by Lincoln Cole
“What, then?”
“I’ll let you go,” Arthur said. “And you will call Frieda and turn yourself in. You will tell them everything you told me and throw yourself on their mercy. With luck, they will let you live.”
“You know they won’t.”
He sighed, standing. “I don’t care. Either way, my family remains dead, and you’re still partly to blame. If you don’t turn yourself in, I’ll tell them everything, and then I will, personally, hunt you down. Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Do you really intend to spend every day listening for my footsteps?”
“What about my brother? What will happen to him?”
Arthur stared at her for a long moment. His hands shook.
“What do you think will happen to him?”
Arthur turned and headed for the exit, leaving her alone in the empty building.
Chapter 13
Arthur found himself back on a plane only a few short hours later. It felt like déjà vu as he’d spent so much time in the air. This time, he flew to Everett, Washington. Frieda had come through with the ticket, and everything ran smoothly.
He had gotten little time to sleep over the last few days and would try and get some shut-eye during the flight. He popped a couple of Dramamine with an inflight drink and soon passed out.
He had no doubt that repercussions to all of this would come back to him, and that Frieda remained far from forgiving him. He had gone behind her back and left her in Germany, holding the bag, so to speak.
He had also abandoned Abigail, which proved even harder for him to stomach. Since he’d rescued her in West Virginia, he hadn’t left her side in these last nine months. Though safe now, that didn’t change the feeling of guilt he felt at abandoning her.
This paled in comparison, though, to his guilt for what had happened to his family. He hadn’t managed to protect them. They’d died because of him and the decisions he’d made.
Part of him wished he had killed Emily back in Sacramento; he still felt a seething anger in the pit of his stomach. She hadn’t betrayed him intentionally, and didn’t seem quite the despicable and hateful person he’d expected, but she remained partly responsible for what had happened to his family.
Even if it not intentional, and even if her brother had manipulated and betrayed her, she still shared the guilt.
She still deserved to die.
However, she hadn’t sold him out. Someone else held far more responsibility and deserved the full weight of his ire. Leopold Glasser stood outside Arthur’s jurisdiction, and going after him without the Church’s permission—even if he could prove that the bishop had betrayed the Council and had the responsibility for what happened to his family—would infuriate the Church and make him an enemy.
On top of that, the man remained dangerous. Leopold had a reputation for being thoughtful and calculating. No doubt he had manipulated things in such a way that it would prove nearly impossible to pin him down for any of his crimes.
Yet, Arthur couldn’t just stand by and allow the Council or the Catholic Church to sweep this under the rug, especially if the only punishment Leopold received came down to a slap on the wrist. If it came to that, Arthur didn’t know what he would do.
He’d made no similar promise to Jun Lee to spare Leopold’s life, and he would be damned if the bishop could walk out of this situation without any punishment.
◆◆◆
First things first, though; he had a duty to the Council to protect Aram Arison’s family. Aram was a stuck-up asshole, but Arthur would be damned before he would let what happened to his family happen to anyone else. He seemed to recall that Aram had two children—a little boy and girl. Young. Both under ten. They had raised them as normal with no knowledge of the Council or what their father did.
Arthur had raised his daughter that way too, so he could respect Aram’s decision. Arthur’s wife had known what he did, but he had hoped to keep this life away from his daughter.
He didn’t feel ashamed of what he did—in fact, he loved it—but he wanted her to have a different life. A happier and less dangerous experience. He could understand Aram wanting the same thing for his children.
It wouldn’t work, of course. The life followed you, and no way could he protect them from the evil things out there in the night.
Arthur had learned that the hard way.
He didn’t like Aram particularly. The man had become one of his primary opponents in keeping Abigail safe. After he’d rescued her from the cult, a long and drawn out battle had unfolded within the Council about what to do with her. Arthur wanted to adopt her and keep her safe, but many members felt that the risk of keeping her alive would prove too great.
Aram stood in the camp of Councilors that felt they should execute Abigail. To Arthur, that seemed unthinkable. Only a child, nothing that had happened to her was her fault. Aram didn’t see her as a little girl, though, but rather as a time bomb. And keeping her alive put them all at risk, and it didn’t make a risk he felt willing to take.
Aram didn’t stand alone in that opinion, either. Several other members of the Council felt the same. Hell, even Frieda would have gone that direction (most probably) if not for Arthur pleading with her. Sure, he understood the risk; that cult had done something to her in West Virginia, and he had no idea what. But that gave no justification to kill her.
◆◆◆
The plane touched down early the next morning just as the sun rose. He’d managed to get a couple of hours’ sleep during the flight, but he still felt exhausted and ran on empty. It had proven a rough couple of days, and he didn’t expect it to get any easier until he had dealt with Bishop Glasser.
Arthur picked up a coffee on his way out of the airport and downed it in a few swigs. He hated the bitter taste but needed the caffeine to keep him moving. Frieda had given him the address of a hotel where Aram’s family stayed, but no one expected them back until later tonight. Supposedly, they had gone out exploring the city.
He had barely made it into the city when Frieda called him.
“Hello?”
“Did you make it safely to Everett?”
“I’m here,” he said. “Have you gotten hold of the family?”
“Not yet. Aram’s wife left her cell phone in their hotel room, and it just keeps ringing.”
“Why doesn’t she have her phone?”
“Aram said she doesn’t like it. He insisted she have one, but she often forgets to take it with her.”
“What about the Hunters you sent to keep an eye on her? They should answer theirs, right?”
“No answer from either of them. The clerk doesn’t remember seeing them since yesterday. He asked if I wanted him to check on them, and I said to hold off.”
“I’m on my way to check on them, now.”
“I need you to do me a favor, first.”
“What?”
“Check on the local priest. A man named Jackson Reynolds. I called the Vatican to tell them everything we know, and they asked me to make sure their priest is okay. Saint Joseph’s Cathedral sits in the center of town, and it should only take you a couple of minutes.”
“It’s a complete waste of time,” Arthur said. “Which is in short supply.”
“I know, Arthur. But I’m not in a position to say ‘no’ to the Church right now. Not until we know how the chips fall.”
“So, this is a favor for the Church?”
“More or less. I also feel concerned to see what he knows about the bishop. He might be in on it, too, and he could help you come at the bishop sideways if so. We need information, and I hate being this blind about something so important.”
“Can’t you send someone else to check on him?”
“I have no one else in the area. In case you forgot, you injured the only two people I had on the West Coast yesterday. Both Mike and Jim are in the hospital. You make for my only asset out there right now.”
“Fine. I’ll stop in on him but only
for a couple of minutes. I need to track down Aram’s family before it’s too late.”
“Thanks, Arthur. I’m firefighting right now with the Council, the Church, and everyone else. Emily called and said she wants to turn herself in and confess everything, and I don’t even have time to savor that. You kicked a hornet’s nest, and everything is falling apart around me.”
“If you’re looking for an apology …”
“I’m not,” she said, sighing. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, but if you manage to save Aram’s family, I’ll forgive it all.”
Arthur hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, “How is Abigail?”
“Safe,” Frieda said. “Worried. She’s felt anxious since you left without saying anything.”
“I hated doing that,” Arthur said. “But I knew you would drill her for information, so I couldn’t tell her where I planned to go.”
“I did,” Frieda said. “I had no clue what you might do or if you were even all right. You scared the hell out of both of us, Arthur.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m sure she thinks I’m a witch, now. I haven’t, exactly, been the best guardian.”
“She’ll forgive you. She’s a good kid.”
“I know.”
“Keep me informed of anything you find out from the Church.”
“Whenever they call me back, you’ll be the first to know. Stay safe.”
“You too.”
He hung up, parking his rental car by the curb in front of Saint Joseph’s Cathedral. It seemed a fairly large church, tall and built in a gothic style. Another car had parked out front, a little blue Toyota.
Arthur went up to the huge wooden doors and knocked. After a few moments, it opened, and a smiling young woman stood in the doorway. She had a puzzled look on her face when she saw him.
“You don’t have to knock. The doors are almost always unlocked.”
“Habit,” he said. “I’ve come looking for Father Reynolds. I had hoped to speak with him.”
“He isn’t in right now,” the woman said. “But he should get back soon.”
“It’s rather urgent, and I don’t have time to wait. He expects me. Do you know where I might find him?”
She frowned. “More Church business? Are you with that priest who came to visit from the Vatican? I don’t remember his name. Peregrin?”
Arthur kept his face calm, deciding to roll with the lie. “Yes. I came with Father Peregrin. I had some business to attend to this morning, and they asked me to catch up, though I’ve quite forgotten where they went.”
“Of course,” she said. “They went to Rose Gallagher’s home. She lives on Richmond Street. Do you need the address?”
“Yes, please.”
She gave it to him. He thanked her and then headed back to his car. He checked his map and saw that Rose lived in a housing development just outside town. It didn’t lay too far from the hotel where Aram’s family stayed.
She had mentioned another priest from the Vatican, though, which set Arthur on edge. He had never heard of a Father Peregrin before. Who, exactly, did she mean?
◆◆◆
A few minutes later, Arthur reached the house that the woman in the church had sent him to. The front door stood open. It had a screen door still in place, but the house inside looked dim and empty. Another car sat in the parking lot as well, and he assumed it belonged to the local priest.
He pulled his little rental car into the driveway, parked, and then walked up onto the porch of the house. He raised his hand to knock on the screen door, but then stopped when a kindly-looking old woman appeared behind it. She stepped out of the shadows like a phantom, blocking his way, leaning on a walker. The old woman smiled at him.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” he said. “I came looking for Father Jackson Reynolds. One of the congregation told me that I might find him here.”
“Yes, he’s here.” She leaned forward, and then called out into the yard past Arthur, “Father Jackson! I have a guest asking for you. Could you come here for a moment?”
A few seconds passed, and then a handsome-looking black man walked around the corner of the house. He hesitated when he saw Arthur standing there, and then he came forward and offered his hand.
“Hi,” Arthur said. “I’m Arthur Vangeest.”
They shook hands. “Father Jackson Reynolds. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. A friendly young woman at your church said I might find you out here.”
“Ah,” he replied, relaxing. “That would be Amanda. She helps me take care of the church when I go out and about. Can I help you with something?”
Arthur hesitated. Frieda had asked him to make sure the priest remained alive and safe, but also to find out if he knew anything about Bishop Glasser’s recent activities.
What he didn’t know, however, was if the priest was in on any of it. He didn’t know the best approach to suss out that information.
“I hate to just barge in like this, but I wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions about Bishop Leopold Glasser.”
Jackson tilted his head to the side. “Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m doing a piece on him for a local newspaper and wanted to get your take on the man. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”
Jackson looked to Rose, and she nodded. “Of course, of course. Please, come in.”
Arthur followed them into the building and over to a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs in the living room. Immediately, a smell assaulted him with which he felt quite familiar. The house contained something dead and rotting.
He thought to call attention to it, and then changed his mind. He wanted to get to know the priest a little bit more before raising any provocative questions. Instead, he took one of the proffered seats and turned toward the priest.
“Just some simple questions, really. Let’s start with something basic. What is your opinion of the bishop? Do you have a close familiarity with him?”
Jackson thought about it for a second, and then shook his head. “Not really. We live in the same city, but I rarely meet with him.”
“When did you last speak with him?”
Jackson hesitated, and then said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can give you a lot of information about him on a personal level. As I said, we don’t speak that often.”
“Just tell me what you think of him. You’ll find yourself surprised at the details you might pick up even from a casual acquaintance.”
Jackson thought about it for a second. “He is a very … distinctive man.” He had the air of someone who had processed one thought and said another, and Arthur could tell that he didn’t much care for the bishop.
That gave a good sign. At least it made it less likely that they worked together.
“Distinctive. Do you mean like his personality is distinctive, or—”
A sudden loud thump came from the floor beneath them. Arthur jumped to his feet, hand sliding down to where he had his gun holstered. Or, would have had; luckily, he had left his revolver in the rental outside. He brushed his hand on his legs, disguising the motion.
“What was that?”
Jackson looked quite concerned, standing and heading for the front door. Arthur followed the priest outside and around the house. They walked around the corner to the side from where the priest had first come. A large metal grate lay on the grass next to a hole leading underneath the house and into what looked like a crawlspace.
“Father Paladina,” Jackson leaned down to the hole and called into it. “Are you all right?”
At the mention of the name, Arthur’s stomach sank. Not Peregrin, Paladina. Father Niccolo Paladina he had met a few times in his life on behalf of the Council of Chaldea. He came across as a hard-liner priest, incredibly opinionated.
He had also become one of the priests tasked with cleaning up Arthur’s meltdown in West Virginia when he had killed the cultists. He had met Niccolo under less than ideal circumstan
ces, and he doubted the man would have forgotten or forgiven any of it.
No response came from the crawlspace, and Jackson flashed him a worried look. Arthur cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Might this make an ideal time to make his exit? No … it might draw more attention to him if he did that.
“Father Paladina?” Jackson called.
“Hang on,” Arthur said, kneeling and peering into the hole. A dim yellow light glowed maybe fifteen feet underneath the house. He couldn’t see any movement, though. “I’ll come right back.”
He crawled into the hole and slid easily over the gravel and dirt floor. Though a tight space, he had grown used to ending up in uncomfortable environments and had little trouble navigating it.
It didn’t take him long to find the priest. Niccolo lay unconscious on the ground next to what looked like a dead cat. His flashlight lay next to him, and Arthur picked it up and used it to scan the area.
It seemed quiet and empty. No sign of struggle or anything else that might have been down here with him. Niccolo must not have realized how low the ceiling was and bumped his head accidentally. He checked the priest but didn’t see any blood in his hair.
A garbage bag lay underneath him. Arthur extricated it, and then pushed the dead cat inside before tying it closed. This must have caused the horrible smell inside the house, and it looked to have been here for several days, possibly weeks.
Arthur had to drag Niccolo as much as carry him because of the cramped space as he made his slow way back outside the crawlspace. He laid Niccolo on the grass and set the bag down next to him.
“Is he all right?” Father Reynolds asked.
Arthur stood and saw that Rose had come out of the house as well. She and the young priest stood there watching him.
“Yes,” he said. “He’s fine. Just bumped his head.”
Jackson knelt next to Father Paladina, checking his head for any wounds. “He’s got a nice bruise, but he looks okay.”
“I really should get going—”
“No, wait a few minutes. I’m sorry for this, but I would feel happy to answer any of your questions after I get my friend into the house.”
