by Jenn Stark
Finn moved immediately over to the elevator shaft, the doors opening with a soft sigh when he punched the Down button.
“Nothing you have time to look at—come on!” He pulled her into the elevator shaft, and they plummeted downward.
The elevators opened deep within the Post Office Plaza parking garage, but it was comparatively quiet even as the patrol cars roamed above them. They moved through the darkness, winding their way back toward the street level. Despite her initial rush of energy, Dana felt her breath coming more heavily as they finally resurfaced far down on Huron, and she stopped, doubling over as Finn came back to her.
“I’m going to have to carry you,” he said, and she nodded, too tired to protest.
“Where will we go?” she asked, but then she was in his arms, the buildings moving by at breakneck speed. She thought she saw the gleaming lights of the Winking Lizard Tavern, but they vanished as they plunged ahead, turning a sharp right. In hardly any time, Finn slowed his run to a trot, then down to a quick stride, Dana blinking as she peeled her face away from his chest to see where they were.
The twinkling Christmas lights of Flannery’s Pub surrounded her. Without putting her down, Finn walked inside.
The Christmas Eve crowd flooded away from them, and Dana struggled in his arms, forcing Finn to put her down again, though her knees shook and her feet seemed too small to support her legs. The first thing she saw was Bob’s arrested face, staring at them in owl-eyed fascination for a half moment before rushing toward them. Then her gaze canted right, and the line of old men at the bar captured her attention, most of all Willie, who stared at her in shock.
“Dana, what happened? Are you hurt? Should I call the police?” Bob sputtered, and Dana quickly shook her head.
“No—really,” she began, and Finn finished her thought.
“Do you have a back room here? Someplace she can rest in private?”
“Absolutely, we have an office in the back. Come this way,” Bob said. He raised his voice. “Everything’s okay, folks, nothing but a friend of ours shaken up after Christmas shopping who needs a place to relax.” Laughter greeted his announcement, and the crowd shuffled aside. Dana hunched down tightly to hide the blood stains on her dark clothes.
They moved into a short corridor and pushed through an “Employees Only” door, and Bob pulled out a set of keys to the management office.
“There’s a couch in here, and I can get you something to drink.” He looked at Dana with hard eyes. “You need a first aid kit or something?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’d be good.” Finn had already stood again, watching at the door. “You think we were followed?”
“No,” Finn said. “But when the police canvass the area for questioning, they’re going to come here.”
“They’ll be tied up in the building for a while,” Dana said, and Bob shook his head.
“Most of the folks here tonight, they know Dana,” he said. “The Dana they know doesn’t show up in a dead faint, carried by a giant. They’ll know someone came here and appeared to be hurt, but they won’t know much else than that.”
“What about you?” Dana asked. “You can’t lie to the police, Bob.”
He stood up. “The Dana I know doesn’t ever show up in a faint either,” he said with a grin. “We take care of our own, doll.”
Finn came back over to her as Bob produced the first aid kit. “I’ll need a minute,” he said. “If you have brandy—scotch, anything—that would probably be good.”
“You got it.”
Bob left, and Finn opened up the kit, pulling out the gauze and tape.
Dana frowned. “I think the bleeding has already stopped,” she said as he eased her out of her jacket, unzipping her tunic to expose her shoulder. She glanced down at it, and sure enough, the wound was already sealed over, raw and angry but no longer bleeding.
“This is for show,” Finn said, pressing the gauze over the wound. Dana closed her eyes momentarily as another flood of warmth consumed her. It was almost worth getting shot for as good as she felt when Finn touched her. Almost.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his eyes dark and intent. “You have to take better care of yourself,” he said softly, and she smiled, her heart filling her chest, pressing against her rib cage and forming a solid lump in her throat.
“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly.
“You have to be,” he breathed. “You have to protect the others like you, to be strong no matter what comes.”
She nodded, but the look in his eyes had her heart starting to thump awkwardly. “You’ll be there to protect us too,” she said quietly. “You can’t leave us.”
Finn curved his hands over hers. “I’m a danger to you.”
“That’s not true,” Dana said, searching his eyes. “We can help you, like you help us. You’ve already taught me so much—think of what you can teach the rest of us. You can teach us what to expect, prepare us for battle. We won’t be able to do it without you.” Finn’s face remained grim, and she laid one hand along his face, her next words bubbling up unexpectedly. “Please don’t leave me, Finn,” she whispered. “I can’t face this without you. I don’t want to.”
“I’ll never leave you, not really. I’ll protect you, wherever I am.”
Her smile was wry. “Not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”
He laughed, the sound breaking her tension, and she turned her head away, forcing herself not to cry. “Here.” He handed her medicinal wipe packets. “Your face—” he said, gesturing to the bathroom.
Dana started up. “What?” she asked, and he pointed to the small bathroom attached to the office. She moved into it quickly. “Well, for the love of God, why didn’t you tell me?” she sputtered, aghast to see her face tracked with tears, smoke, and—yes, undeniably—smears of blood. It was a good thing no one got a good look at her up front, although, arguably, she looked even less like her usual self.
Haunted green eyes stared out of deep-set sockets, her skin pale under its thick covering of grime. She started with the wipes, her hands shaking as she opened the packet.
“How long until the tremors stop?” she called out, as Finn moved through the office.
“Thirty—” He paused. “Perhaps ninety minutes. The bar stays open past midnight, even on Christmas Eve. You should stay here until then. Keep safe, out of sight. If you can get a change of clothes, that would be good.”
“I can call Max—” Dana frowned, patting her ear. Her earbud had fallen out, probably somewhere along Prospect during their run, and she had no idea where her phone was. “I’ll call him from the house line, I guess. Or someone else’s phone.”
She abandoned the medicinal wipes, threading her fingers through her hair to lift it off her face. With her bandaged shoulder bulky underneath her jacket, she looked exactly like what Bob had called her, a victim of overeager mall walkers.
“Okay,” she said, coming out of the bathroom. “So what is our—”
She stopped, the room seeming to telescope out in front of her. Finn wasn’t there.
“Finn?” she said nervously, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Finn!” She lurched toward the door of the office and yanked it open.
Willie stood in front of the door, his fingers nervously scrunching the edges of his fedora. She sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep her composure, when inside she knew what had happened. She looked at Willie. “Where did he go?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“He came out to the bar, but Bob was busy, down at the other end, some of the young ones having too much to drink,” Willie said in his whiskey-ravaged voice. “He told me to come back here. That he had to leave. Then he was gone. Like he hadn’t even been there.” Willie’s eyes flared wide, their mercurial cloudy blue reaching out to her. He was frightened, and Dana faltered, moving forward, her heart breaking even as she knew she had to be strong—because that was what people expected her to be, because that was what she was.
; There would be time for crying later.
“It’s okay, Willie,” she said, pulling him into a hug. The old man stiffened, then his arms went around her, shaky and unsure. And she remembered the words he had said the night before, speaking to her about her father. She gently pulled away, looking down at him. “You knew my dad wasn’t really my dad, didn’t you?”
Willie straightened, looking betrayed. “I never said that,” he said, his tone challenging. “I never said—”
Dana shook her head. “It’s okay. I know it now too.” All the wind seemed to go out of the slight man’s sails, and he slumped down, patting her hand awkwardly.
“He would tell me the most wonderful stories, Dana, stories to keep an old man company, stories to make you believe in things.”
“I’m sure he did.” Dana smiled. “Why don’t you come in to the office here, and keep me company?”
They had just moved back through the doors when Dana saw it, a folded piece of stationery square in the middle of the manager’s desk. It had her name on it, and she picked it up with shaking hands, turning it over. Bob came bursting through the exterior doors, and she turned quickly, putting the letter inside her jacket pocket.
“Irish coffees for—hey, there, Willie, what are you doing back here?” he said.
“Keeping me company,” Dana said, patting the man on the shoulder while she took the drink into her hands. It was scorching hot, both from its temperature and its alcohol content, and she downed it in a single gulp. She was the master healer, after all. Her throat would mend itself.
She wasn’t so sure about her heart.
Don’t. Think. About. That.
Dana refocused on Bob. “How late are you open tonight, Bob? I don’t want to be in your way.”
“It’s no problem at all. We’re open until midnight, maybe later if the crowd sustains itself, and then I can drive you home, and you too, Willie,” he said with a smile as the old man looked at him hopefully. But Bob’s smile belied the concern in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dana? I can call one of my EMT friends to come here, check you out—”
“I’m good, Bob, really—”
Dana’s words were cut off by a buzz against her chest. Setting down her empty glass with a thud, she pushed her hand into her jacket and pulled out her phone, praying that it would be Finn or Max.
She frowned. It was Lester. Lester! She knew that bastard hadn’t been killed. He’d merely left them all to fry.
She tapped on her phone and shoved it against her ear. “Lester,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. “Where are you now, and what are you doing?”
“Good evening, Dana,” Lester said, his voice strangely lyrical, as if he was on the verge of laughter he couldn’t quite release. “I need you to do something for me.”
She straightened, sending a worried look at Bob. Where was Max when she needed him? Come to think of it, where was Finn? “Um…are you okay?” she asked. “Do you know about the attack at your office? We were worried about you. You never showed.”
“I was busy, I’m afraid.” And for the first time, Dana heard the sound of muffled complaint in the background, a feminine sound—not really a voice as much as a mewling gasp, a high-pitched shivery sound that reminded her of…something. She couldn’t remember what, but it was familiar, right on the edge of her memory.
“Right, well, what do you need?” Dana asked, reaching inside her jacket to finger the letter Finn had left behind. She jerked her hand away as tears began to well up. She wouldn’t be able to read it anytime soon. She knew it wouldn’t help. Not yet.
“I need you to come to the rooftop of St. John’s right away.”
“Oka—what?” Dana quirked her brows, aware that Willie and Bob were staring at her. “Lester, Midnight Mass is going on there. What in God’s name are you doing on the roof?”
In response, Lester’s voice was cold and sure, shivering over the cell lines. “Claire, perhaps you can explain to your daughter what she needs to do?”
Dana’s brain stuttered over his words as two identical sounds came together at once. Her mother’s racking, heartfelt, but nearly silent sobs at her father’s funeral, and the whimper of stifled misery she’d heard in the background.
“Dana, no!” she heard, her mother’s words cut off with a smack, and she felt for her Glock before Lester’s voice came back over the phone.
“I have your mother, Dana—you might not think of her as such anymore, but I am hoping for her sake you do. If you want her to live, you’ll be at the church within the next fifteen minutes. Alone.” He breathed with unbridled enjoyment, and Claire’s whimpers intensified. Dana could imagine him tightening his grip on her arm, her hair. “Please don’t disappoint me.”
“She’s your sister!” Dana protested, the desire to reach for the power that Finn had opened up within her suddenly bright and sharp. She welcomed it, relished it. She stood straighter, preparing to bolt. “Lester, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?”
He sighed, almost sounding remorseful. “I told him you were the answer. That’s all I said. So now, all they want is you. And I’m going to give you to them.”
He clicked off the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist
Cleveland, Ohio
11:00 p.m., Dec. 24
Finn pulled the key out of his pocket, forcing his hand to steady as he pushed it into the lock. Every step away from Dana had been excruciating, every step toward the cathedral maddening. But he had gotten here in time.
He fell into the corridor, his entry scattering a small group of white-gowned children. “I need Father Franks,” he managed, pulling himself up. He couldn’t help their fright at his appearance. The aura around the church had intensified, as it did on any major holy day. But this was no ordinary holy day. If the archangel was to be believed, a portal straight to heaven would open up at the apex of Christmas Eve, a mere hour away.
“Finn.” In full vestments, Father Franks stepped toward him, then looked hard at the children surrounding them. “Tell Father Andrews that I’m dealing with a matter of church business, Jamie. I won’t be in line with you all.”
“But the bishop is here!” the boy said, his eyes round. He couldn’t be more than ten years old, his shock at the priest’s change in plans written in his red-flushed cheeks.
“The bishop will understand most of all, Jamie,” Father Franks said with a smile that had the boy nodding. “So move along and let him know, then get yourself in line.”
“Yes, Father,” the boy said, turning away at a run.
Franks gestured Finn up the corridor. “Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and you have to choose this one for your showdown,” he muttered, and despite himself, Finn laughed. Franks passed him, then led him to a small corridor off the main area, turning a key inside the lock. As if recalling himself, he peered up at Finn as he let him in the room.
“If Dana gave you the key to the church, she knows you’re here, I take it?”
Finn moved inside, peering around the small room. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She doesn’t know where I am.” He turned and stared at Franks. “It has to stay that way, for her sake.”
“Where is she?” Franks asked sharply. “Bartholomew can’t be following her, can he?”
“No,” Finn said. “I left her specific instructions to stay where she was—Flannery’s Pub. She’ll be safe there, no matter what may befall me.”
“You’re not going back to her,” Father Franks said.
“No. What’s coming will come, but it isn’t my battle, no matter how much I want it to be.” His heart ached with the admission.
“‘And I will make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze.’” Father Franks said quietly. “What will you do?” Finn shook his head, glaring at him, and Franks pressed him. “What does your heart cry out for you to do?”
“Emotion is a human failing, Father,” Finn s
aid. “Your race has ever condemned itself by acting out of passion and pride, not logic.”
“Yet we’re still here, toiling along after all these thousands of years,” Franks said, unperturbed. “You can’t discount that we’re trying to right our many wrongs.”
Finn sighed, sensing the waves of quiet pain rolling off the priest now more than ever, as if Christmas Eve merely magnified the priest’s suffering. “Father,” he said, not unkindly. “How long has it been since you lost hope?”
Franks stiffened beside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, and Finn shook his head.
“Yes, you do. You couldn’t speak with such compassion to your flock unless you knew the depths of their doubt, fighting against it yourself. You couldn’t hold Dana so closely in your heart. You couldn’t have been a friend to Walter and rested easily with the paradox that Dana’s very existence brought into your life. Even I—especially I—do not fit within your worldview.”
He waited, knowing the many paths the priest could take. But Father Franks was first and foremost a man of truth. “Walter was a shining light in the darkness. A gift of angels. You would have seen it were he alive today. He was my friend. Dana, by her nature, was darker, quieter.” He laughed, his eyes widening. “And so she should have been, given her biological parents’ gift of heritage to her.”
“Walter knew?”
“A little,” Franks said. “Enough. But Walter… If any man was sent from God, he was it. When he died so senselessly, so stupidly, I told my congregation that God had readied heaven to take him early. But I couldn’t believe that. God wouldn’t have left us so bereft, not when the need was so great.”
“Fifteen years is a long time to harbor doubt and continue your service to the church.”
“My service grew more sharply defined after that,” Franks said. “Administrative work, caretaking of the cathedral.”
“Exorcisms.”
Franks looked at his large, worn hands, calloused and creased from a lifetime of service to his fellow man. “I seemed to retain the capacity for that, which should have given me solace.” His lips twisted. “It didn’t.”
