” Ansel said casually. “Lovely place you’ve got here.”
“She is very pious like that,” the priest replied bluntly, gesturing at Sorcha. “You are not. So I will ask you directly, what do you want?”
“We’re here investigating the cults,” Ansel said softly.
“Then follow me,” the priest replied, glancing over his shoulder to check if someone was listening. “My name is Father Andrew. We can talk in my office.”
We followed Father Andrew to a small room at the back of the church.
The walls were painted dark blue, and a big set of wooden bookshelves dominated the space.
It was dim, smelled of charcoal and incense, and hovered just on the comforting side of claustrophobic.
He sat down at a desk in one corner and offered Sorcha the remaining chair.
A birch and ivory crucifix hung above the fireplace.
“Why are you investigating the portals?” Father Andrew asked as he sat down. “Tell me what you know and why you’re here. Now, please.”
“Aren’t priests supposed to be welcoming?” Ansel snorted.
“There are people drinking blood in my city,” Father Andrew snapped in response. I stifled a laugh in spite of myself. It was so astronomically rare to hear someone challenge Ansel’s snark.
“Short version,” Ansel said, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed.
“Her dad was offed by one of these portal abominations, didn’t realize cults were summoning them until we stumbled on it in our travels.
As you said, your city is dripping with people exchanging sacrifices for magic, and putting a stop to destructive magic is kind of our expertise. ”
“It wasn’t always like this,” Father Andrew said.
“There’s always been occult activity here.
There has been ever since I arrived back in ’32.
But in the last six months, something is different.
It used to lurk in the shadows, cling to the edges of the city.
But now it’s everywhere. And it’s effective like never before.
There’s a horrible difference between people bartering for hoodoo spells and people summoning full-fledged demons.
And nothing I’ve been able to do can stop it. ”
“Six months,” Sorcha murmured. “Same as when . . .”
Ansel shook his head just barely and she trailed off.
“And it’s hurting people,” Father Andrew said. “They take pains with the sacrifices to ensure the monsters don’t come after human flesh, but contact with magic like that isn’t natural. It isn’t right.”
“And?” Ansel prompted.
“It drains the life out of them,” Father Andrew said solemnly.
“People are young. They’re healthy. But they want something, so then they start sacrificing to the portals.
Soon, they aren’t young and healthy anymore.
They are distant, disengaged. Over time, I’ve seen how it gets worse.
They start to get sick. Some are more sensitive than others.
For some, even proximity to the portals can make them ill, even if they’ve never participated themselves. ”
“Which would explain why you were vomiting blood last night,” I said, realization dawning on me.
“Excuse me, what?” Sorcha looked up, brows knitting together in confusion.
“What happened last night?” Ansel asked, deadpan.
“Shit,” I swore. Had I not told them? I must have told them. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mention that to either of you?”
“Definitely not,” Ansel snapped.
“I would’ve noticed?” Sorcha asked, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t I?”
“You remember getting sick?” I asked, stepping closer and crouching in front of her, hands on her shoulders. She was shaking hard.
“Yeah,” Sorcha said.
“That was blood,” I said. “You were scared. We both wanted out. I took care of it. You’re fine.”
I paused.
“I’m fine?”
“I think.”
A long moment passed in silence then Ansel snapped, “And at no point did you think this might be valuable to share with the group?”
“You kidnapped a man, decided to torture him, then you manhandled my pregnant wife before triggering a full-on existential crisis,” I said, turning to glare at him but not taking my hands from Sorcha’s shoulders. “I was a little preoccupied.”
“And you kept your mouth shut about a very important development!” Ansel snapped back at me.
“I get it,” I said. “I should have said something. I get it.”
“You been sick since?” Ansel asked, turning to Sorcha.
She shook her head.
“I haven’t eaten,” she told him. “There’s not been anything to vomit up.”
“Tonight after dinner we’ll keep a close eye,” Ansel said. “See if it’s still happening now that you’ve got some distance.”
Another long moment passed in silence.
Father Andrew dug through his desk and eventually handed us a thin, leather-bound notebook with a silver crucifix embossed on the front cover.
“What’s this?” Sorcha asked, opening the text.
“My journal,” Father Andrew said. “It’s not much, but it’s everything I’ve been able to learn about the cults since I started here, everything I’ve been able to surmise about the portals and the demons. Perhaps it will help.”
“Thank you,” Sorcha said. “I’ll see what we can do.”
“And all of you?” Father Andrew said. “Get out. Soon.”
“We’re on the first train tomorrow morning,” I replied.
“Good man.” Father Andrew nodded as he got up to open the door.